I sifted through the pages, but couldn’t find her name anywhere else. I shoved the notebook inside my trousers and covered it with my waistcoat while I continued to look for further proof of her presence in his life. I walked to the other side of the house.

“Don Cristóbal?”

Startled, I turned around.

“Don Martin! You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“I thought it was you in here.”

“I was just taking a walk and got curious about this place.”

Martin looked puzzled.

“For inspiration,” I said. “Did I tell you I’m writing a novel?”

“Many times.”

He looked around, resting his hands on his hips.

“Well, it doesn’t seem like you’re going to find a lot of inspiration here. Not a lot is left.”

“Yes. Poor family,” I said, studying Martin as he glanced around the debris. If he’d lived here so many years, he might know if Catalina and Franco were in a relationship. “I met Doña Soledad, by coincidence, the other day. She’s desperate because her son has disappeared.”

He picked up a square object—it was virtually impossible to recognize what it had been. An ornament, a sewing kit, a jewelry box?

“Is she really?”

“Yes. She said that he was madly in love with a woman and she asked him to do something for him. After that, he never came back.”

Martin placed the strange object on his head, and took a step with his arms widespread, trying to balance it.

I laughed. What was it about this man that was so distracting? I could never get any information from him. After he was done parading around with the box on his head, I spoke again.

“Do you have any idea of who that woman might have been?”

He ducked his head forward, making the object land in his hands. Then he bowed down as if he were a grand magician.

“No.”

“You were not friends with him?”

“Why would I be? He worked for me.”

He had a point.

“Careful with that glass,” he told me before I stepped on a dozen pieces of broken glass. It could’ve been a bottle or part of a window. “Why do you care so much about this family?”

“Doña Soledad asked for my help finding her son.” I averted my gaze. “I didn’t see you at the bingo last night.”

Martin waved his hand in dismissal. “Oh, Los Gran Cacao never invite me to those things. Not that I would go anyway.”

“Los Gran Cacao?”

He shrugged. “It’s what people around here call families with cacao money.”

I had to admit that I would’ve rather not attended, either. Angélica’s friends were a close-knit, arrogant crowd and they weren’t too welcoming. The good thing about them ignoring me the entire evening had been that I didn’t have to speak at all.