Angélica nodded absently.
“I never understood what happened between you two.” Catalina stood up straight, resting her hand on her lower back. “You used to be such good friends. And then one day, she stopped coming, she got married and left. Just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “Without even saying goodbye.”
“Can I take this off now?” Angélica reached for the button at the nape of her neck.
“Wait, wait.” Catalina stood behind her and undid the zipper.
Who was this Silvia person? But more importantly, why had Angélica reacted so awkwardly upon hearing that this woman was back in town? Could she be the same elusive woman I was looking for?
Catalina raised her head and spotted me through the window. “Don Cristóbal! I didn’t know you were there.”
Angélica rushed behind an Art Nouveau folding screen.
“I apologize.” I stood by the threshold. “I was just admiring your talent. You have a great eye for design and construction.” I couldn’t help but think of my mother. She was the one who’d taught me the basics of sewing. She’d also been an excellent knitter.
“Catalina is a superb seamstress,” Angélica said behind the screen.
Angélica reappeared in the room, wrapping a black silk robe around her slim frame. “I’m so lucky to have my own seamstress here at home.” She smiled at her sister. “Catalina sews all my clothes.”
“You’re a box of surprises, Do?a Catalina,” I said.
She smiled at me shyly. There was some yelling coming from the kitchen.
“I need to speak to him!” a woman said.
“I told you he’s not here!” Julia said.
I immediately recognized the voice.
“Don Cristóbal, I need to speak to you,” Soledad Duarte said as soon as she saw me. Had she figured out my sinister connection to her son?
My sisters turned to me with curiosity.
“I’m desperate!” the curandera said. “I don’t know what to do.”
I held her arm. “Do?a Soledad, let’s go to the parlor.”
“I apologize for this intrusion, Don Cristóbal, I tried to stop her,” Julia said.
“It’s fine.” I was already pulling the woman into the living room.
“Wait!” Angélica said. “What is this all about? You can’t barge into our house like this, Soledad. I demand to know what’s happening.”
“It’s my son, Do?a Angélica. Franco is still missing and it’s been a month already.”
I glanced at Catalina, whose cheeks turned slightly pink, but she didn’t utter a word.
“Franco? What does he have to do with this gentleman?” Angélica said. She seemed so oblivious to Franco’s connection to me that for the first time I questioned if she had anything to do with Cristóbal’s murder.
Either that, or she was an excellent actress.
“This gentleman promised to help me find him.”
I scratched my forehead. I’d forgotten all about Soledad’s request. Not that I was seriously considering contacting the police about a missing man. If anything, I would accuse him of killing my husband.
“I said I would help her, but I’m no detective,” I told my sisters. “I offered to talk to the police since Do?a Soledad said they won’t listen to her.”
“I just didn’t know who else to turn to”—Soledad looked at Angélica—“since you didn’t want to help.”
Angélica didn’t want to help?
“It’s not that I didn’t want to help, Soledad, don’t be stupid. But I told you, Franco is a grown man. I don’t see what is so strange about a man leaving this place to find new opportunities. I’m sure he’ll be back.”
“He didn’t move away, Do?a Angélica. He left all his things, and besides, he said he would be back right away.”
“Soledad, don’t be so innocent, men are like that. They don’t need a lot of things to start over somewhere else. I’m sure he found something or someone interesting wherever he went that is keeping him away.”
I had a strange reaction to Angélica’s words. I used to make the same assumptions about men. In a lot of ways, I still did. But the more I impersonated Cristóbal, the more it affected my psyche. I almost took offense at Angélica’s comment; the way she trivialized men and bundled them all together as if they were one entity. Living as a man was having strange effects on me. For one, it was forcing me to see them as individuals. Cristóbal and Martin, for example, were different in so many ways I could no longer subscribe to the “all men are the same” mentality.
Catalina removed the measuring tape from her neck, her eyes on the floor, and she turned toward the sewing room. I wanted to follow her in, but what would I say? I spoke before she entered the room.
“You’re right, Do?a Soledad. I made you a promise that I didn’t fulfill. Let’s go right now to the police station and report Franco’s disappearance.”
“You don’t have to do such a thing, Don Cristóbal,” Angélica said. “I can’t believe you’ve been bothering our guest with your problems, Soledad. I’ll take you myself.” She turned to the maid. “Julia, have her wait for me in the kitchen while I change.” With her hands in her pockets, Angélica headed for the stairs while Julia escorted Soledad to the kitchen.
This was my opportunity to talk to Catalina about Franco. I went into the sewing room.
“Are you all right, Do?a Catalina?”
She was now sitting behind her sewing machine.
“You look pale,” I said.
“I’m fine.” She rested her hands on the fabric she was about to sew. “That just took me by surprise, that’s all.”
“Why? Did you know Soledad’s son?”
She averted her gaze. “Of course, his father worked here for years. They lived by the creek.”
“Was he . . .” I dragged a chair in front of her and sat down. “Is he a friend of yours?”
“He used to be.”
“And what happened?” I was having palpitations, sweaty hands. Was Catalina the woman Franco had been in love with? The woman who’d asked him that perverse favor?
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I think I know what this is about,” I said, taking a gamble.
Her eyes widened.
“He was an admirer of yours, wasn’t he? I wouldn’t be surprised.”