Alejandro thanked the steward and dismissed him. “We don’t have much time. Tell us why you called.” He took the chair on Ana’s right.
Gian Carlo looked highly amused. “Us? You two didn’t look like a couple last week.” He reached for one of the excellent German beers.
Ana raised a brow, forcing Alejandro to answer. He didn’t lie. “That was my mistake.”
Gian Carlo leaned back, crossed his ankles and looked out over the pool. “We ought to let women rule the world. Men just screw up everything. I wish my dad owned a cruise ship. This is a great place for a party.”
“Gian Carlo,” Ana urged, “couldn’t you have sent me a text?”
Chastened, he straightened up. “This is too important to trust to flying thumbs, and I wanted to talk to you before Jaime’s memorial service.”
Ana shot Alejandro a wary glance. “What memorial service?” she asked.
“Galen Salazar is having it at his home on Saturday afternoon. Didn’t he invite you?”
Ana rested her cool glass of lemonade against her cheek. “Galen and I aren’t on the best of terms.”
Gian Carlo finished the last bite of his sandwich and wiped his hands on a napkin. “I thought he really liked you.What happened?”
“I’d like to hear it too,” Alejandro added, curiosity lighting his gaze.
She told them. “He didn’t seem terribly disappointed when I wasn’t interested in working with him exclusively, or lengthening my stay on Mallorca, but maybe he thought it would be awkward to have me there with his wife.”
Alejandro moved forward in his chair. “Does this happen often?”
“With designers, no. With ad execs, and photographers, sometimes. I always say no, and it hasn’t hurt my career. Let’s not digress. What was it you wanted to talk to me about before the memorial?”
Gian Carlo took a swig of beer. “You know Robert Mapplethorpe?”
“Of course,” Ana answered, but she doubted Alejandro would have heard of him. “Mapplethorpe was an American photographer who did striking black-and-white photos, mainly of flowers and nudes. He died of AIDS in the late 1980s.”
“I’ve heard of him,” Alejandro replied. “Spain isn’t at the end of the world.”
Gian Carlo continued. “Jaime pointed out Mapplethorpe hasn’t been around in more than twenty years, and he thought there would still be a big market for black-and-white photos of male nudes. He offered a percentage of the profits if I’d be one of the models. I’ve got the body for it, but it didn’t feel right.”
“Could you be more specific?” Alejandro requested.
“I asked if a gallery had an interest in a show of male nudes, or if he had a publisher ready to print the book. He told me not to worry because there was plenty of money behind the project, and he’d take care of everything. Anytime someone tells you not to worry, you know you’re being screwed. I told him I’d think it over, but I wasn’t going to do it. Sometimes even good money isn’t worth earning.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Ana readily agreed. “Could Jaime have planned to channel the photos into the porn market? Did he ever mention bondage or S&M?”
Gian Carlo frowned slightly. “A couple of years ago, he told me a woman asked him to take some bondage photos to jazz up her sex life with her husband. He said he’d dress me in leather and have me wear a mask. There wasn’t any sex in it. It was just supposed to look like dominant and submissive poses. I told him I was too busy, but he probably found another man to do it.”
Alejandro rose to his feet. “Did he say where he planned to take the photos?”
“No. His studio I suppose. Should the police question me, I don’t want to tell them about either of the offers and give them the mistaken idea Jaime and I could have argued over them. I want to do all I can to avoid landing on their suspect list.”
“Good luck,” Ana offered. “Do you have an alibi for the day Jaime died?”
“I was with my sister and her family at my niece’s third birthday party. But is time of death ever exact? I liked Jaime and want whoever killed him caught, but I don’t want to land in the middle of it. You’re good with a camera, Ana. Are you going after the jobs Jaime had lined up but can no longer do?”
Horrified by the idea, she paled noticeably and had to force herself to take a deep breath. “I hadn’t even thought of it. If the police do question you, please don’t mention I even own a camera. I don’t want them to believe I had a motive for the murder.”
“I won’t tell them a thing, but they haven’t called me and probably won’t. From what I’ve heard, they’re questioning the young women he photographed, not any of the men.”
“At least they haven’t leaked any bogus photos of you to the tabloids,” Alejandro added. “Come on, I’ll show you the way back to your car.”
“I can find it. I have a clever rat’s instinct for mazes,” he announced with a grin.