Frustrated, I thanked Mr. Aguirre and left. So, my murderer was a skilled swindler or a good thief—that was all I’d gotten from this meeting. What now? Was I going to hold calligraphy tests on all my suspects to know who had the ability to forge my father’s signature?

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 13

I found a ride home on a carriage pulled by a donkey. His owner, a humble old man with scarce teeth and a straw hat, nodded repeatedly as I placed a handful of coins in his hand, flashing his gums without a hint of self-consciousness. Neither one of my sisters asked where I’d spent the night—one of the perks of being a man, I supposed.

Laurent and Angélica were playing cards in the parlor, while Catalina sat by herself with a book.

“Why don’t you join us, Don Cristóbal?” Angélica said. “We need a fourth player for Cuarenta. Poor Catalina never gets to play.”

Catalina raised her gaze from the book, expectant.

“Sure,” I said in a low voice. “But I don’t know the game.”

“Oh, it’s easy. Isn’t it, cher? My Laurent learned it in five minutes.”

Laurent nodded.

The four of us sat around the table and Angélica explained the rules. Cuarenta had a simple concept: the couple who reached forty points first won, hence the name. It was fast-paced and filled with colloquial terms. They said it was the most popular game in Ecuador, but Laurent reassured me that the aristocrats in the region called it a game for simpletons and drunks.

So odd to be playing cards in the middle of the day. I’d usually been frantic in the mornings: preparing chocolate for my customers, making sure the tables were set just right, paying my suppliers. Cristóbal often told me I worked too much. “At least take the weekends off,” he would say. But I told him those were the best days for business. Besides, I couldn’t stand the thought of going back to our empty apartment, void of children’s laughter and toys scattered throughout the parlor.

How different my sisters were. This life of luxury, of leisure, seemed to appeal to them very much. They probably wouldn’t give it up so easily.

After an hour of playing—Angélica and Laurent were the undisputed champions—Catalina excused herself and Laurent decided to go for a walk. I studied Angélica as she put the cards away.

Could she be the one who forged the check? Her husband? How to know what was in the heart and mind of someone else—what that person was capable of—other than by getting to know them.

“Have you ever traveled, Doña Angélica?”

“Me?” She scoffed. “I’ve been to Guayaquil a handful of times and once to Quito for a wedding, but I was a child then.”

“What about outside the country?”

“Oh, no, never.”