Well, if I was going to convince these men that I was one of them, then I had to act like them. If the priest was drinking, then I’d better do it too, even if I wasn’t fond of alcohol. Oh, no, was I going to turn into a drunk by the end of this experience?

“All right, just one more,” I said. “I’m trying to cut back.”

Martin filled my glass. “Why? You’re a free man now.”

The callousness of this man! Alberto widened his eyes. I must have done the same because Martin seemed taken aback.

“I’m sorry, hermano,” he told me. “It slipped out.” Martin dipped his chin down.

Alberto leaned forward, his bony fingers crossed on the table. “Excuse him, Don Cristóbal. Martin hasn’t had the best of luck with women so he thinks every man feels the same way he does.” He then turned to Martin. “If you don’t watch what you say, Don Cristóbal is going to think you’re a misogynist like Aristotle.”

“What does Aristotle have to do with anything?” Martin said.

“Incidentally, I was just reading today that he’d said women were biologically inferior to men. And you know how the Greeks had all those negative depictions of women, starting with Pandora.”

“Well, I’m not Greek nor do I hate women, clergyman. On the contrary.”

I wasn’t so sure I believed Martin. He was cold with my sisters and that comment he’d just thrown didn’t sound like he had a lot of respect for women. In fact, he seemed like the kind of man who wouldn’t be thrilled with a woman for a boss.

As Alberto continued his exploration of Greek mythology and their idiosyncrasies, I examined both men, wishing I could read their thoughts and hearts. Alberto appeared incapable of killing a fly, much less his older sister, but there was something odd about him. The religious men I’d met in the past were neither friendly nor easygoing. They had a somberness about them, a permanent state of melancholy, but Alberto didn’t appear to take himself too seriously. What could’ve prompted him to devote his life to the Church? I’d known a couple of families in Spain who forced their sons into the seminary when they were little. Some parents dreamt of having a religious son or daughter. Perhaps this had been the case with my brother.

Regardless, Alberto had no clear motive for killing me. He’d voluntarily given away his portion of the estate (or so Aquilino said). It made no sense that he would send someone to kill me after he’d renounced the money. Unless he was pretending to be humble and in reality, he had an evil plan to keep his portion and mine.

It didn’t seem likely.