After about an hour and a half of driving and backtracking and taking a wrong turn down a one-way street, we figure out the secret to entering and exiting the highway and manage to find the Playa del Monaco.

  “The lights are on,” says Sid as we pull up to the entrance, “but it looks like nobody's home.” She stops by a fairly well-lit security gate that doesn't seem to be manned. Thankfully, the gate is open.

  “Do you think it's okay to go in anyway?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “I don't know why not. This is the right place. Although I can't say much for their security system.”

  Soon we're inside the development, but the road forks, and we aren't sure which way to go. We take the road to the right, which leads to an area under construction. So we turn around, double back, and take the other road, which turns out to be a bit more promising. Finally Sid parks in front of a large adobe building, and we go inside the oficina, where a pretty Latina behind the desk greets us in both English and Spanish.

  “Bienvenidas and welcome,” she says with a bright smile.

  Sid introduces us, and the young woman tells us her name is Francesca. “How can I help you?”

  Sid tells her we'll be staying for a week, and Francesca looks us up in the computer, then frowns.

  “Is there a problem?” asks Sid.

  “You say you will be here for a full week?” asks Francesca.

  “Yes. Our flight out is on New Year's Day,” says Sid.

  “Elprimevo de enero,” I say for clarification and to practice my espanol.

  “Si, “ says Francesca. “I know this. But your room is available only until December 29. El veintinueve de diciembre,” she adds for my sake.

  “But what do we do for the other three nights?” asks Sid.

  “I do not know. I am certain we are fully booked for those days.” Francesca looks back at her computer, then slowly shakes her head. “I am sorry. Nothing available.”

  Sid looks at me, then sighs. “Well, I guess we can worry about that tomorrow. Right now I just want to get something to eat and then crash.”

  “This is a busy season,” says Francesca as she registers us. “I can call other hotels in San Lucas for you to see if anyone else has a room.”

  “Would you?” asks Sid gratefully.

  “Si.” Francesca nods. “It is no problem.”

  “Muchas gracias, “ I tell her.

  “De nada” She smiles and hands us our key cards and a map. “Please, feel free to call if you need anything.” Sid asks about the restaurant, and we're informed that they serve dinner until nine.

  “I can call them,” offers Francesca, “to tell them you're coming.”

  “Muchas gracias,” I say again.

  First we hunt down our room, which seems to be at the end of the earth. Sid is disappointed it doesn't have an ocean view, but I'm just relieved to see it has two beds and a bathroom. I was starting to wonder. Then we head off in search of the restaurant, which turns out to be on the other side of the property.

  “At least we're getting some exercise,” I point out.

  “I thought we were getting a vacation,” huffs Sid as we climb the stairs to the restaurant.

  “Oh, look,” I tell her once we're up the stairs. I point to the strip of beach illuminated by the spotlights. “Isn't that pretty down there?”

  She nods as she catches her breath. “Yes. Hopefully it will be even prettier by daylight.”

  “Buenas noches” says a smiling man.

  “Buenas noches,” echoes Sid.

  “Mesa para dos, por favor,” I try, hoping I'm asking for a table for two.

  “Si, senoritas. Por aqui, por favor. “ He leads us to a table that looks out over the ocean. A little oil lamp is already lit and flickering warmly. The restaurant has a large roof that looks like it's made from palm branches, and the sides are open to the soft sea breeze. Down by the water, lamps along a sandy path light up the beach. In this warm climate, the temperature is absolutely perfect. I still cant completely believe I'm here.

  “Gracias,” we tell him as we're seated.

  “jPodemos ver h carta?” I ask. I think this is how you ask for a menu.

  He smiles and begins to speak in such rapid Spanish that I'm quickly lost, although I think he's telling us the specials of the night. Sid is giving me a look that says she's totally clueless. So I ask him to speak more slowly and admit that my Spanish isn't very good and that my aunt doesn't speak it at all. “Habla usted ingles?” I finally ask hopefully.

  “UnpocOy” he tells me, but then he begins to explain the specials in a combination of English and Spanish, and I manage to translate them for Sid. We both decide to try the fish of the day, which is sea bass.

  “Muy bueno,” he says with a slight bow.

  “I'm so glad I brought you along,” says Sid. “It's handy having a translator.”

  “My Spanish is pretty rusty.”

  “Hey, it's better than mine.”

  Soon our food arrives, and to our relief it's really good. And the service is excellent. We even splurge and have dessert.

  “Last time I was in Mexico, I put on about ten pounds,” says Sid as she takes a last bite of the chocolate torte we're sharing.

  “When was that?”

  She considers this. “About ten years ago. But that was in Cancun. I've never been in Los Cabos before. I don't think there was much tourism going on down here ten years ago. According to Vicki, this area has been growing like crazy, and it's expected to get even more tourism after what happened in Cancun in 2005.”

  “Was it a hurricane?”

  “Yes. Don't you remember hearing about all the stranded tourists down there? Although the story probably got lost in the coverage of our own Hurricane Katrina, it was pretty bad, and I'm sure lots of Cancun regulars are looking elsewhere for their sunny getaways now.”

  “Maybe that's why this place is so booked,” I suggest.

  Sid frowns. “Maybe. But Vicki told me these dates, and since this is a time-share, you'd think it would be pretty straightforward.”

  “Maybe Francesca will figure something out for us by tomorrow.”

  “I hope so.”

  We sit there for quite a long time, and finally Sid gets impatient. “You'd think they would have brought us the bill by now. It's not like they're terribly busy.”

  I glance around the partially filled restaurant and nod. “And I was hoping we'd feel like taking a little walk on the beach, if it's not too late.”

  “I wonder if it's safe.” Then Sid sees the waiter and waves to him and asks him for the check in a slightly impatient tone. He explains to us in a mix of English and Spanish that Mexicans think it's rude to bring a bill before the customer requests it. He says they want their customers to linger over their meals and not feel rushed.

  “That's very nice,” she says to him. “Muy bueno.”

  “Si,” I agree. “Muy bueno.”

  Sid signs the check, and then I ask the waiter if it's safe to walk on the beach at night.

  “Si, si.” He assures me that two women together will be safe. “No problema. “

  “Muchas gracias.”

  So we go down the steps to the beach, take off our shoes, and even get our feet wet. The water's cold but not as cold as in Washington. We walk a ways, and just as we reach the edge of the lit path, we see a couple of guys coming our way. At first I think nothing of this, but then I can sense Sid bristle. She nudges me with her elbow.

  “I think we should go back,” she says suddenly.

  The two guys are quickly coming closer now, and I can see they don't look like tourists and aren't dressed like any of the hotel employees. I'm not sure if it's Sid's reaction or my own instincts, but I think she's right. These two guys look a little suspicious.

  We turn and begin to hurry back up the beach, but I can hear them calling out to us, asking us to talk to them. The whole situation sends a chill down my spine.

  “They probably think we're a couple of hot chicks out looking for some action,” I tease Sid when we reach the steps leading up to the hotel. “You should be flattered.”

  “I'm a little old for them,” says Sid in a tight voice. “If they got close enough, they'd see that for themselves.”

  “Maybe they were just being friendly,” I say as we scurry up the stairs.

  “Too friendly, if you ask me.” Sid pauses to look back. I turn and see the two guys standing in the shadows, looking up at us on the stairs.

  “Well, I think they got the hint,” I say.

  “Even so,” says Sid, pausing to catch her breath at the top, “lets make sure they don't try to follow us or anything. No telling whether this place has much security or not.”

  So we wait in the shadow of a potted palm tree until Sid is satisfied that our two “friends” have moved on down the beach.

  “I know I probably seem paranoid to you,” she explains as we go to our room. “But as a journalist, I've covered enough stories about girls who've gone missing while on vacation to know this isn't something to take lightly. Be assured, I'm not about to let you become one of those statistics, Maddie.”

  I sort of laugh. “Hey, I figure since we survived Papua New Guinea, we can survive anything.”

  “That's just it,” she says as we turn a corner. “You start thinking you have things all figured out, and then something hits you from behind, something you never saw coming, even if you should ve. I've learned that to be a good traveler, you always have to remain aware. Listen to your instincts, Maddie. God gave us an inner radar that most people try to ignore.”

  “Yeah,” I admit, “I did get an uneasy feeling about those guys on the beach.”

  “Aha,” she says. “So what if you'd been alone? What would you have done?”

  I consider this. “Well, for starters, I doubt that I'd go out on a beach by myself down here—at night, that is. I mean, I've heard those stories too.”

  “Good answer. But what if you were with a girlfriend your age, maybe someone who wasn't so good at paying attention to her instincts? What would you do then?”

  “I'd like to think I'd still listen to my instincts, but I'm not totally sure. I have to admit that I'm not always the smartest when I'm hanging with friends. I sort of let my guard down.”

  “See, Maddie, that's just it. I think kids come down to these places, and they get goofy, and they don't pay attention. Or they take crazy risks that can really get them into trouble. I did a story about spring-break fiascos a couple of years ago. It's scary what kids, especially girls your age, are getting into south of the border.”

  “Well, at least I don't drink,” I remind her.

  She smiles as she slips the key card into the door. “And that's a relief.”

  “Home at last,” I say as I flop onto one of the beds and kick off my shoes. I feel too tired to put on pajamas right now.

  “At least for a few days,” says Sid as she does the same.

  “Buenas noches,” I say as I close my eyes.

  ven though the time is an hour ahead down here, I wake up early. Sid is still sleeping soundly, so I tiptoe around and dig in my bag for some shorts and a tank top. Then I quickly shower and dress and head outside where the sun is already warming things up. I'm curious to see this place by daylight, but as I walk around looking at things and overhearing snippets of conversations, I notice two things. One, a lot of the hotels guests do not seem very happy, and, two, there don't seem to be many employees around.

  “This place is a disaster,” says a middle-aged, heavyset woman who's trying to get a towel for the pool, although there doesn't seem to be anyone at the cabana to help her. She's talking to a friend, a woman about the same size and age. “I don't know why Hal wanted to buy a time-share here. Last night our toilet backed up, and today there's no hot water.”

  I try not to look like I'm eavesdropping as I attempt to figure out how to operate the soda machine.

  “I know,” says the other woman. “Our sheets haven't been changed all week. I keep calling the office, and they say they'll take care of it, but no one comes.”

  “Well, I'm going to try to get out of our time-share,” says the first woman as she steps past the counter and retrieves two big blue towels. “Here.” She hands one to her friend. “I guess the only way to get help around here is to just help yourself.” She looks at me hunched down by the soda machine. “Good luck, honey. I put a dollar in there yesterday and got zippo.”

  “Oh.” I stand and look at her.

  She shakes her head. “This place should be condemned.”

  Well, you can hardly condemn a place because the soda machine is out of order. Just as the two women leave, the towel guy appears with a bright smile and offers me a towel.

  “No, gracias,” I tell him, then point to the soda machine with a frown, trying to explain how it ate my money without giving me my Sprite. He gives the machine a solid kick on the side, and bam, here comes a can of soda.

  “jMuchas gracias!” I tell him.

  “De nada.”

  I walk past the pool and think I should go get into my swimsuit and catch some rays. Really, this place is pretty nice. As far as toilets and hot water, our room seems to be fine. Maybe those two women were just being overly dramatic.

  When I get back to our room, Sid is sitting on the sofa in front of the television, sipping a cup of coffee. She looks much perkier than she did last night. “Feeling better?” I ask.

  Her brows lift. “Was I pretty grouchy yesterday?”

  “No,” I tell her. “You just seemed tired. Like you needed a vacation.”

  She laughs. “Well, hopefully we'll have one now. Want to go see if we can rustle up some breakfast?”

  “Sure.”

  “I thought we could eat here today. I know the restaurant's a little expensive, but after today, we can find a grocery store and get some things to fix in the kitchenette. Sound good to you?”

  “Sounds great.”

  “Just let me grab a shower first. Help yourself to the coffee. It's not bad for hotel coffee.”

  So I pour myself a cup of coffee and turn the television to a Spanish-speaking station. I figure this will help me brush up a little. Then I hear a loud yell. I jump up, nearly spilling my coffee, and moments later Sid bursts out of the bathroom, shivering.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I was just enjoying a nice shower, and, wham, it went ice cold on me.”

  I frown. “I heard a lady down by the pool say that there was no hot water. But I took a shower earlier, and it was fine.”

  “Maybe you have to get up with the birds to get hot water,” she says as she closes the door.

  Perhaps it's a good thing we won't be here all week. That is, unless Francesca has worked something else out. I whisper a little prayer, more for Sid's sake than mine, asking God to help us get good accommodations so Sid can feel like she's actually had a real vacation before it's time to go home.

  “Well, I'm ready,” she says.

  “Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed?” I say, sounding just like my dad.

  She grins. “My grandma used to say that all the time.”

  “Yeah,” I admit, “so does your brother.”

  We head over to the restaurant and are greeted by a different man, who takes us to our table. We both order the least expensive breakfast, and Sid learns a new Spanish word.

  “Huevos means ‘eggs,’ “ I tell her, and she tries it on for size.

  Our huevos are served with beans and rice, which I don't normally eat at breakfast, but I'm surprised to discover they're pretty tasty. We compliment the waiter on the food and ask for the bill, but before he gives it to us, he brings over another man, not bad looking, this one wearing a suit. Our waiter tells us that he is a good friend and asks if he can make introductions.

  I translate this for Sid, and she smiles and nods at the handsome man, who is, I'm guessing, about her age.

  “My English is not so good,” says Juan after the introduction. “But I saw you two lovely ladies, and I wanted to offer you a gift.”

  “A gift?” Sid looks suspicious now.

  “Yes.” He nods eagerly. “My brother owns a very nice restaurant in San Lucas, and I would like to give you a coupon for dinner.”

  “Really?” Sid still looks suspicious. “Why?”

  “To show my appreciation.”

  “Appreciation for what?” she asks.

  “If you would let me tell you about our time-share program here.”

  “Oh, I don't want to buy a time-share,” says Sid.

  He smiles. “That's what everyone thinks.”

  “But I really—”

  “If you hear my presentation, you might change your mind.” He waves his hand. “Imagine being a shareowner in this. You could come here anytime you like.”

  She frowns, and I can tell she wants to get rid of this guy, even if he is good looking and smooth talking. “I really don't think I—”

  “Please,” he says. “It will only take an hour, or just a little more. And the dinner coupon is for one hundred dollars—American.”

  She seems to consider this. “And the restaurant is really good?”

  “It's the best.”

  “Hmmm…”

  “Please, lovely lady. I promise, you wont be disappointed.”

  “One hour for a hundred-dollar dinner?” She narrows her eyes slightly.

  “On my honor.”

  “Well, okay then. But first you have to tell me the name of your brothers restaurant and where its located.”

  “Even better,” he says, pulling a card out of his pocket. “Here is his card. We are brothers, you see. We must help each other.”

  “Okay.” She nods.

  “What time is good for you?”

  She considers this. “Well, were going to town for groceries.”

  “Groceries?” he says. “You must let me tell you the best store.”

  She nods. “Yes, thank you. That would be nice.”

  He pulls out another card. “Are you a Costco member?”

  She shakes her head. “No, I live alone. Costco is for big families.”

  He laughs. “Oh, but you are too beautiful to be single.”

  Well, I can tell she's flattered now. And Juan writes down the names and addresses of several places that sound helpful.