She decided to compromise with the devil, since he was whispering so insistently in her ear. She’d head out to the pool area, interview people there. At least then she’d get a little sun, por supuesto. No point in flying all the way to San Juan and coming home without a tan, right?

It was lunchtime. The casual poolside restaurant was overflowing with glamorous revelers nibbling tropical salads, the men as well as the women with buff bods, skin oiled to luscious shades of bronze and cocoa, wearing the teeniest, trendiest bathing suits. Who gave a damn about sun damage when you were young, wealthy, and had your own pool cabana? Melanie put on her sunglasses and turned her face to the sky as she waited to be seated.

The waitress who eventually came to take her order was named Nelly, and by the looks of her she was a veteran. In her fifties probably, with thick ankles, leathery skin, and a plump, benevolent face, Nelly was working half the restaurant with efficiency and good cheer while two younger, hotter waitresses skulked in a corner gossiping and ignoring their tables. Melanie smiled and exchanged pleasantries with Nelly in Spanish, deciding to wait for a moment when the woman was less obviously burdened before asking any questions.

When Melanie had eaten about half of her Caesar salad, Nelly gave her the perfect opening.

“Are you with that fashion-industry convention?” Nelly asked, in Spanish, when she came over to check if Melanie needed anything else.

“No, but thank you for thinking I might be,” Melanie replied with a laugh.

“Ah, you’re pretty enough, but maybe not snotty enough,” Nelly said, smiling in return, showing a gold tooth.

“I’m actually here trying to find someone. You look like a lady who pays attention to people. Maybe you could help me.”

“Sure. Me, I never forget a face. Is important in this business. You need to remember who’s a good tipper, who ditches their check. That kind of thing.”

Melanie reached into the straw beach bag she’d brought along and pulled out several photographs. “My little cousin,” she said, flashing Brianna Meyers’s yearbook photo, “got herself into big trouble. Drugs.”

“Ay, so terrible. My niece, same thing! Such a beautiful, religious girl, and now she’s walking the streets!”

“It’s a curse,” Melanie said, and she meant it.

“But I’m so sorry, hija. I don’t recognize her. And I promise you, if she’d eaten here on my shift, I would.”

“Okay, what about either of these people?” she asked, laying down photos of Whitney and Expo. “These are the ones who led her astray.”

“This one, no, definitely not,” Nelly said, pointing to Expo’s photo, “but this one was in here last weekend. Her, I’ll never forget.” She tapped Whitney’s picture disapprovingly.

“You saw her? Really?”

“Oh, yes. And I’m not surprised she corrupted a nice girl like your cousin. This one was a little whore.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Okay, during lunch hour last Saturday, just as crowded as it is now, mind you, she comes in here with her boyfriend. A much older guy. Old enough to be her father. Disgusting, if you ask me. Anyway, she’s wearing this little bitty bathing suit, and she decides to change. Not in the ladies’ lounge or back in her room. Not even modestly behind a towel. No. This one has to stand up, make sure all the men are looking at her-which, of course they were, since she has long blond hair and a body like a goddess-and take off her top! She bares her chest for the whole world to see, nipples sticking out and everything. Then she puts on a T-shirt that says ‘Boy Crazy’ in Spanish. The man had just bought it for her.” Nelly clucked her tongue in disgust.

“But the man she was with. It wasn’t him?” Melanie asked, pointing to Expo’s photo again.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. It wasn’t nothing like this bald man in the picture. This guy was older, too, but he had hair. One hundred percent I’m sure.”

“Can you describe him?”

“Maybe forties, handsome, but cold-looking. There was something scary about him.”

Pavel?

“Was he a Russian, by any chance?” Melanie asked.

“No. Definitely gringo. I heard them talking, and they mentioned New York. I speak English very good, you know. He sounded rich. Educated.”

Bud, then? Must be.

“Hair? Light, dark, long, short?”

“Dark, I think. Length, I’m not sure. He was wearing a baseball cap, and it stuck out enough that I could see it.”

“Anything else about his appearance?”

“He had some of that colored sunblock on his nose. Pink, it was. Looked foolish. That’s what I’m saying. The only reason this young girl would be with him was if he was buying her.”

“Were they definitely together like that?”

“Oh, yes. He tongue-kissed her and put his hands on her chest, almost like he was showing off. Everyone was looking.”

“Would there be any way to find out his name? A credit-card receipt? A reservation book?”

“No. This place doesn’t take reservations. And I remember, he paid cash. He paid me with a hundred on a thirty-dollar tab, which is a pain in the ass. I have to get my manager to write on the bill with a special marker, they’re so worried about counterfeiting around here. You don’t have large bills, do you?” Nelly asked suspiciously.

“No. I promise.”

“Listen, another customer is calling me.”

“Thank you so much, Nelly. You’ve been very helpful.”

“I hope it helps you find your little cousin. Such a waste, a nice girl like that.”

45

DAN AND BRIDGET were nowhere to be found. With the canvassing done and a few hours still to spare before the real action started, Melanie went back to her room. She checked in with her baby-sitter, who told her Maya was still running a fever but hadn’t vomited all day. Then Melanie opened her suitcase to dig out her white bikini.

But a small, square red envelope sitting on top of her clothes brought her up short. Papi’s Christmas card. She’d placed it there purposely when she’d changed earlier so it would hit her in the face the second she opened the bag. Funny how the brain works. Until she saw it staring back at her, she’d forgotten all about it. Her subconscious, doing her a favor.

She picked it up and looked at it. The devil was back with that whispering campaign again. Why not let sleeping dogs lie? Wasn’t her life difficult enough? Didn’t she come by everything she had the hard way? Why waste these precious moments of luxury on something that was bound to leave her stomach in knots and her heart aching? Put that bathing suit on and lounge by the pool, chica. Order yourself a piña colada, forget your troubles for once.

But the pull exerted by her broken relationship with her father was too strong. She found herself moving to the telephone as if in a trance. Picking up the receiver. Calling Information. Before she knew it, her father’s telephone number was written on the notepad on the bedside table. Not that there was anything magical about having it. She could get the same number from the same computer-generated voice by calling Information from her phone back home any day of the week. She could decide to contact her father anytime, even if she didn’t happen to be in his neighborhood.

But she wouldn’t. She knew that.

Melanie dialed the phone, playing mind games with herself. If he picked up, she would speak. If it was his wife, Gladys, who’d never been secure enough to be kind to Papi’s children from his first marriage, she’d hang up and go about her day.

“Dime,” a female voice said.

Melanie’s heart sank. Somewhere inside she’d imagined a whole beautiful reunion scene. Had imagined it a thousand times, in fact.

“Dígame, por favor,” said Gladys, more insistently this time.