Alberto renewed his nervous pacing.
I leaned back. “Mayra said you offered to take her away with the money from your inheritance.”
He stopped in front of the cross to straighten it, but perhaps he was asking for guidance. He faced it for a moment while I studied the back of his head, the tense muscles supporting his neck, the disheveled hair behind his ears.
“You know I don’t count on that money anymore.”
“Yes. It was very noble of you to renounce your portion.”
I couldn’t read anything in his expression. He fixed his eyes on mine.
“Can I trust that you will keep silent about . . . about the incident with Mayra?”
An incident. For him, that was all it was, whereas for Mayra it had meant her entire life changed forever.
Instead of answering his question, I wanted to confront him, to corner him into confessing if he’d been the one to hire Franco to kill me. But I didn’t know how to do that without making myself vulnerable.
What if the things he told Mayra were true? What if he had a plan to make enough money for the two of them to leave Vinces for good and start over where no one knew them? If he found out about the baby after renouncing his inheritance, he couldn’t just take it back without making his sisters suspicious. But if this stranger coming to claim his father’s money died and her portion was divided among the three remaining siblings, he could take the money and say it was for a charity or any other noble cause. He could leave then with Mayra, say he was going to another parish. Had he done that? Was he capable of not only breaking his vow of celibacy and lying to the community but also committing the major sin of murdering his older sister?
“I have no interest in exposing you,” I said finally. “I just wanted to know if the things Mayra told me were true. What you do about the incident with her is entirely up to you and your conscience.”
With that, I walked out, more confused than ever.
CHAPTER 32
The next day, I awoke to a medley of angry voices downstairs.
I tightened the corset around my sore breasts and donned my husband’s clothes as quickly as possible. Fighting my nerves, I stepped out of the room.
Calm down, Puri.
My encounters with Martin and Alberto had made me vulnerable. I’d cornered Alberto with my knowledge of his secret. Martin had discovered my farce. At any given time, someone might confront me and expose me in front of the entire family. And where would that lead? They might call the police, attack me, and if that happened before I found out the truth, all my efforts would’ve been in vain. My apprehension might not be rational, but emotions generally weren’t.
The yelling grew louder as I descended the staircase. Most of the family was gathered in the parlor, including the neighbor.
Don Fernando del Río was screaming at Angélica. Martin planted himself between my sister and Del Río as if he were Angélica’s husband. Incidentally, Laurent was there too, sitting by the harp, witnessing the scene as someone who watches a play by Lope de Vega.
What were they arguing about? I couldn’t tell. I assumed it had to do with the lawsuit and the elusive borders that had created so much conflict between the neighboring landowners already.
Between obscenities and insults to the mothers of everyone in the room Don Fernando del Río accused Martin of stealing a new client from him “under Angélica’s orders, for sure.” Apparently, Del Río had extended an invitation to a German acquaintance of his, a man he called Mr. Meier, to his ranch. The man, who happened to be a cacao buyer, was a potential client for a profitable business. It was practically a done deal until the irrepressible Don Martin met the German at a bar in Vinces and persuaded him, conquered him, bewitched him with the cacao from La Puri by offering him the beans at a ridiculously low price with the sole purpose of “ruining” Del Río.
“You don’t care about the money,” Fernando said. “All you people want is to destroy me. You and that vile, no-good father of yours!” His long finger pointed at Angélica.
On a primitive, guttural level, his insults irritated me. It was true that I hadn’t seen my father in decades, but I felt a certain loyalty toward him. Who did this man think he was to come here, to the house of a deceased man who couldn’t defend himself, and insult his daughter?
“I didn’t try to steal the client from you. He just happened to like our product better,” Martin said. “It’s not my fault that I’m such a good negotiator and you’re not.”
Honestly, Martin, do you have to gloat? He could at least try to placate the man to keep the peace.
The neighbor clashed against Martin and tackled him to the floor. Before long, they were rolling on the rug, hitting legs of tables and chairs and making ornaments tumble and fall. Leaning over Martin’s chest, a disheveled Fernando started to choke him.
Images of Franco and Cristóbal fighting on the deck came to mind. I couldn’t allow another tragedy. If Laurent and Angélica were not going to do anything other than scream, then I would. I jumped on Del Río, wrapping my arm around his neck. He turned to me, looking more confused than angry.
“Who the hell are you?”
He stood up, with me on top of him. He was a giant and I a snail holding on to his shoulders trying not to fall. I was taller than most people here, but Del Río towered over me. He dropped me on the ground and punched my face so hard and fast I couldn’t even react.
His fist felt like a brick. Had he broken my jaw?
So now I knew what it felt like to be in a man fight. I guess I can add this to my list of experiences I never want to repeat.
Luckily and shockingly, my glasses were still in place, and apparently intact. But Del Río wasn’t done. I shut my eyes when I saw his fist coming at me again, but something stopped it. I heard a groan and a thump and when I opened my eyes, Del Río was on the ground and Martin over him.
“Stop it!” Angélica said.