Hungry Ghosts at Sunset

Maria sat at the edge of the infinity **pool**, legs submerged in water that shimmered like liquid glass. The resort was mostly empty—mid-September in Costa Rica brought the heavy rains, the kind that washed away tourists but left the heat intact. She wore her husband's **hat**, a wide-brimmed straw thing that smelled of his hair gel and the cigarettes he'd promised to quit. It was too large for her, slipping down over her eyes whenever she tilted her head.

The **papaya** on her plate glistened with dew. She'd ordered it because David had loved it—had insisted they come here three years ago, when his embezzlement scheme was still making money and she was still his willing accomplice. Now she sat alone, waiting for the private investigator she'd hired, wondering if her stomach hurt from anxiety or from the fruit's strange musk.

"Mrs. Chen?"

She didn't turn. The voice belonged to a man, but not the investigator.

"He's not coming back," the man said. "The police found him in Panama. He'd changed his name, opened a casino. He wasn't planning to meet you here."

Maria's fingers clenched around the **hat**'s brim. "Who are you?"

"Your husband's partner. In the casino. He sent me to... handle things."

Above them, a **palm** frond rustled in the wind, shedding water like tears.

"Handle what?"

"The money. The evidence. You." He sighed, sounding tired rather than threatening. "Look, I know about the offshore accounts. I know you have the passwords. David's afraid you'll talk."

Maria finally turned. The man was older, wearing a cheap suit that had seen better days. He looked like someone who'd made too many compromises.

"I already talked," she said. "To the FBI. Two weeks ago."

The man went still. Around them, the **pool**'s surface remained mirror-smooth, reflecting a sky that had turned bruised purple with sunset.

"You're lying," he said.

"I'm pregnant," Maria said, which was also a lie. "I needed immunity for the baby."

The man closed his eyes. When he opened them, he didn't look angry—just defeated. "David always said you were the smart one."

He walked away without another word.

Maria finished her **papaya**. It was sweet and faintly fermented, like something left too long in the sun. She pulled the **hat** lower over her face and ordered another drink from the waiter who materialized silently at her elbow. The **palm** trees swayed against a sky bleeding into darkness, and for the first time in three years, Maria could breathe.