Wolf in the Shadows - Marcia Muller [86]
After several miles I noticed that the weather had changed; afternoon clouds stood on the horizon above the slate-gray sea, and the air was cooler. The road wound past ramshackle stands laden with produce and jars of olives and chili peppers; past a campground and a lookout point; past an airfield where small planes were tethered. Then it topped a rise, and I saw houses— some traditional white stucco and red tile, others of outlandish modern design—rambling over the gently sloping terrain. Pelicans wheeled above the sea as I coasted into the small commercial district of El Sueño—the dream.
The place did have a dreamlike quality: in the buildings’ raw newness, in the smell of cooking oil and spices that drifted on the air, in the welcome cool breeze that played on my bare arms. The streets of the village were narrow but, like the road, recently paved; expensive cars crowded their curbs. The shops looked equally expensive: a jeweler, a sports outfitter, a florist, a wine broker, several galleries. A small professional complex held the offices of attorneys, doctors, and dentists. A branch of an American stock-brokerage had a sign that flashed the Dow-Jones average. People wandered along the sidewalks and in and out of the shops, stopping at produce stands heaped with corn, tomatoes, lettuce, and chilies. The majority were Americans, and all were well dressed, mostly in golf or tennis attire. No one hurried; no one seemed to have a care.
The town made me somewhat twitchy. I didn’t dislike it, didn’t like it, either. Its edges were simply too rounded, its ambience too manufactured for my taste. I felt as if I’d stepped onto a stage set for a drawing-room comedy that had absolutely no connection to the often grim realities of life in Baja.
I found a space to leave the car and went into a grocery that mainly stocked imported wines and gourmet items. The Mexican woman whom I asked for directions to Vía Pacífica spoke better English than some members of my family. She hesitated, then shrugged and drew me a little map, showing a winding road that branched off near the far end of town. Said “It’s a fancy place, big villas. No trespassing,” and looked askance at my rumpled clothing. I’d planned to buy some mineral water from her, but got my revenge by walking down the block for it. At a produce stand I allowed myself to be tempted by some cantaloupe slices. As in the shops of Tijuana, U.S. money was cheerfully accepted.
According to the woman’s map Vía Pacífica looped off the main road toward the sea, then rejoined it at the base of the point. I found the turnoff, marked by stone pillars but no security kiosk or gate, and followed the blacktop past stands of yucca and prickly pear and barrel cactus; the strange and somewhat unpleasant scent of Indian tobacco traveled on the breeze. Houses in widely divergent architectural styles began to appear: pueblo-style with rough-hewn timbers and solar panels on the roofs; a steel-and-glass structure that put me in mind of the starship Enterprise; traditional weathered-wood beach houses like the ones you find up and down the entire Pacific coast; something that looked to be a cross between an Aztec pyramid and a bomb shelter. They clustered to the right of the pavement, on a small rise above a white sand beach. The sun was sinking toward the water now, its outline glaring through the layers of high-piled clouds.
Fontes’s villa, number 117, turned out to be relatively conservative in appearance. Tan stucco with a muted blue tile roof, it was long and spacious; at one end stood a three-story wing resembling a church’s bell tower; a one-story section connected it to a two-story wing at the opposite end. Unlike most of its neighbors, it was surrounded by a high stucco wall with jagged shards of glass embedded in its top; the upper-floor windows were secured with bars that did their best to blend with the architecture. A security-conscious man, Gilbert Fontes.
The automobile gate stood open, however. I slowed down and looked inside. The front yard held a fountain