*
In the morning, I joined the family for breakfast. I hadn’t seen Laurent since Bingo Night. I tried not to stare while he cut his cantaloupe, but I was drawn to him. He wasn’t feminine; just sophisticated. The details from the other night were fuzzy and I couldn’t recall what I’d heard in that room and what I’d imagined.
He wasn’t too attentive to Angélica, but there was a kinship between them. She always anticipated his desires—she would hand him the tray of bread without asking and added more juice to his glass. Laurent finished her sentences without lifting his gaze from the weekly news and patiently corrected her pronunciation when she said “croissants” or “confiture” as if this were his daily duty.
Although Angélica seemed less tense around me now, she wasn’t as relaxed as she’d been with her guests on Bingo Night. Catalina, on the other hand, had warmed up to me and wanted to make sure I was satisfied with the meal and had slept well.
I assured her I had a splendid night. After the swim, I’d rested like I hadn’t in weeks.
“Don Cristóbal,” Angélica said, addressing me for the first time since I sat down. “Have you received any news about María Purificación’s death certificate yet?” She absently fed Ramona breadcrumbs, which the bird didn’t seem to appreciate as much as the cacao beans. “It’s been a week already.”
“No, I’m sorry to say.” I wiped my mouth. “I hope I’m not inconveniencing you. I’d be happy to make arrangements elsewhere.”
Even if I was making progress with my investigation, I didn’t want to be in a place where they didn’t want me. My pride wouldn’t let me.
Catalina placed her hand on mine. “Of course you’re not an inconvenience, Don Cristóbal. Angélica and I are pleased to have you here. It’s the least we can do for our sister.”
Catalina caressed my hand with her thumb—for too long, it seemed—and then smiled. How different my two sisters were. I couldn’t imagine Catalina, with that sweet demeanor and kindness, plotting against me. Even if Franco was her “best friend,” according to the notebook now hidden under my mattress. Then again, my mother used to say that we had to fear more those who came shrouded in sheep’s skin.
“Catalina is right, Don Cristóbal. You may stay as long as you need to.” Angélica set her napkin on the table. “Would you excuse us? We must practice our number for the festivities. Vinces’s foundation is coming up.”
I stood up. “Of course.”
As my sisters left the room, Ramona flew behind Angélica. Once the muffled sounds of the violin and the harp began, I sat and turned to Angélica’s husband.
“What brought you to these lands, Laurent?”
“Adventure.” He took a bite of his baguette. One of his slick locks fell across his forehead. “A friend of mine mentioned there was a significant French community here so I thought, why not? If I don’t travel while I’m young, then when? Besides, I was tired of those long European winters. It turned out to be the best decision I could ever make because I avoided that awful war. Mon Dieu, what a disaster that was.”
“Do you plan to go back to Europe one day?”
He set the bread on his plate, then crossed his arms on the table. “Do you?”
I looked out the window. Cacao pods hung from a nearby tree branch. There were so many of them they seemed to multiply like bees in a hive.
“Of course,” I said. “I’m not cut out for the country.”
Nothing was further from the truth. I’d enjoyed my fishing expedition with Martin more than I could’ve ever imagined and those walks in the forest in the early morning were invigorating. Last night at the creek had been like adding crème chantilly to a chocolate mousse. No, I didn’t see myself leaving any time soon.
“I don’t blame you,” he said. “It has taken me a while to get used to this place.” He leaned over, lowering his voice. “People here can be so provincial. Cacao has given them more money than they know what to do with, but you can’t buy refinement or class. They all smell of new money. Fortunately, there are many compatriots of mine, but other than them, I can count on one hand the number of people that are worth having a conversation with around here.”
“I certainly hope Do?a Angélica is one of them.”
He smirked, but other than that, his expression was unreadable. He was about to say something else, but instead, he squinted through the window.
“What is she doing here?” Laurent said, almost to himself.
I followed his gaze toward a woman walking by. She wore a beige skirt that nearly touched the ground and a high-collared white shirt. I couldn’t make out her face from afar, but I recognized her unruly waves loosely held in a high bun.
“Do you know her?”
“Oui,” he said, “it’s Aquilino’s maid. God knows what her name is.”
“Mayra,” I said automatically.
He seemed to lose interest. “Something like that. I think she’s Julia’s cousin.”
They were cousins? I had no idea.
He took a last sip of coffee and set the cup down. “Would you like to take a walk by the river, Don Cristóbal?”
I wouldn’t mind getting to know Laurent better to see if he had any connection with Franco, but I could do that any other day, whereas I might not get another opportunity to find out what Mayra was doing here and why she was crying the other day—anything that had to do with my father’s attorney was of interest to me. As the first person to know of my traveling arrangements, Aquilino was still under suspicion. Perhaps Mayra had seen someone or something relevant at the lawyer’s house and could provide valuable information.
“Maybe another day, Laurent. I think I’m going to have another coffee.”