Merry Jones - Elle Harrison 02 - Elective Procedures (27 page)

It occurred to me that, despite my warning, he might have done something else to her. After all, the world hadn’t stopped when I’d gotten hurt. “Is he still bothering you?”

She readjusted her sunglasses. “He’s lying low. Now that he’s got you to distract him.”

“He does not have me.”

“He still watches me, but he’s more careful. I think he got my message.”

Right. Her message. Destroyed clothes and a soiled room. I recalled Luis’s grip on my hand, the threat in his eyes.

“You really think Luis is dangerous?” I asked her.

“Hello? Elle? What have I been telling you? The guy’s a psycho. He comes off all charming, but he broke into my room. He threatened me. I’ve told you all—”

“Melanie. He was there. On the beach.”

She tilted her head. “What?”

“When you pulled me out.”

“Well, you drew a crowd. Lots of people were there.”

I sat up and faced her. “Melanie, listen. What happened to me wasn’t an accident.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s ridiculous.”

“No. It’s true.”

“You’re saying some guy on a boogie board crashed into you on purpose?”

“I’m saying somebody tried to drown me. That didn’t work though. I fought too hard, so the guy tried to stab me—maybe he wanted to cut my throat. The only reason he got my leg was that I managed to kick him away.”

Her jaw hung open. “You’re making this stuff up. It wasn’t like that. It’s crazy.”

“Listen. It’s not crazy. The attack happened right after I cornered Luis and told him to leave you alone. Remember? You saw me with him. I was telling him that I knew what he’d been up to, and that if he didn’t leave you alone, I’d go to his boss.”

Her mouth remained open, a gaping hole.

“And then, an hour later, when you pulled me out of the water, he was there. On the beach. What a coincidence, right? When is Luis ever on the beach? He’s always up here by the pool.”

Melanie’s hand covered her mouth. She watched me with wide eyes.

“I have no proof. But, seriously, Melanie, you said he’s bad news, but how bad? Do you think it could have been him?”

“Oh my God,” she said again. And then again. Her hand came away from her face. “You’re accusing Luis?”

“I’m just asking what you think.”

“What the hell’s wrong with you, Elle? One minute, you’re practically screwing the guy in public, and the next, you’re accusing him of trying to kill you.”

I hadn’t done either. “I wasn’t practically screwing Luis.”

“Really?” She scoffed. Her back straightened. “Because I saw you myself.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Are you seriously going to deny it? I know what I saw.”

I didn’t answer, wasn’t going to engage further with her; it was pointless.

“I can’t deal with this.” She stood, grabbed her bag. “You brought it on yourself. I warned you about Luis, didn’t I? I told you about him. How obsessed he gets. What he’s done to me. But you got involved with him anyway. And now you’re asking if I think he’s dangerous? Now? As if I haven’t said a word all week?” She leaned over my chair, backlit by the sun. Her face was a blob of darkness. “One more time. Here’s what I think,
Elle, I think that if you’re smart, you’ll get far from Luis as fast as you can, before it’s too late.”

She strutted off toward the deep end of the pool, disappearing into a crowd of swimmers lining up for water basketball. I covered my face with my hat and lay back, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Deciding that, even if she’d saved my life, Melanie was exasperating and that I should avoid her. Luis, though, troubled me. After I’d cornered him about Melanie, he’d been afraid that I’d report him to management and he’d be fired. But had that made him mad enough to kill me?

I peeked under the brim of my hat and saw him with Chichi, dividing the swimmers into teams. Handing out red-and-yellow jerseys. Joking with a matronly orange-haired woman, touching her shoulder. He seemed untroubled, normal—even happy. But psychos had no consciences. They could seem happy no matter what they’d done.

Melanie sat across the pool from the teams, dangling her spindly legs in the water, lifting her tanned face to the sun.

I lay back again and closed my eyes. My thoughts buzzed hornetlike. Insistent. Threatening to sting. I tried to sort them out. To find connections between a veiled intruder and an underwater attacker. Between those two and Claudia. Between Claudia and Greta. But I linked up nothing. My mind was tangled, my lungs raw and tender, and my stitches itched and ached in the heat. I listened to basketball players shouting in the water. Vendors offering wares. Waiters taking orders for sandwiches and drinks. People surrounded me, but I was alone behind my eyelids where a shadow kept reaching for me in dark water. And Charlie kept showing up with open arms, bursting with light.

By the time Alain came to get me for dinner, I’d been desperate to get away from the hotel. I’d spent the afternoon spinning my thoughts into fist-size knots. When I’d come back to the suite, I’d wanted to talk about my encounters at the pool. Instead, I’d been ambushed by a dizzying flurry of Susan. Restored by her
day of freedom and the beach, she’d gone to the market and bought ingredients for chicken quesadillas, guacamole, salsa verde, and flan. She’d danced around the kitchenette, humming, pouring fresh sangria, toasting our trip and our friendships, clattering dishes, chopping peppers. Susan had been on a high. By contrast, Becky had paced like a caged animal after her few hours with Jen. After chugging a glass of sangria, she’d dashed off to meet Chichi.

Jen’s dour mood permeated the suite, thickening the air, snuffing out light. I’d felt equal parts guilt for abandoning Susan and relief to get away.

“Go,” she’d insisted. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I even got some tan today. See? She pulled down her tank top, displayed the color of her chest.

“Sure, go. Have a great fucking time.” Jen had sulked, gulping sangria. “You and my damned quack of a doctor. Just forget about me and how miserable I am and how I can’t feel anything around my nipples and haven’t been outside of this damned hotel in days.”

“Remember, Elle, tomorrow we’re going to the festival.” Susan danced to some melody in her head.

“Really? A festival? I don’t believe you ungrateful leeches. While you’re off doing the samba, I’ll probably die of complications.”

“You don’t have complications.” Susan mashed avocado.

“The fuck I don’t—I have fever and scars and bulbous purple lumps—”

“I’ve said it before: you chose to do this to yourself.” Susan shrugged, poured herself another drink. “It’s your party, you can cry if you want to.” She hummed the song, refusing to let Jen interfere with her mood.

“Why don’t you go outside, Jen,” I’d suggested. “Sit by the pool. Lots of patients are out there with those things on their noses.”

“On their noses. But what about the rest of me? Don’t you
get it, Elle? I can’t wear clothes. I’m too sore. Am I supposed to go out bare assed?”

Susan and I’d exchanged glances. Jen had wardrobe choices: a robe. A beach cover-up. A loose sundress. The fact was that she didn’t want any of those because she refused to appear in public. Jen wouldn’t let anyone, even strangers, see her at anything less than her best.

Susan sang and cooked. Jen sulked and complained. And, as I showered with my leg wrapped in plastic and got dressed for dinner, I tried to forget about death and threats and knife attacks by focusing on Alain. His resonant voice. His posture—it made him seem taller than he was. His twinkling eyes. But focusing on him made my hands jittery. My chest fluttered, lips tingled. Damn. What was I doing, getting attracted to him? What was the point? I was going to be there for only three more days. Why was I even bothering to spend time with him? Clearly, we had no future.

Forget the future, I told myself. Wasn’t it enough to enjoy the present? After all, I’d already died once. Who knew when I’d die again? Meantime, shouldn’t I live every minute to the fullest?

Stop rationalizing, I argued. This situation has nothing to do with life or death or time. It has to do with: You think he’s hot. When you’re around him, you want to touch him. Something about the aristocratic way he crosses his legs. The ease of his gait. The slope of his back. The surprising softness of his kiss.

I had to stop. Or no. I had to prepare. What would I do if he wanted me to stay the night? Would I? My insides did somersaults as I considered possibilities, pictured his home. The carved wooden door. The bright décor. For better or worse, for tonight, I would push aside Jen’s gloom, Melanie’s warnings, Sergeant Perez’s concerns. I would reject all thoughts of intruders, attackers and murderers, and give my attention to Alain. On being with Alain. And who knew? With Alain’s help, I might
even fend off spirits of the dead and quell the dread simmering in my belly. At least for the evening.

He met me in the lobby, greeted me by closing his arms around me and kissing my lips. And then we were in his car, the top down again. The wind too noisy for conversation.

The restaurant was stucco, and we sat in a courtyard under the open sky. The host greeted Alain, exchanging embraces, speaking in Spanish. Alain was known there. He introduced me; the host was polite but not attentive. To him, I was merely Alain’s dinner date du jour.

Maybe so. But this was my jour. And Alain was someone I could talk to. As soon as the host left us, I began. “I’m so glad to be here, Alain. I needed to get away from the hotel.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What happened now?”

Oh dear. Was I whining? Because his tone implied that I was. It was the tone a man uses when his wife complains about the kids acting up or the dryer breaking down.

“Nothing in particular.” I put on a smile, stopped talking. Made myself extra cheery. “It’s just nice to have a change of scene.”

The waitress came by with a wine list. Alain ordered something. I didn’t know what it was, red or white. I didn’t care. Still, I wondered why he hadn’t asked my preference. When she left with his order, he folded his hands. Seemed oddly distant.

“Is there any word about your intruder?”

“No. They think it’s someone who has access to keys. Maybe a maid.”

“Yes, that’s what Jen said.”

I nodded, said nothing. I knew that the topic of Jen was off limits, so I didn’t mention her mood. Didn’t suggest that he prescribe doses of fresh air and walks outside. Didn’t say a word. I looked at my hands.

“You seem preoccupied.”

Did I? Funny, because I thought the same about him. I
shrugged, felt him assessing me. “It’s been a troubling few days.”

“Indeed.” He leaned back in his chair, casual. Crossed his legs. “It occurs to me that you said you saw a maid in Greta’s suite when she died.”

Had I told him that? “Yes.”

“Perhaps that maid is the same person who entered your suite. What do you think?”

I didn’t know. Why would a maid want to hurt me or anyone else? “Perhaps.” Perhaps? What an odd, old-fashioned word. I never used it. But Alain had, so I did, too. I shifted in my seat, less comfortable than I’d expected to be. Sensing reserve in Alain’s demeanor. Demeanor. Also an odd word for me. But there it was. I kind of liked it. Thought about it as I avoided Alain’s unwavering eyes.

“How’s your leg?”

“Better.”

“And your breathing? The edema?”

“Better.”

His questions were quick, impersonal. It seemed I was a patient, and he was examining me.

The wine came. Red. Good. Not Syrah, but still it was red. He tasted it, nodded approval. The host poured it for us, speaking Spanish and laughing with Alain. When he left, Alain uncrossed his legs, leaned forward. Picked up his glass.

“Elle, a toast.” He met my eyes. “To a fascinating woman. And to our time together. This night belongs to us.” He took a long, slow sip, holding me with his gaze.

I flushed. Sipped quickly, felt naked. “Alain,” I wasn’t sure what I was about to say, but his mood had changed so abruptly that it disarmed me, and I felt the need to lighten the moment. But he stopped me.

“No—in a moment. First, I have something to say to you. I owe you an apology.”

He did?

“I underestimated you, Elle. You know only a little about me. But one thing you do know is that although I am married, I am a lonely man. I sometimes stray.”