The room inside was lit, to my surprise, by two small skylights. One shaft of light slanted down onto the center of the floor and the other landed on the left-hand wall. Polished brass plaques lined the left and right walls above two simple stone benches, one on each side.

She grabbed the basket and walked inside. I took a step behind her but stopped in the open doorway. She placed the basket on the bench and sat down beside it as she lifted the veil and removed her sunglasses. "Aren't you going to come in?"

Now was my chance to press the issue. "You were going to tell me about this," I said, tapping the brass end cap of the cane on the stone floor.

"Why don't you ask them?" she said, pointing to the plaques on the opposite wall.

'Them?' I thought as I stepped inside. The air inside was cool. 'Them.' I turned my back to her and looked at them. The second square of sunlight perfectly framed and highlighted one of the brass plaques, making the others hard to see. The plaque was two feet wide and a foot and half tall. The only thing on it was a name and year of birth and death, Graciela L. Cruz 1889-1977.

"Graciela Cruz, was she your-, is she the one you spoke about?" I asked, turning to look at her.

She had already placed two wine glasses on the bench next to the basket. "Yes, she bought the church. What do want to start with, red or white?"

"I don't care," I said annoyed at her coyness. I bit my tongue and checked my response before I continued. "White, please."

"White it is. I thought we'd start with caviar and cream cheese."

"Hmm," I murmured. "Was this cane hers?"

"No, it belonged to Louis."

"Who?"

"Louis, on this side," she said, pointing to the darker wall behind her.

It took several seconds for my eyes to adjust from the shiny sunlit brass of the other side. Six plaques were set in two rows of three. Names and dates showed on all the plaques. The one she pointed to was in the middle of the bottom row, Louis Lucas de Nehon 1657-1723.

I looked at it for several seconds, reading the date over and over. I gripped the cane next to my right leg and did the math, over two hundred and fifty years old. I thought the cane was old, but not that old. The dragon head seemed to get hotter in my hand as I thought about the significance of such a gift and I was more determined than ever to find out what was going on.