Read Online Margaritas & Murder by Jessica Fletcher - Free Book Online Page A

perhaps.”
    “We were just talking about our plans for the next few days, Jessica,” Vaughan said. “Woody and I are going on the mail run.”
    “Oh, yes, you mentioned that last night.”
    “This is where I make my exit,” said Olga, who’d been observing the introductions. “I have to check on the caterers.” She gave her husband a stern glance and walked away.
    “The wife’s not too happy about this, is she?” Woody said.
    “She’s just worried about us,” Vaughan said.
    “And all your assurances of our safety have gone right over her pretty head, is that it?”
    “Something like that, Woody.”
    “I’ve been doing it for close to three years now,” Woody said proudly. “Never been stopped. Had a few close calls, though,” he said, chuckling. “I could tell you some stories.” His expression sobered. “But I never told Olga about those.”
    “I think she may have heard about them anyway,” Vaughan said.
    “What is the mail run, if you don’t mind my asking?” I said.
    “They’re driving up to Laredo to pick up mail for those who have post office boxes there,” Sarah Christopher said. She was a sturdy woman in her thirties, or maybe early forties, with dark brown eyes, soft cocoa-colored skin, and thick black hair worn in a cloud of curls around her face. “Some people don’t trust the Mexican postal service. I for one.”
    “Why’s that?” I asked.
    “Because important mail doesn’t always make it here. Between the corrupt government, customs, and the postal workers, you’re lucky if anything gets through,” she said. “I had a box of paint confiscated once. I don’t know what they thought might be in the tubes. Drugs are smuggled out of this country, not into it.” She gestured with her hands and I noticed she had blue stains on her fingers. “I had to fill in reams of forms, and when the new order finally arrived almost a year later, the local post office wanted to charge me the equivalent of five hundred dollars in duty. For a set costing half that amount. I’ll never do that again.”
    “My heavens,” I said. “I can understand why you were upset.”
    “I don’t bother with MexPost anymore,” she said. “If Vaughan picks up a package for me in Texas, the border guards will barely give it a glance. He’s got that honest face.” She gave Vaughan a wink and a smile. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and cleared his throat.
    “A lot of retirees, like me, don’t want their pension or Social Security checks going through Mexico City before they get here,” Woody added. “They tend to disappear, and it’s the devil to get a replacement. Much simpler to have them mailed to an address in the States.”
    “From what I’ve heard, a letter from the U.S. can take three weeks or six months to arrive, Jessica,” Vaughan added.
    “And you’d better not forget to tip the mailman on Postman’s Day or you may never see it,” Sarah said.
    “When is that, anyway?” Vaughan asked.
    “November,” Roberto said. “But I give my guy a little extra more often. You’ve got to know when to tip. That’s the way to get good service in Mexico.”
    “There’s no such thing as far as I’m concerned,” Sarah said. “Everyone has his hand out. If they were paid a decent wage to begin with, then maybe you’d get good service. Anyway, Vaughan, you don’t stay in San Miguel long enough to wait for something to be delivered by MexPost.”
    “You can always use FedEx or UPS,” Roberto put in.
    “ You can use them,” Woody said. “It costs a fortune from here.”
    “What’s it going to cost you in gas and tolls?”
    “We’re amortizing the cost over more than twenty families with P.O. boxes. It doesn’t amount to much.”
    “If you ask me, it’s just an excuse to get away for a few days,” Roberto said. “I’ve been here fourteen years and I get my mail just fine.”
    “We don’t get much mail, dear,” his wife reminded him.
    “We get a postcard from your