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“I’ve no idea who you are and don’t care where you’re going. I’m buying a magazine for my wife.”
“Fine, because I’m going to stand here and watch you walk away as quickly as you can.”
“If I don’t feel like moving?” Widening his stance, he took up more of the sidewalk.
Alejandro’s voice was low and utterly convincing. “You’ll swiftly regret it.”
The owner of the kiosk came out to offer his opinion. “I don’t need anyone disrupting my business. Both of you move along.”
Alejandro tipped the kiosk owner and stayed put while the bald man paid for his magazine and walked away with a hurried step. The newsman straightened the stacks of tabloids. He pointed to the one with the pseudo Ana. “What do you think of this? Beautiful women are as deadly as cobras, but would a model kill a man over a bad
photo?”
“No,” Alejandro assured him. “Ana Santillan doesn’t know a thing about the photographer’s murder. The tabloids are smearing her name to sell papers.”
“You know her?” the man asked skeptically.
Alejandro nodded and returned to the shop where Ana had bought a glass-domed paperweight containing shells from a Barcelona beach. “I don’t have nearly enough souvenirs from Barcelona. What do you think?”
He picked it up and found it surprisingly heavy. “It will definitely hold papers on your desk.”
“That’s what I thought.” She dropped it into her bag. “What did you say to the detective?”
“I growled at him, and he walked away. I’ll have my father fire him. You have enough trouble without being followed by some idiot who’s so easy to spot. Are you hungry?”
Ana suggested the place he’d taken her earlier. Alejandro took her hand and led the way. He knew the port better than any other part of the beautiful city, and they were there in minutes. The hostess smiled at him as they entered but looked surprised when she saw Ana in her Goth disguise. Alejandro pretended not to notice.
When they’d made themselves comfortable in a booth by the windows, Ana leaned close. “Did you see the way the hostess looked at you? She must think you’re cheating on the blonde you were with the other night.”
“She can think whatever she wants. If you own a red wig, we could confuse her even more the next time we’re here.”
“I do have a red wig.” Ana looked for something new on the menu. “One of the detectives who came to see me had strange, fishy blue eyes, and even if I don’t usually order fish, I won’t order it today because of him.”
“I wish you’d stop worrying about them. Campos must have photographed hundreds of models. Maybe his death had nothing to do with any of you. He could have been killed by someone he owed money.”
She rubbed her toe up his calf and watched him jump. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
He grinned and shook his head. “Do it again.”
“It has to be done when you’re not expecting it.” She ordered a raw vegetable salad and limeade and leaned back to study the view of the busy port in daylight. “I wonder how many people are murdered a day in Barcelona.”
“I hope it’s not many. Rather than look at the ship, let’s find a movie after we eat, something funny.”
The waiter returned with her limeade and his beer. She took a long drink. “I might have a part in an Almodóvar film. It’s just a few lines, but I don’t want you to be surprised if you see me on the screen.”
“He’s a remarkable director, but you don’t sound excited. Why not?”
She described the audition with Gian Carlo. “Models usually aren’t that good on the screen. Thank goodness it’s such a small part I won’t be mentioned in the reviews.”
He studied her expression a long moment. “You don’t smile often in your Goth outfit; you seem to sink into her. You should do fine with a scripted part.”
The buttons on her black shirt were silver skulls. She polished one with her napkin. “I’m sorry, I’m sort of unfocused today. I often work long hours, and when I’m free, I like to go out to lunch and to movies, but I have a very bad feeling about that bogus photo. It just keeps whipping through my mind. I need to buy a notebook and write down where I am every minute of the day.”
He reached across the table to take her hand. “I’d also be alarmed if detectives had come to my studio. It doesn’t matter what they’ve been told to ask, or what ludicrous suspicions they might have. You didn’t murder anyone.”
“Innocence ought to be a strong defense,” she replied. “But I feel the floor tipping under me, and I can’t get my balance.”
“Listen to me.” His glance was as dark as she’d ever seen it. “You’re not the only model who worked with Campos. All of you are probably on edge, and justifiably so, but while it might be a good idea not to be seen laughing as though we had no concerns, there’s no reason to hide as though we’re guilty.”
