‘That you did. That you did.’ Cindy smiled again and pushed the plate away. She’d finished the meal and was leaning back now, enjoying what was left of her drink. ‘But you didn’t say why you were travelling to Texas. And that’s what makes me think you’re in trouble.’

If Sofia had a guardian angel, he whispered into her ear at this point.

‘I’m not in trouble,’ she said in a flash of improvisation. ‘My sister is in trouble.’

She received a nod in acknowledgment for that. ‘I see, and just what sort of trouble is your sister in, down in Texas?’

‘Meth,’ she replied. ‘To begin with, anyway. Then she had to pay for the drugs.’

French regarded her with a blank face, as though she had yet to make up her mind about the story. ‘And how is she paying for it? A Mexican girl, down in Texas.’

Sofia wasn’t sure just how far to push the story. She hesitated to say anything. The woman seemed to take her reticence as a form of distress. Her face softened, becoming almost motherly.

‘Is she working in one of the government brothels down there, hon?’

Sofia hadn’t thought of that. Her imagination didn’t run to such things, but it sounded like a good story. She nodded uncertainly, her eyes darting around the dining room as if she was concerned someone might overhear.

‘And so, do you mind me asking, young lady . . . I don’t even know your name, by the way.’

‘My name is Sofia,’ she answered, instantly regretting it. She should’ve used a false name . . . If the police put out a bulletin, it could be picked up by the radio stations and then everybody would be looking for the little runaway Mexican girl called Sofia.

Damn. The mistakes just kept piling up.

‘Thank you, Sofia. Now, if you don’t mind me asking, why are you looking for your sister? You said you came here with your family. Surely it doesn’t fall to you to bring her home.’

She really did have to lie this time. But as she was learning, it was always easier to wrap a lie around a kernel of truth. ‘I am all she has left,’ she said. ‘Our father . . . died recently.’

She felt awful. It must surely have been a mortal sin to invoke her father’s name in such a fashion. And yet, she was doing this to avenge him, and all of the family. So no, she thought, rallying silently, she was not doing the wrong thing by using Papa’s memory in such a fashion. She was doing what needed to be done.