“How did that happen?”
“What does the fire have to do with my son’s disappearance?”
“Maybe there’s a connection there. Tell me about it.”
She sat down again. This was so surreal, me talking to the mother of the man who had killed my Cristóbal.
“It was a windy afternoon. And so dry. It hadn’t rained in weeks. I’d gone to town to get rice and flour for my bread. Normally, my son would help me when I went to get provisions, but he’d said he had something important to do that afternoon. I assumed it had to do with work. When I saw the house in the distance, it was already in flames.
“It was surprisingly quiet and I wrongly assumed there was no one inside, so I just stood there, perplexed. I cried out for help, hoping some of the workers would hear me and come, but for a while nobody did.” Her eyes watered. “If only I hadn’t waited there like a ghost, things might have turned different. After a moment, I heard some coughing from inside, and Franco’s voice calling out for my husband. I remember standing there, wondering if I’d heard right. Why would Pedro be at home at that time of the day? He usually worked until six. And Franco had said he had something to do. When I was certain that it was Franco, I barged inside. There were flames all over the living room and the ceiling. I wrapped myself with the tablecloth and went upstairs, calling out Franco’s name.”
Soledad’s gaze was lost in a mysterious spot behind my head.
“I found Franco in the hallway. He was trying to put the fire out with a blanket. A beam had fallen and was blocking the way to my bedroom. I could see Pedro stuck underneath the beam. He was unconscious, probably dead already.” Her voice cracked. “Franco kept calling his father, but there was nothing to do. I told him we needed to get out before the flames caught us. And that was when another beam fell on top of us. Fortunately, some workers had come to our rescue and dragged us out. But there was nothing anyone could do for Pedro.” She dried the tears from her cheeks. “The workers told me later that he’d come home early because he’d been running a fever and said he was going to take a nap.” She set her hand on her collarbone, right on her scar. In a strange way, I felt sorry for Franco. I wondered if this tragedy shaped him into a harsh man capable of killing a stranger without a second thought. Or had he always been bad?
“Do you know what caused the fire?” I asked.
“Not for sure, but I think it had to do with Don Fernando.”
“Don Fernando del Río?”
“You know him?”
“I met him briefly at La Puri. I’m a friend of the Lafont family.”
“Well, Don Fernando wanted Pedro to do something for him.” She rested her palms on the table’s surface. There was a scar on one of her hands. “But it didn’t work out.”
“What did he want him to do?”
“Oh, I’ve said too much already. It has nothing to do with Franco anyway.”
I wasn’t so sure of this. I knew that Don Fernando had nothing to do with my father’s will. But in his mind, I could’ve been one more obstacle, one more person to fight over this blessed creek. Perhaps he’d sent a woman to seduce Franco since he couldn’t persuade him just with money?
No, it was too far-fetched. I was seeing conspiracies and murderers everywhere.
“Look, I will try to help you,” I said, “but you must tell me everything you know, even if you don’t see the connection. Tell me what Don Fernando wanted done.”
She shook her head. “He paid Pedro to move some fence over so he could have that stupid piece of land the patrón and Don Fernando were always fighting about. Pedro shouldn’t have done it. It cost him his life.”
“But if he did it, why would Don Fernando try to hurt him? How do you know it wasn’t your patrón who set the house on fire?”
I really hoped that my father wasn’t involved in this fire. The last thing I needed was to learn that he’d been a murderer.
“Pedro was caught and he confessed that Don Fernando had threatened and paid him to do it, so Don Armand forgave him and let him come home, but then he sued Don Fernando. Don Fernando was so angry with my Pedro for talking. I’m certain he had one of his men burn our house.”
Did this incident have something to do with Fernando’s argument with Martin in the afternoon? Maybe Angélica was suing him for the very same thing.
“Are you staying in town, Don Cristóbal?” Soledad said, removing me from my speculations.
There was no point in lying. She would find out where I was staying anyway.
“No. At La Puri.”
“Well, then you’re lucky,” she said. “You’re staying with a saint.”
“You mean Do?a Catalina?”
“Who else? She’s such a pure soul. Everybody in town knows she’s favored by the Virgin. Ask her to intercede on your behalf and you’ll see that with prayer and my remedy your soul will heal quickly.”
I sighed. If only prayer could fix my problems.
There was a barely audible knock on the door. Do?a Soledad rose. I grabbed the package of herbs and followed her to the front through a maze of boxes and chairs.
Nothing would’ve prepared me for the face on the other side of the threshold, the face of my sister Angélica.
CHAPTER 16