“You could say that.”

“That sounds about right.”

“What does that mean?”

“Have a good think before you decide to continue, that’s all I’m saying.”

She opened her mouth to say something, then decided against it.

“Okay, then.” He grinned and said in his best Hollywood Western accent, “Now git along, little doggie.”

As she climbed over him, he added sternly, “This never happened.”

She stood on the pavement and glanced back at him. “What never happened?” She gave him a complicit smile, still digesting everything he had told her. She caught a crescent of his face in half-light, before the door slammed shut and the car, nosing out into the silent and deserted street, continued its mysterious journey through the city.

Her mind still buzzing, she crossed the pavement, went up the stairs to her building. Behind her, the eastern sky had turned the color of an oyster shell.

Chapter 13

13

St. Vincent came for Orteño at eleven a.m. and transported him back to the Bethesda Institute of Mary Immaculate. Once again, Sister Margaret met them in reception and led them down the various corridors to the conservatory.

Lucy was sitting in the same chair but she was no longer playing cards. She held an iPod and was apparently listening to music through a pair of earbuds. As before, St. Vincent took up position by the door and Sister Margaret retreated back down the corridor. Neither of them had said a word to Orteño; it was clear to him that she did not approve of taking his niece off the meds prescribed for her by the in-house psychiatrist.

Flix sat down opposite Lucy, waited until she pulled out the earbuds, and then, smiling, he held out a small box wrapped in gaily colored paper. “I brought you a present, Lucy.”

She studied him as if he were a postmodern painting, trying to make sense of the scrawls and loops. Wordlessly, she took the box, unwrapped it with steady hands, and peered inside. She took out a necklace that held a cameo.

“That comes from Marilena, your mother,” Flix said hopefully. “It was given to her by your great-grandmother in San Luis Potosí, just before Mama Novia died.” He pasted a smile on his face. “You know, San Luis Potosí, where Mama Novia comes from, where she returned to die, was a very important city, Lucy. It was the capital of Mexico, not once, but twice in its history.”

Lucy said nothing, stared fixedly at the cameo in the palm of her hand.