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Lucien Lamoreaux called Ana midmorning. “I’m fascinated by the prospect of your becoming a photographer. I have a project in mind that should intrigue you. Will you meet me for lunch at one?”
Ana sat back in her chair. She’d been working the crossword puzzle at the dining table. She hadn’t bothered to dress yet, but that scarcely mattered. She had a good idea what Lucien’s project was. Because there appeared to be no other way to obtain evidence linking him to Jaime’s death, she had to say yes but needed to appear reluctant. “I haven’t done any professional work as yet,” she stressed. “You might need someone with more experience.”
“You have a wealth of experience in front of a camera, and that’s what’s needed. Let’s meet at Can Culleretes in Old Town. Do you know it?”
“Yes, of course. It’s the city’s oldest restaurant and has wonderful food.”
“This will be only a preliminary conversation, so there’s no reason to include your agent as yet. Shall I send my chauffeur for you?”
“No, I’ll meet you there.” Alejandro would be busy with his father’s will, so she couldn’t call him, and she hated to bother Montoya over a lunch date that might fail to prove enlightening. “I’m meeting Lucien Lamoreaux at Can Culleretes for lunch, Fatima, so you needn’t prepare anything for me.”
“Any hope of samples?”
“I’ll try.” She couldn’t very well accuse a man of murder and ask for shoe samples in the same breath, but she wouldn’t let him guess she even suspected him.
Ana had been at Can Culleretes often and felt comfortable there, although she would have much preferred a different companion. As soon as they were seated at their table, she gave Lucien one of her prettiest smiles. “I’m so flattered you’d consider me as a photographer. Does the project involve your beautiful shoes?”
He laughed and shook his head. “No. You know I collect Robert Mapplethorpe’s work, and he’s my inspiration. Let’s order first, shall we? I’ve heard their calamares a la romana is good. Do they have a salad you’d like? If not, perhaps we could give the chef a special order.”
Ana surveyed the menu. “They have a wonderful fruit salad with delicious rosemary rolls, so I’ll be fine.” She requested iced tea rather than wine and offered no explanation for her choice. “Photography has changed completely from the time Mapplethorpe worked. Digital cameras make everything easier, although I’m sure the purists must miss their darkrooms.”
“I’m sure they do. Traditionalists slow the progress of every art, but creativity can’t be contained.”
“I agree. You have three of Mapplethorpe’s floral photos in your apartment. You sent me so many beautiful roses, were you thinking of doing something new with flowers?”
He had selected a fine white wine and waited while the waiter poured a sip into his glass. He tasted it and nodded, and the waiter filled his glass. “No, I prefer his studies of the human body. He had a way of highlighting the curve of a back or shoulder and made his models look as elegant as the finest Greek sculpture.”
“He did,” she agreed. “I never pose in the nude, so I’m not sure I’d be the right photographer for you.”
“The models can cover themselves with a robe until you’re sure of the shot. I’d like to give the impression of nudity without actually showing it. If a woman held a thin scarf over her breasts, there would be only a hint of her nipples. Do you understand what I mean? I want to produce tasteful photos, not create nude shots for cheap magazines.”
Ana nodded thoughtfully. “Do you have a publisher interested?”
“I don’t plan to produce a book, but instead a limited edition of stunning photographs that will appeal to men with, shall we say, discriminating tastes.”
Ana’s salad was served along with his meal, and she concentrated on the fresh melon. She was tempted to ask him if he’d approached Jaime Campos with the project, but although they were surrounded by people laughing and talking in the popular restaurant, she thought it would be too dangerous a question to ask. She smiled and nodded as though she were interested in producing the artful photography he described, but her heart beat much too fast, and she had to keep wiping her sweaty palms on her napkin.
Alejandro returned the kittens in their carrier with all their paraphernalia. “Did Ana tell you the kittens were coming back?”
Fatima held the door wide open for him. “She failed to mention it, but here they are, so it must be all right. Did they give you too much trouble?”
“No, but I’m not going to have much time to spend in my studio, and they need a real home. Isn?
??t Ana here?”
“No, she’s gone to lunch with Lamoreaux.”
Astonished Ana would go near the man alone, he searched Fatima’s expression for more. “Did she say where they were going?”
“She did, but you ought not to stalk her. If she wants to see you, she’ll be here when you call.”
He silently debated her advice only briefly. “Lamoreaux may know who killed Jaime Campos, and I don’t believe she’s safe with him.”
“Dios mio, you’re not serious.”
“Dead serious. Now where is she?”
The kittens were chasing each other around the living room, and she watched them while she caught her breath. “They’re at the Can Culleretes.”
