“Yeah, in a little mini-valley between two rises,” said Star, peering around.
“All right, watch this!” Basil eased his foot off the brake. The truck began moving backwards. He put on the brake and stopped it. When he released it, it started up the hill again at increasing speed. “Okay, this is weird!” he said.
“What on earth is going on?” cried Star.
“I have no idea,” he said, “but we’re gonna find out.”
“How on earth could a truck, without giving it any gas, take us up a hill backwards?” summed up Star, staring at Basil. “This is mystifying.”
“We got to ask somebody when we get to town,” concluded Basil.
Now theirs was a whole different attitude than they’d had before. Instead of savoring the countryside, they checked the map, got a gauge on exactly where lay their destination—the city of Barahona—then Basil floored the gas pedal and they went tearing down the road.
La Lista, a town of great interest to tourists, hove into sight. Its specialty was chairs, “manu”-factured from acacia wood in the fullest sense, that is, by hand, by artisans standing in the dirt front yards of homes under lean-tos, ten feet behind the stalls. This town made and displayed rocking chairs, high chairs, tiny children’s chair and table sets, great grandparent chairs, primary school chairs, teensy weensy doll house chairs, every imaginable chair, varied and intriguing—but not to Star and Basil, who simply flew by. The “sleeping policemen” (as speed bumps are called in Spanish) had been installed to catch—even demand—the attention of passersby. At each of these many speed bumps, the vendors called from their stands, as they always did, “Look, look, very white, very tan, new and lovely—very, very inexpensive.” Their neat little wooden houses testified to how popular their wares were to the gawking tourists they could size up and match to a chair before any of them had even maneuvered over the sleeping policemen, but the little truck bounced over the series of bumps at great risk to all its mechanical parts and tore out of town. Basil and Star were now on a mission.
By the time they reached Barahona, they were starving again, but now the wonderful smells of cocina criolla pouring out of the dining room of the hotel and casino combination they swiftly selected was not going to be enough to satiate them. This time they were hungering both physically and mentally. The answer to the mystery of the moving of their truck had to be a simple one, and every puzzle like that had an angle. Somebody here had to know.
Of course, they were right. Everybody knew the remarkable mystery of what caused a stopped vehicle to go backwards up the hill near Lake Rincon. But what Basil and Star could not have known was its puzzle—as immensely intriguing as it was—was not the greatest mystery that they had encountered unwittingly that day. An even deeper mystery lay, of all places, beside the little village of Villa Bahoruco into which they had stumbled for lunch—one so vast it had the potential to dwarf their sorry little schemes with an impact as tumultuous upon their lives as the lawyer’s life-changing letter had been to Jo’s.
7
Jo was awakened by both her telephones blaring again. She had had a fitful night and had finally fallen into an exhausted sleep, but the two phones rousted her out of bed. What now?
“Jo!” It was her sister Ruby’s commanding voice.
“Just a second, Ruby, someone’s also ringing my cell phone.”
“It’s okay, that’s me, too. I rang you on both phones, so I’d make sure I’d get you!”
“Ruby, it’s six thirty a.m. Where did you imagine I’d be?”
“I understand from Danny that Uncle Sol is dead, is that right?”
“Yes,” said Jo.
“That’s too bad. He was a good uncle. I also understand we have an inheritance to check out.” That was so Ruby—right to the chase.
“Well,” Jo hesitated, “there is an inheritance and a will. Dad asked me to go down for the funeral and the reading.”
“I haven’t heard from Dad.”
“He had to leave in a hurry last night.”
“No doubt he wants us all to come. When are we leaving?”
“Well, I was going to call for a reservation today,” Jo prevaricated.
“Good,” said Ruby. “Include one for each of us.”
“Did Dad say we had to fly coach or can we fly first class, since this is an emergency?” said a second voice.
“Is that you, Daniela?” asked Jo, astonished. “Are you on the phone too?”
“Yes, Ruby set it up.”
“What is this—a conference call? Ben’s not on too, is he?”
“Yup,” said her brother.
“What are you doing up at six thirty? You never get up this early, Ben.”
“Actually, I haven’t been to bed yet,” said her brother, “I just got in.”
Jo shook her head, though none of them could see it. “Look, I don’t know about this. Dad didn’t tell me to set up a group excursion.”
“It’s okay,” said Ruby. “He was our uncle too.”
“Right,” said Ben, “Good old Uncle Sol—and it’s our inheritance too.”
“Yes,” said Daniela, “You don’t want to be selfish, Jo, just because Dad was in a hurry and didn’t get a chance to call the rest of us.”
“Right!” Ben chimed in, “He probably figured you for the organized one of us, and knew you’d call the rest of us as soon as you could.”
“Don’t make the flight too early, Jo,” begged Daniela. “I don’t like getting up too early.”
“Take us through New York, so we get a direct flight,” ordered Ruby. “Don’t put us through Miami or San Juan and make us change planes—there’s always such a long delay in the airport, and one time when we were young—don’t you remember?—there was a storm and we missed the flight and had to stay someplace overnight.”
“You know, I’m glad you all called,” Jo finally began to rally. “This is such a bad time for me, because I’m so busy. I have to find substitutes for Sunday services and my ESL class and someone to moderate an elders’ meeting. I’d really appreciate it if one of you could help me by getting the plane tickets. The only real stipulation is that we have to be in Barahona in three days for the funeral. How we get there would be up to you. This would really help. Can you do it, Ruby?” she ended hopefully.
“I’d love to help you, Jo, but I’ve got to run. I’ve got an early practice for the girls’ soccer team, so I have to be at work by eight o’clock and I haven’t had breakfast yet. Whatever you decide will be fine with me. Bye for now.” And she was gone.
“Danny?”
“Ah, Jo, you know I’m no good at this stuff. As it is, I’ve got to find a substitute for my route. It’s not easy finding somebody who’s willing to drive a bus full of middle school kids to and then from school on time. It’s everything I can do to be on time myself. In fact, I have to start picking them up at seven thirty, which is just a few minutes away.”
“I didn’t mean this minute, Danny. You have all the rest of the day until two o’clock at your disposal!” Jo waited, but there was no reply. Daniela was also gone.
“Don’t ask me,” said Ben’s voice. “I got to get some sleep. Ruby caught me when I was just getting home, and I’m