Then she thought maybe there was someone, unconscious or dead.
Don’t be stupid, she told herself, but the idea burrowed itself into her head, and she had to be sure.
The apartment had a kitchenette, separated from the living room by a bar counter, and a short hall with three doors opening off it. A bathroom-blue tiles, plastic shower curtain. A toothbrush, some toothpaste, and a few sundries. Nothing much. Some curly dark hair in the sink.
The door next to that opened onto an odd little room-a bonus room, she supposed you’d call it-with a small barred window high up a whitewashed wall. You could put a daybed in here if you had guests, Michelle thought, but there was no furniture, just a workout bench, some barbells, a bag of golf clubs, and what looked like snorkeling equipment in a couple of crates beneath the window.
On the other side of the hall was the main bedroom.
No body on the bed. Michelle almost laughed. Of course there wouldn’t be. The bed was big, a king. Well, Daniel probably had his share of overnight guests, judging from her encounter with him-though anyone who didn’t know her well could say the same of her based on that night, and that wasn’t how she was, not how she’d been for a long time, anyway.
Don’t be so quick to judge, she told herself.
But it was hard not to wonder. The apartment-the condominium-was modest. Anonymous, almost. No paintings on the walls. Hardly any books. Nothing personal at all. Not much different from her room at the hotel.
This must just be a vacation home for Daniel, Michelle thought. Not the place where he actually lived.
Back in the living room, the flies had regrouped on the pig head.
Just leave, she told herself. It’s not your problem, and you have a plane to catch tomorrow.
But if it was something criminal… People knew she planned to come here. Gary knew, and Vicky and Charlie. If she just left, would that implicate her somehow?
She felt the camera tucked against her side as the thought occurred to her.
I should take pictures.
Just to document it. She could decide later whether she needed to show the photos to anyone. But at least she’d have proof of what she saw. Just in case there were any questions.
She hadn’t intended to get artsy, only snap off a few clear shots, but as she focused on the pig’s snout, a part of her noted that it was a compelling image, with the flies around its eye sockets, the beer bottle next to it, the television in the background. As bland as the room was, the pig’s head was the only thing that really drew your eye.
Still Life with Pig Head and Beer Bottle, Michelle thought, adjusting the depth of field, taking another shot, then the angle, shooting again. She almost laughed. All this time in Puerto Vallarta, and she’d finally found a good picture.
“What…?”
She dropped the camera against her chest.
“What the fuck?”
Daniel stood there in the doorway.
“I…”
In two strides he’d crossed to the coffee table. “What the fuck is this?”
His fingers dug into her arm, just beneath her bicep. “You… Who told you to do this?”
“What are you talking about?”
She stared at his face: rigid and white with anger.
“I have some of your things,” she said. “I just came here and saw this. I thought…”
“Who told you where I live?”
“Gary,” she said. “Please let go of me.”
“Gary?” He released her arm with a jerk. “How do you know Gary?”
“I met him at the Tiburón,” Michelle said. “I didn’t know how to get a hold of you. Gary gave me your address.”
“Why didn’t you just call?” The anger had not diminished, only retreated.
“I have your phone.” She started to reach into her purse, and instantly he tensed again, not with anger this time but something cold and predatory.
She froze. God, did he think she had a gun?
“Check yours,” she said. “I think it’s mine.”
He reached into the pocket of his cargo shorts and pulled out an iPhone. Black. He powered it up. “Shit,” he said after a moment. “It… it was off. I just left it that way.”
“For two days?”
“I wanted to get some rest and not have people fucking calling me.”
“So can we trade phones now?” She felt a rush of anger. “You’re not going to… to attack me?”
“Sorry. I’m…” He lifted his hand to his forehead, winced. His head was shaved where he’d been cut, a patch between crown and temple covered with a square of gauze. “Fucking Gary.” He attempted a smile. “This is probably his idea of a joke.”
“A joke?” The buzzing of the flies, the smell of rot, the close, shut-in heat of the apartment made her suddenly dizzy. “I need some air.”
She pushed past Daniel and sat down on one of the chairs on the balcony, let her head fall into her hands.
“You okay?”
“Fine.” She raised her head. “What kind of joke is that?”
“A stupid one.” Daniel sat down in the chair next to her. “He knew I checked into a hotel for a few days. Air conditioner’s busted here, and I felt pretty lousy. Figured I’d let somebody bring me food and make my bed.”
There was something he wasn’t saying, something that didn’t fit, but Michelle couldn’t think of what it was.
“You want a beer? I think there’s a couple cold ones in the fridge.”
He sounded friendly enough, but the way he looked at her, studying her face-was that concern or something else?
“That’s okay. I think I’d better go.”
“No, listen, stay a minute. You had a shock. Let me get you a beer.”
He got up before she could object.
By the time Daniel had returned with the beers, bottles already sweating in the heat, she’d figured it out. “Why me?”
“Huh?” Daniel handed her a bottle. Bohemia. She’d had that a few times in Los Angeles.
“If he was playing a joke on you, why did he send me up here to find it?”
“He’s an asshole.”
“He doesn’t even know me.”
“Guess he thought it would be funny,” Daniel muttered.
The sun was striking the balcony now, the light glaring. He squinted for a moment and put on his sunglasses, which had been propped up on his head. Serengetis, she thought.
Michelle rested the beer on her cheek for a moment. The chill felt even better than drinking it.
“So the pictures,” Daniel said. He was smiling, trying to keep his voice friendly. “Why were you taking pictures of that thing?”
“I thought there should be a record of it. In case someone threw it away.”
“Are you a photographer or something?”
She shook her head. “It’s just a hobby.”
They sat in silence for a while. What else was there to say?
“I should go,” Michelle said. She reached into her purse and got out his phone. He retrieved hers from his pocket.
“Let me get you a cab.”
“You don’t need to.”
“I want to.” He smiled again. Maybe it was genuine this time. “Look, I’m really sorry about how I acted just now. It was just… kind of a shock, finding you and that in my place, and… I’m still a little jumpy over everything. You know?”
She supposed she did. “Don’t worry about it.”
He walked her through the apartment, past the pig’s head.
“Let me buy you dinner,” he said suddenly. “You went to a lot of trouble, and I didn’t exactly thank you for it.”
“Thanks, but… I’m leaving tomorrow, and I need some time to pack.”
It was a lame excuse, and he had to know it, but he couldn’t really want to have dinner with her after everything that had happened, could he? It was probably just a belated courtesy on his part, and she wasn’t interested.