“Don’t let what happened spoil Vallarta for you.”
[CHAPTER FOUR]
“I think you will want to take a cab,” the woman at the front desk told her after looking at the address written on Gary’s card. “It is a ways from here, and up the hill.”
“But close enough to walk?”
“If you like walking.”
Between last night’s drinks and the margarita she’d just had at lunch, she could use the walk. “I do.”
“Maybe two miles.”
I could take some pictures, she thought. Like she’d set out to do yesterday, before Daniel’s phone rang.
She went back to her room, grabbed the Che bag with Daniel’s clothes, retrieved her Olympus E-3 from the hotel safe, and set off, heading south from the hotel, up a road that curved around the hill.
The heat made it hard to keep walking. It felt like being smothered in a steaming-hot blanket. Sweat dripped into her eyes, smeared her sunglasses when she pushed them onto her head. And trying to take pictures while juggling her purse and the Chebag was awkward. The camera, which usually fit so comfortably in her hand, slipped in her grip.
Nothing was going to go right today.
She tried. Shot a few images. Nothing very interesting. Wrought iron and bougainvillea. Superhero piñatas. She’d seen these photos before, she was certain, and seen them better executed.
Michelle put the camera back in its bag and slung it over her shoulder.
The road ahead was cobblestoned, the banks lining it tangled with browning vegetation that would not green until after the summer rains, with plastic bags and food wrappers caught up in the branches. A lot of the houses looked expensive. New construction clung tenuously to the hillside, as though the flesh of the land had wasted away, leaving skeletal frames stacked unsteadily on top of one another, foundations undermined before they’d even been laid. With enough rain saturating the hill, she could just see one of these buildings giving up, letting go, the cheap rebar popping out of the ground like a rotten tooth.
Halfway up the hill was a little street that branched off the main road at an impossibly steep angle. She followed it, per Gary’s directions. The street led to a cluster of small, multistory buildings—apartments or condominiums.
The one on the right, Gary’s note said, light brown with a dark roof.
She looked. She thought the description fit, but blue tarps covered most of the roof, and there was other evidence of ongoing construction or repairs: a small cement mixer and a pile of gravel, a dug-up walkway, a boarded window. No workers. The place looked abandoned.
Daniel’s unit was the one on the upper right, according to Gary’s note. The tarps extended halfway across what would have been his roof.
Michelle stood there for a moment. She was absurdly sweaty, drenched; her blouse was actually wet, her hair separated intosalty tendrils. Really, she wasn’t in any condition to see Daniel if he was there.
Did she want to see him? She wasn’t sure.
Stupid, she told herself. You need your phone. You’ve come all this way. Say hello, how are you, and good-bye.
She shifted the tote bag on her shoulder and approached the building.
An external staircase with a wrought-iron banister led up to Daniel’s unit, crossing the side of the building and leading to a balcony facing the ocean, wide enough to accommodate two chairs and a small glass table.
When she reached the balcony, she could see only a sliver of water above the roof of the building below. Still a nice view, she supposed.
There was no name on the door, no number, no mailbox. She’d have to take Gary’s word that this was the right unit. If it wasn’t … well, this was a small building. Someone would have to know where Daniel lived.
If no one answers, she thought, I’ll leave the bag by the door with a note. Take his phone back to the hotel, and he can pick it up there.
Heart pounding, she knocked on the door.
Which swung open. About six inches before
[CHAPTER FOUR]
“I think you will want to take a cab,” the woman at the front desk told her after looking at the address written on Gary’s card. “It is a ways from here, and up the hill.”
“But close enough to walk?”
“If you like walking.”
Between last night’s drinks and the margarita she’d just had at lunch, she could use the walk. “I do.”
“Maybe two miles.”
I could take some pictures, she thought. Like she’d set out to do yesterday, before Daniel’s phone rang.
She went back to her room, grabbed the Che bag with Daniel’s clothes, retrieved her Olympus E-3 from the hotel safe, and set off, heading south from the hotel, up a road that curved around the hill.
The heat made it hard to keep walking. It felt like being smothered in a steaming-hot blanket. Sweat dripped into her eyes, smeared her sunglasses when she pushed them onto her head. And trying to take pictures while juggling her purse and the Chebag was awkward. The camera, which usually fit so comfortably in her hand, slipped in her grip.
Nothing was going to go right today.
She tried. Shot a few images. Nothing very interesting. Wrought iron and bougainvillea. Superhero piñatas. She’d seen these photos before, she was certain, and seen them better executed.
Michelle put the camera back in its bag and slung it over her shoulder.
The road ahead was cobblestoned, the banks lining it tangled with browning vegetation that would not green until after the summer rains, with plastic bags and food wrappers caught up in the branches. A lot of the houses looked expensive. New construction clung tenuously to the hillside, as though the flesh of the land had wasted away, leaving skeletal frames stacked unsteadily on top of one another, foundations undermined before they’d even been laid. With enough rain saturating the hill, she could just see one of these buildings giving up, letting go, the cheap rebar popping out of the ground like a rotten tooth.
Halfway up the hill was a little street that branched off the main road at an impossibly steep angle. She followed it, per Gary’s directions. The street led to a cluster of small, multistory buildings—apartments or condominiums.
The one on the right, Gary’s note said, light brown with a dark roof.
She looked. She thought the description fit, but blue tarps covered most of the roof, and there was other evidence of ongoing construction or repairs: a small cement mixer and a pile of gravel, a dug-up walkway, a boarded window. No workers. The place looked abandoned.
Daniel’s unit was the one on the upper right, according to Gary’s note. The tarps extended halfway across what would have been his roof.
Michelle stood there for a moment. She was absurdly sweaty, drenched; her blouse was actually wet, her hair separated intosalty tendrils. Really, she wasn’t in any condition to see Daniel if he was there.
Did she want to see him? She wasn’t sure.
Stupid, she told herself. You need your phone. You’ve come all this way. Say hello, how are you, and good-bye.
She shifted the tote bag on her shoulder and approached the building.
An external staircase with a wrought-iron banister led up to Daniel’s unit, crossing the side of the building and leading to a balcony facing the ocean, wide enough to accommodate two chairs and a small glass table.
When she reached the balcony, she could see only a sliver of water above the roof of the building below. Still a nice view, she supposed.
There was no name on the door, no number, no mailbox. She’d have to take Gary’s word that this was the right unit. If it wasn’t … well, this was a small building. Someone would have to know where Daniel lived.
If no one answers, she thought, I’ll leave the bag by the door with a note. Take his phone back to the hotel, and he can pick it up there.
Heart pounding, she knocked on the door.
Which swung open. About six inches before
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