“Don Cristóbal,” Angélica said, addressing me for the first time since I sat down. “Have you received any news about María Purificación’s death certificate yet?” She absently fed Ramona breadcrumbs, which the bird didn’t seem to appreciate as much as the cacao beans. “It’s been a week already.”

“No, I’m sorry to say.” I wiped my mouth. “I hope I’m not inconveniencing you. I’d be happy to make arrangements elsewhere.”

Even if I was making progress with my investigation, I didn’t want to be in a place where they didn’t want me. My pride wouldn’t let me.

Catalina placed her hand on mine. “Of course you’re not an inconvenience, Don Cristóbal. Angélica and I are pleased to have you here. It’s the least we can do for our sister.”

Catalina caressed my hand with her thumb—for too long, it seemed—and then smiled. How different my two sisters were. I couldn’t imagine Catalina, with that sweet demeanor and kindness, plotting against me. Even if Franco was her “best friend,” according to the notebook now hidden under my mattress. Then again, my mother used to say that we had to fear more those who came shrouded in sheep’s skin.

“Catalina is right, Don Cristóbal. You may stay as long as you need to.” Angélica set her napkin on the table. “Would you excuse us? We must practice our number for the festivities. Vinces’s foundation is coming up.”

I stood up. “Of course.”

As my sisters left the room, Ramona flew behind Angélica. Once the muffled sounds of the violin and the harp began, I sat and turned to Angélica’s husband.

“What brought you to these lands, Laurent?”

“Adventure.” He took a bite of his baguette. One of his slick locks fell across his forehead. “A friend of mine mentioned there was a significant French community here so I thought, why not? If I don’t travel while I’m young, then when? Besides, I was tired of those long European winters. It turned out to be the best decision I could ever make because I avoided that awful war. Mon Dieu, what a disaster that was.”

“Do you plan to go back to Europe one day?”

He set the bread on his plate, then crossed his arms on the table. “Do you?”

I looked out the window. Cacao pods hung from a nearby tree branch. There were so many of them they seemed to multiply like bees in a hive.

“Of course,” I said. “I’m not cut out for the country.”