“Have you thought about what you’ll do with the estate?” Lucas asked.
“I haven’t decided yet, but I’m interested in the notion of converting it into a tourist attraction. A dignified one. That way we could keep all the employees. Herminia and Damián could stay where they are, and apparently they’re not averse to the idea. In any case I won’t do anything too radical. When you think of it, Samuel’s the marquis now, and perhaps someday he’d like to live there. It’s the family seat, after all.”
“And how about you? Did you ever think about moving in?”
“No.” He smiled. “It wasn’t álvaro’s home; I don’t think he ever felt comfortable at As Grileiras except in the garden, and neither do I. I need something much quieter and smaller, a place where I can shut myself away to finish my novel. Nogueira told me there’s a cottage for sale in his neighborhood. Maybe I’ll drop by to take a look.”
“Hold on, just a minute. Let’s not change the subject. You said you’re finishing your novel?”
Manuel smiled, a bit astonished by his own words. “Yes, in fact, I’m finishing it. Whenever I heard stories about writers producing novels in just a few weeks, I always assumed those were fairy tales. You know, PR nonsense writers made up to embellish their reputations. But it does happen. It’s been”—he searched for the exact expression and found it—“like bleeding myself dry.” He considered the heavy implications of that expression.
He sat there brooding in silence. Lucas detected his melancholy and returned to the earlier topic of conversation. “Going to see a house! So, then, you’re thinking seriously about staying in the area.”
“I don’t know if it’ll be permanent, but with every passing day I understand better why álvaro was attached to this place, and right now this is where I want to be.” He raised his wineglass and caught a reddish reflection of his own face.
The vineyards now held no sign of the dark grapes with frosted skins that had hung there only a month earlier. The proud expanse of leaves that had sheltered them had now turned a deep red, a color close to that of the wine, and in the soft breezes they produced the visual impression that the entire Ribeira Sacra was blazing with an internal fire risen from the earth through dark twisting grapevines now in their last gasp of glory. Until the next harvest.
Daniel came up to them carrying a bottle with the distinctive white label and the sweep of metallic script lettering of the single word upon it: Heroica, inscribed in álvaro’s proud and valiant script. They held up their glasses to be refilled with the festive red wine. Without moving from the warm mura, they turned and saw Nogueira arriving with his wife and daughters. They’d stopped at the entrance to the winery to chat with the men who were beginning to place the meat on the grill. Café caught sight of little Antía, scurried out from his resting place between his owner’s legs, and raced to meet her. The girl received him with a joyful shriek. Xulia waved in greeting from the parking area. From where they sat they saw that Nogueira and Laura were holding hands.
“It looks as if they finally had that conversation,” Lucas said with satisfaction. He raised his glass.
“It does,” Manuel replied. He glanced in their direction and clinked his glass against Lucas’s. “I’ll bet they have.”
When Nogueira arrived he carried a wineglass Daniel had made sure to fill on the lieutenant’s way to them. He settled beside them and from the inside pocket of his hunting jacket, he took out a small package neatly wrapped in colored paper and topped with a bow. In that by now familiar style of misdirection he ignored the men’s intrigued glances and motioned toward the boat moored below and rocking on the surface of the river. “You’re going to have to lend it to me more often. I’ve discovered that river cruises put my wife into a very romantic mood.”
“Whenever you like,” Manuel replied with a grin. He pointed to the package. “And now are you going to tell us what you have there, or do we just have to die of curiosity?”
Nogueira held out the package. Manuel peeled off the tape and began to remove the wrapping paper.
“It’s something that really fucking bothered me,” Nogueira commented, enjoying the puzzled expression of the two other men. “I’m goddamned annoyed to have to acknowledge that you were right, even if only partly right.”
Manuel had finished unwrapping the present and now held in his palm a square carton about the size of a fist. He opened it and found the portable GPS that had been missing from álvaro’s car.
“I turned headquarters upside down and got everyone to search for it. And like I said, you were partly right: someone had carried it off.”
Manuel raised his eyebrows.
“But not a policeman,” Nogueira added quickly. “One of the tow-truck drivers, an apprentice who’d been on the job barely two weeks. They fired him for stealing.”
Manuel smiled. “Thanks.”
“But I was right when I said no policeman took it,” he added quickly. “I already told you that we police officers aren’t thieves!”
The three broke into laughter. Daniel called out from the grassy terrace and summoned them to eat.
Manuel started to get up, but Nogueira detained him. “Just a minute. I’ve had it charging all night so you could turn it on. Like I said, this gadget can tell us where álvaro was going when his car ran off the road.”
Manuel looked down at the screen. The dark brooding feelings from which he’d managed to struggle free over the past month stirred again. He felt them squeeze his heart. “I don’t know if . . .”
“Do it,” the lieutenant insisted.
Manuel pressed the button to turn the apparatus on. It lit up immediately and displayed icons for its various functions. With a fingertip he tapped the square containing the history of recent routes. The screen lit up with a map. It was labeled Home.
Manuel’s eyes filled with tears. He felt both his shoulders gripped and knew those were Lucas’s hands.
He heard Nogueira’s voice. “He was going home, Manuel. He was going back to you. When álvaro knew he was dying, he didn’t think of any other place in the world. He was going back to you.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’m grateful for the collaboration of all those who made their talents and knowledge available to me to help this story that has lived in my mind for years to materialize into the tangible reality we now have in our hands. Any errors or omissions, and there may be many, are entirely my responsibility.
To Elena Jiménez Forcada, veterinarian in Cintruénigo, Navarra, for her guidance on veterinary matters concerning the dogs and horses that appear in this novel.
To Jean Larser, because the phone calls that fill one with energy and the courage to go on almost always have a good friend on the other end of the line. Thank you.
To J. Miguel Jiménez Arcos of Tudela for his professional guidance concerning the effects of a certain drug. We’ll leave it at that and let the others speculate! ;-) To the Guardia Civil and especially to the officers and troopers of the headquarters in O Carballi?o in Ourense, and especially to Corporal Javier Rodríguez for his indispensable assistance.
To the municipality of Rodeiro in Pontevedra that has been welcoming me and my family for lengthy stays over the years.
To the Vía Romana wineries of Ribeira Sacra for serving as my inspiration for the Heroica winery.
To the Center for Wines of the Ribeira Sacra in Monforte de Lemos, Lugo, for teaching me about the proud tradition of producing wine as it has been done for two thousand years, and to the guides of the tour boats of Belesar for making me fall in love with the winding course of the Mi?o and its seven submerged villages.
To Michael Meigs, Kelli Martin, and Gabriella Page-Fort for their passion, attention to detail, and professionalism in making the novel available to English readers everywhere.