The Finishing School

44

IT WAS eighty-seven degrees with a beating sun, but Melanie rolled the taxi window all the way down as they sped through the Isla Verde section of San Juan. Screw air-conditioning. She’d drink in the hot, wet breeze. Brightly colored houses and palm trees flashed by in a blur. She was a New Yorker born and bred, had rarely been to Puerto Rico, but something in her blood remembered this island like she’d lived a lifetime here. She craned her neck and caught a flash of aqua sea glittering in the bright sunlight. Bridget sat beside her, Dan in the front seat next to the taxi driver. He turned, glancing over his shoulder, and gave her one of those million-dollar smiles as the wind ruffled his dark hair. In that moment Melanie felt so happy she could’ve died right then and there.

The hotel sat on a broad tropical boulevard lined with high-rise condos and hotels. When she walked into the lobby, her excitement only grew. An enormous tinkling chandelier hung from a blue dome as ornately frescoed as a Fabergé egg, and under it was a gorgeous mahogany bar shaped like an oval. Even at this early hour, people sat at the tiny tables scattered around the cool marble floor, sipping their cocktails and talking a mile a minute. With how grim her life had been lately, Melanie felt more like joining in than judging. Hey, it’s five o’clock somewhere-why not have a rum punch? To her right the lobby opened onto a cheery casino full of slot machines and flashing lights.

Jay Esposito didn’t stint; you could say that for him, and Melanie was thrilled to be along for the ride. The government would never have shelled out the bucks to put them up here if not for the need to keep Expo under surveillance. Okay, she was working a harrowing case; she was distraught at leaving her vomiting daughter; her personal life was in a shambles. She knew she shouldn’t be so elated. But she couldn’t help it. She felt like some Park Avenue femme fatale on a sexy tropical jaunt with the guy of her dreams.

Once they checked in and changed into casual clothes so as not to stand out in the touristy crowd, reality reared its ugly head. The flight carrying Trevor and the bodyguard wasn’t scheduled to land until late that afternoon, and they had work to do in the meantime. Bridget set off for local DEA headquarters to pick up a G-car. Dan went to scout surveillance locations. And Melanie started canvassing hotel employees, looking for anyone who might have seen anything during last weekend’s drug-smuggling trip, showing photos of Brianna Meyers, Whitney Seward, and Jay Esposito. But this was a risky proposition. Rich drug dealers had mucho friends. Someone like Expo, who oozed criminal cachet and threw tips around like nobody’s business, was expert at wooing hotel employees. Anybody Melanie and Dan questioned might be a double agent who’d turn right around and snitch to Expo and his thugs that the feds were on the premises. So Melanie had her cover story ready, though she knew she was chasing the horse after it got out of the barn. After all, she held a special distinction: Expo’s people already recognized her on sight.

Melanie talked to whoever would talk to her, but nearly two hours of canvassing left her coming up empty and getting discouraged. Either Expo had already paid everybody off or else the El San Juan was just too big and too jam-packed on weekends for its employees to notice particular guests. Nobody remembered anything about her subjects. Her thong sandals were giving her blisters; her bare arms, exposed to hotel air-conditioning in a skimpy sundress, were all goosefleshy. She was sorely tempted to call it quits, track down that Dan O’Reilly, and entice him into taking a dip in the glorious azure swimming pool beckoning through the hotel windows.

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.”