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“Thank you.”
Alejandro closed the door behind the detective and leaned against it. “He may be hiding more than he’s willing to reveal. He’s looking for who killed Jaime, but I’m also interested in the why. One of Jaime’s last projects had to have been the art photography he mentioned to you. He’d have gotten greater publicity if you’d been involved.”
“Don’t make this about me,” Ana answered crossly. “If he’d told me there had been threats to his life, I’d have done it. He pitched an art series, and Valeria said he’d asked her to be part of it too. Lourdes was also there on Mallorca. He might have spoken to her as well.”
“Do you have her number?”
“No, but I could call Gian Carlo and see if he’s still at her place.” Her phone was beside her bed, and she handed it to him. “Will you find him, please?”
He did, but spoke to Gian Carlo first and described the man who’d tried to get into Ana’s room. “Do you know anyone he might have been? He would have known Jaime Campos.”
“I saw Jaime on shoots. I didn’t hang out with him. I’ve no idea who his friends were, although whoever murdered him couldn’t have been much of a friend. How is Ana?”
Alej
andro handed Ana her phone, went out into the hall and fought to control his rioting imagination. At best, a paparazzo had gotten into the hospital hoping for a quick photo of Ana. It would have been worth quite a bit to the tabloids and kept readers buying papers to follow the story. At worst, the intruder had been sent for another reason entirely, but what?
Maja came up to him. “Would you like some candy? A good chocolate bar is the best medicine for the scare we’ve had today.”
He felt too sick to want candy. “Ana would like whatever you have.” He followed her down to the nurses’ station, where she pulled open a drawer filled with a variety of chocolate bars. He chose a couple. “Let me pay for these.”
“Absolutely not,” Maja insisted. “Although we do take donations to replenish our supply and be prepared for emergencies.”
He pulled out his wallet and gave her a couple of bills. “I just hope there aren’t any more involving us.”
Ana was still on the phone when he returned to her room. He went to the window and waited for her to tell Lourdes good-bye. There were no armed men standing in the street, but he still felt uneasy and the candy began to look a whole lot better to him.
Ana ended the call. “Campos did ask Lourdes to be part of his nude series. She agreed, and in addition to being paid for posing, she wanted a percentage of the sales of the book. They were discussing money when he was killed. I asked if she knew any big, muscular blonds, and she doesn’t. Maybe they’ll identify him from his fingerprints on the clipboard.”
“I hope so.” He gave her a choice of chocolate bar and opened the wrapper for her before opening the other for himself. “I want you to tell Fatima what clothes you’d like her to pack. She thought she knew, but you might want something she’d not thought of.”
“Give me a minute to savor this. I love almonds wrapped in chocolate. Did you know that?”
“We hadn’t gotten to candy preferences, so I’m glad I picked one you like.”
“You’re the dream husband, Alejandro. I hope you don’t tire of my saying it.”
“Never,” he assured her between bites, increasingly grateful she couldn’t recall they weren’t really man and wife. If they got married at sea, she’d believe it was for the second time, and he’d not have to tell her otherwise. A good marriage, however, ought to be based on truth, and he’d not uttered a word of it.
With doctors to see and luggage to pick up, it was nearly sunset by the time they were ready to leave the hospital. Alejandro had brought a deep blue wrap dress Fatima had been sure Ana could wear and her Goth wig. She brushed it forward to cover her bandaged cheek and donned her sunglasses. An orderly pushed her wheelchair out to the parking garage where Alejandro waited. They hadn’t attracted any notice before driving away, but she couldn’t relax until she smelled the sea as they neared the docks.
“That was too easy,” she murmured.
“Some things have to go our way,” he assured her. “I called to let the ship’s staff know we’re coming. They’ll meet us with a wheelchair, and once we’re on board, security won’t be a problem.”
“I hope not.” She clutched the roomy handbag Fatima had sent along after her favorite had been ruined in the crash. It contained her camera, passport, wallet, notebook for listing her whereabouts and her makeup. “What do they call the medical unit on a ship?”
“The sick bay.”
“Right, I knew it wasn’t the brig. That’s the jail, isn’t it?”
“Yes. We have physicians on board all our ships—nurses, pharmacists, hair stylists, anything you could possibly need.”
“Good. Do you suppose there will be a walker I could use? I’m well-coordinated, and I’d rather hop around using a walker than have to depend on a wheelchair.”
“Can you see clearly?”
She slumped back in her seat. “No, but I’m getting better.”
