The man turned, his mouth gaping in surprise. It had been well over a year since I’d seen Pete Dukermann and roughly three years since I’d poured a pitcher of beer over his head in a bar in Prague. He was in his late thirties now, and he hadn’t aged well: there were dark pouches under his eyes and his jawline was melting into wobbly jowls. He’d put on weight, too, though the way his arms bulged against the thin fabric of the shirt showed that there was muscle under the fat.
“Lily Moore? I’ll be damned.” Even though he was standing several feet away, he reeked of his usual overripe scent of sweat, marijuana, and musk. Among travel journalists, he was known as Pepé le Pew, but the smell was only part of it; he’d earned the nickname for his unrelenting pursuit of anything in a skirt. He was a photographer notorious for asking women to pose naked for him, always with the caveat Don’t worry, my wife won’t mind, we have an open marriage. Pete was the punchline to many a joke in the travel industry.
“That’s Skye McDermott’s room?” I asked.
“Yeah. You seen her around?”
“I had a drink with her downstairs, but she left to make a phone call. She never came back.”
“She seem kinda weird to you?” Pete asked.
“Weird?” I repeated. That wasn’t the word I’d have chosen, but it fit. The crying, the bone-thinness, the revenge talk, none of that was like the Skye I knew. Still, Pete was low on the list of people I’d confide in, and I wasn’t going to tell him what Skye had told me.
“I don’t know how to explain it. She’s such a nice girl, real friendly. Not like some stuck-up travel writers I could name.” Pete’s unsubtle barb made me smile; at least I didn’t have to worry about him coming onto me again. “But she’s all freaked out. It’s obvious something big is going on with her, you know?”
I nodded. I did know. A wave of exhaustion and nausea washed over me, and I leaned against the doorframe for support.
He rapped on Skye’s door again. “There’s a doorbell,” I pointed out. Pete grunted, but he pushed it a couple of times. The bells echoed faintly back at us.
“So, I guess you and your hotel zillionaire boyfriend got back together, huh?” Pete asked.
“What? No! Why would you think that?” The question caught me completely off guard, and Pete chuckled. He’d managed to rattle me, and that made me angry. “How the hell did you manage to get on this press trip, anyway? I thought you were on everyone’s blacklist by now.”
“I wasn’t invited on the press trip,” Pete admitted. “I was already down here. I ran into Skye at the zocalo yesterday, and she mentioned it. I called Denny, and the snobby bitch told me no, the trip was already planned, the hotel was full, blah, blah, blah. So I called corporate HQ and got myself into the hotel without her. People in the industry know I do great work.”
“I’m sure Denny is thrilled. As are we all.”
That made him scowl. “Don’t know why I’m wasting time talking to you, anyway. You should get a life.” He turned back to Skye’s door, ringing the bell one more time. We both waited for her to answer.
“I don’t think she’s home.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” he shot back. He shrugged and started down the hallway, his movements loose and shambling, as if alcohol and pot had set him up on casters and were gently wheeling him away.
I was glad to see him go. Ducking back into my suite and locking the door, I realized he’d only made me worry about Skye. I bumped into a doorknob and noticed that my hallway had a connecting door with the room next to it. Too bad that’s not a door to Skye’s room. It would be so much easier to get inside. I’d assumed her call went on for longer than expected, or that she’d run into another journalist and lost track of time. But seeing that even a drunken, drugged Pete was concerned about her set off alarm bells in me. Skye had admitted she’d been ill, though she hadn’t given me any details. My mind immediately jumped to the worst possible place, picturing her unconscious and incapacitated.
There’s probably a key card in her bag, whispered a voice that sounded suspiciously like my sister’s. It often suggested things that weren’t exactly appropriate. Feeling bold, I unsnapped the top of Skye’s bag and peeked inside. Just as quickly, I closed it. I’d grown up with a mother and a sister who had no regard for my privacy, and I’d resented them for it. My concern about Skye didn’t give me the right to dig through her purse, or to go into her room.
But what if she needs help? That voice was so persuasive, because it played on my unspoken fears. It reminded me of the time I’d found Claudia on the floor of my apartment after an overdose. Skye wasn’t a junkie—she wasn’t even drinking alcohol—but it was possible that she was in trouble.
That settled it. I opened her bag, feeling both shame and exhilaration. Under a layer of damp, wadded-up tissues was a fold-out map of Acapulco, a beaded change purse stuffed with coins and a few hundred-peso bills, a comb, a lipstick case, a bottle of chewable multivitamins, a hand sanitizer spray, a half-empty bag of ginger candies, a book of matches. At the bottom, I found some seashells, a few crumpled twenty-peso bills, and another Frakker’s travel guidebook. This one was for Eastern Europe, which suggested Skye had just been there, or was about to head in that direction. Finally, my fingers brushed against the zipper of an inner pocket, and I found a plain beige room key.
I stepped into my shoes and ventured out to the hallway, ringing Skye’s bell. For a moment, I thought I heard footsteps inside, and I waited for her to open the door. She didn’t, and I rang again. Resting my palm against her door, I leaned forward and turned my head, which let me listen for noises inside the room and keep an eye on the corridor in case someone stumbled across my eavesdropper pose. There was no sound I could discern: no television, no radio, no conversation, no heels tapping on the floor. Still, that didn’t mean anything; Skye could have been lying down, or reading… or… I pressed the doorbell, counted to ten, and buzzed again. Only emptiness echoed back at me. When I finally tried the key card, I was stunned to find it didn’t work; instead of flashing green, I got an angry red evil eye blinking at me.
So much for that. I went back to my room, picked up the phone, and dialed Skye’s room number. After a minute of ringing, my call went to an impersonal hotel voice mailbox.
“Skye, it’s Lily. Please call me as soon as you get this message. It doesn’t matter what time it is. Just give me a call. I’m in room 527, right across from you.”
Setting the receiver down, I had a change of heart, and I picked it up again and pressed zero. A clerk picked up, greeting me in English. “Can you connect me with Denny Chiu, please?”
“Of course,” he answered, but her line also rang and rang before dropping me back in the voicemail ether.
Thwarted on all fronts, I still wasn’t ready to give up. Skye might be back in the bar, wondering where I’d gone and when I was coming back. I had to check, at least. But on my way downstairs, I had what seemed like a better idea. Instead of taking the winding passageways that led to the bar, I went to the reception desk.
“Hello, Miss Moore. You will be glad to hear we found your snake friend,” the clerk said.
“I hope you got him some better accommodations.”
“All I can say is that he is in a better place.”
I felt a moment of sadness for the snake. It wasn’t the creature’s fault that it had slithered indoors. “I’d like to speak to the hotel’s manager. I know it’s after ten on a Friday night, but is there some way I can reach him?”
“He is here, Miss Moore. He is always here. Let me call him for you.” The clerk picked up the receiver and pressed a button. “Mr. Stroud? I apologize for disturbing you, but Miss Lily Moore would like to speak with you. Yes. Yes? Thank you, sir.” He hung up.
The name had caught my attention. It wasn’t just that it was an obviously Anglo one, rather than a Mexican one; I knew enough about Mexico to realize it was a multicultural society. But the name Stroud had made me flinch in recognition when I heard it. It was like
a puzzle piece that suddenly clicked into place. Before I could catch my breath, the door behind the reception desk opened and Martin Sklar’s right-hand man stepped out.
CHAPTER 5
Gavin Stroud seemed faintly amused by my startled expression, and the sharp angles of his face eased into a smile. He was always so measured and tentative around Martin, but he looked oddly delighted to see me. “Lily!”
“Gavin.” I wanted to smile back, if only to pretend I was unfazed, but his name came off my tongue with the arid chill of a night in the desert.
“It’s been such a long time, Lily. Much too long for my taste.” He came around the counter, moving with the stealth of a jaguar. He was just shy of six feet, with broad shoulders that spoke of his dedication to the gym. I put out my hand for him to shake, but he clasped it in both of his. The gesture was warm even if his hands were cool. “Of all the hotels, in all the world, you walk into mine!”
It sounded as if he hoped to channel Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca. Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine. The way the phrase sprang from his lips made it appear as if he’d been practicing it in front of a mirror. His crisp English accent didn’t help it seem natural, either.
“It’s good to see you again, Gavin.” I hoped my voice sounded more sincere to his ears than it did to my own.
He stared at me, suddenly leaning forward to kiss my left cheek, then the right. How Continental of him. How forced and awkward it felt to me. To be fair, any meeting with a close associate of Martin’s would be difficult, but this was especially hard. I’d never felt a hint of warmth from Gavin, and his pretending we were old friends made it seem as if he were following a script instead of his true feelings.
“I’m honored that you remember me, Lily.” His smooth baritone was suddenly intimate. “I never thought I made much of an impression on you, not with Martin around.”
Gavin’s words hung in the space between us, and I carefully extracted my hand from his grip. I didn’t want to talk about Martin, especially not with a man who worked for him. Even if that man was the one he called Robo-Rex. Martin was shameless in mocking both Gavin’s obsessive workaholism and his more obsequious qualities, even though Martin relied on him professionally. In that uncomfortable pause, something shifted in Gavin’s expression, and I knew he wasn’t pleased with my icy reaction. He went on, speaking swiftly as if aware that he might have made a misstep, doubling down on flattery. “You’re even lovelier than I remembered. I hope you don’t mind my saying so, Lily. I was surprised—very pleasantly surprised—to learn that you would be staying here.”
“You were surprised?” I didn’t even try to keep my disbelief out of my voice. “You’re hosting the press trip, aren’t you?”
“No, it’s the Mexican Tourism Board’s trip. Everything happened at the last minute. You were supposed to be at another hotel, one in the Diamante Zone, I believe, but they discovered bedbugs there.”
“Bedbugs?”
“Horrible, isn’t it? They only decided this morning to put you up here. I hope no one will mind that we’re basically closed for renovations. I must say, I was absolutely delighted when I saw your name on the list. It was a surprise to me, a wonderful surprise.”
It sounded plausible enough, but what he said didn’t add up. Pete Dukermann had told me he’d run into Skye the day before and she was already at the Hotel Cerón. When Pete mentioned calling “corporate HQ,” he’d clearly meant Pantheon Worldwide’s headquarters. No wonder Pete had asked if Martin and I had gotten back together—I was staying at a Pantheon hotel. The way Gavin kept repeating that he was surprised made it seem like a fact he wanted to convince me of. That made me suspicious, and for the first time, I wondered if Martin had deliberately lured me down to Mexico. Don’t be paranoid, I chided myself; Martin hasn’t bothered you in eight months, so why would he start now?
“I had no idea Pantheon owned the Hotel Cerón,” I said.
“It’s a recent acquisition. We’re going to upgrade the property before we start publicizing it.”
“I see.” That was the Pantheon way. The riot of color in my suite wouldn’t survive after the company made its mark on the hotel. Everything would be muted to shades of sand and beige. The only vivid colors would be those you saw through a window: a sunset stretching across the sky, or torchlight on the cliffs. “I’m sorry, Gavin, but I never would have agreed to be on this trip if I’d known I’d be staying at a Pantheon property. I’ll go upstairs to gather my things. If you could recommend another hotel where I can stay tonight, I’d appreciate it. Otherwise, I’ll find one online.”
“Lily, please. You simply can’t do that.”
“Just watch me.”
“What I mean is that it isn’t safe, Lily. You have no idea how dangerous it is here.” Gavin’s slate-blue eyes were serious. “I can’t, in good conscience, let you leave tonight. It’s after ten, and the locals won’t even drive on the roads at this time of night for fear of car-jackings and kidnappings. Thugs have literally killed people and piled up their decapitated bodies at Plaza Sendero at night.”
I knew that Acapulco had a seedy side, but my mind had been brimming with visions of Hollywood stars vacationing there, the glamour and luxury of it all. Apparently, those carefree images were hopelessly out of date. “Gavin, I can’t stay here. Isn’t there a hotel down the road?”
“There’s nothing nearby. Part of our charm is our very remoteness in such a densely populated destination. We have our own guards patrolling the grounds, so I can assure you you’re safe here, but it would be hazardous to leave. In the morning, you’ll be able to do wherever you like, and I’ll make sure the tourism people find you an excellent spot. I’m sorry about this situation, Lily. I’m very happy to see you, but I understand that this is less than thrilling for you.”
“I know it’s not your fault, Gavin.” I felt petty and small for taking out my frustration on him. “Just tell me one thing: is Martin here at the hotel?”
“No. Why would he be?” Gavin’s brow furrowed and smoothed itself out. “Ah, you think this is some trick of Martin’s to get you near him? I promise you, Lily, nothing could be further from the truth. He’s off on a jaunt to another continent, actually.”
“I heard he was in Burma.”
For the first time, I’d surprised Gavin. Like me, he knew that Martin’s schedule was a closely held secret. “How did you know…?”
“Skye McDermott mentioned it.”
He blinked twice. “Did she really?” There was a sharp edge beneath his deep, polished voice. “What else did Skye tell you?”
“She’s the reason I wanted to talk to you. I had a drink with her at the bar tonight, a little after eight. She left to make a phone call and never came back. She’s not in her room—or, at, least, she’s not answering the door.”
“I don’t see why that’s any cause for worry,” Gavin’s tone reverted to its familiar soothing blandness. The blade underneath that at flashed briefly was already sheathed.
“She mentioned that she’s been sick, and at one point, she burst out crying. I’ve known Skye for a long time, and that’s not like her.” I bit my lip. “I’m worried. Given what you said about how dangerous things are in Acapulco, maybe we should call the police?”
“Let’s sit down for a moment, Lily.” Gavin put his hand behind my elbow and guided me to one of the lobby’s pristine white sofas. His gray suit was neatly pressed, his pale blue shirt was uncreased, and his tie was knotted with Duke of Windsor–like precision. He’d undoubtedly been at work since early in the morning, but he looked as if he’d just gotten dressed. Just wind Gavin up and point him in any direction, and he’ll get the job done. I wish I could keep him in a box. I could hear Martin’s voice in my head, as clear as if he were in the lobby with us.
“I’ve been in Acapulco long enough to know that the local police are not people you want to deal with. They tend to be corrupt, and they look at travelers as cash machines
. They’re badly underpaid, and it’s not unusual for them to extort money from travelers who cross their path. The honest ones have their hands full dealing with the drug cartels.” Gavin’s accent gave his words sharp points that felt like thorns. “Acapulco might look like fun in the sun, but this city is a minefield.”
He reminded me of something my friend Jesse had told me while we were traveling in Peru in the spring. Jesse had been partially right: there were some elements of that country’s police force that were corrupt. Still, it was far from being the rule. “Skye could be in trouble.”
Gavin patted my hand. “You can’t file a missing persons report on a woman who went missing a few minutes ago. Especially someone as temperamental and flighty as Skye McDermott.”
“She can be dramatic, but I’ve known her for years, and I’ve traveled with her many times. She’s reliable, not flighty.”
His expression was cautious. “Well, you clearly have a better sense of her than I do. I only know Skye through her relationship with Martin, so perhaps I don’t have the most accurate impression.”
My ears took his words in, but my brain stopped processing them after Gavin said, I only know Skye through her relationship with Martin. Relationship?
Gavin read my expression perfectly. “You did know that they had dated, didn’t you?”
I cleared my throat. “No. That never came up.”
“I don’t know that it was ever serious, but they were going out, hmm, perhaps a year ago? I don’t know what’s happened since I relocated to Mexico to run Pantheon’s operations here. I used to be so closely tied to Martin’s orbit, but that’s not true anymore.”
“How exciting that you’re running things here.” My voice was calm, even though my pulse was racing. I got to my feet. “Thank you for having me stay here tonight. I’ll be leaving as early as I can in the morning.”
“There’s no rush, Lily. Keep in mind that time in Acapulco moves more slowly than it does in New York or even Spain.” He stood. “Let me walk you up to your room.”
Evil in All Its Disguises Page 3