Puri April 1920
I heard Angélica sobbing last night.
It happened after I left Catalina, on my way to my room. I could hear my sister clearly from what I assumed to be her bedroom, and Laurent seemed to be consoling her, calling her ma chère and telling her calmes-toi. I stood by their door for a few minutes but after a while, I couldn’t hear them anymore.
This event, however minor, had propelled an interesting discovery: I now knew where Angélica’s chamber was, and tonight might be my only opportunity to go inside and see if there was any evidence connecting her to Franco or the check in my possession.
During breakfast, I’d come up with the perfect plan. Tonight was Bingo Night and a few couples were coming. They did this every week, Angélica said while serving me a glass of papaya juice, and they rotated hosts and houses. I didn’t care about bingo or my sister’s friends. What this meant was that people would be so distracted they might not notice if I stepped out for a few minutes. And Julia, who seemed to have eyes everywhere, would be too busy tending to the guests. I might even be able to get a hold of my father’s journal in the study.
I wore one of Cristóbal’s better outfits: a three-piece suit with a striped waistcoat, wool trousers, and a matching jacket. The selection might be too thick for the weather, but this was one of Cristóbal’s fanciest suits and Laurent was wearing a tuxedo. It was astonishing how much confidence—and power—an elegant suit could give a person. In it, I felt like a man. I put on my husband’s gambler hat and stepped out of my room.
I could already hear the giggles and compliments downstairs. Interestingly, most of the conversations were in French. From the balustrade, I spotted men in white ties and ladies in long glittery dresses, minks, and feathers in their hair. Straightening my lapels, I descended the staircase. Angélica introduced me to all as her brother-in-law and we proceeded to the dining room, which was filled with appetizers: shrimp-stuffed avocados, conchitas asadas, corn tamales, empanadas de verde. There were also French favorites: chicken liver paté, mushroom vol-au-vent, and caviar.
I was used to always being the hostess at my chocolate shop. I would wander from corner to corner making sure everyone was well tended to and satisfied and even cracked a joke or two. I’d always enjoyed feigning voices, especially telling gallego or old lady jokes. It was so foreign to see my sister Angélica taking on that role. It bothered me somewhat. （Was I turning into a jealous person? I’d never been one. This experience was certainly having strange effects on me.） But at the same time, I felt an odd sense of pride. It wasn’t just her beauty, although people were always drawn to good-looking women, but she had an ease about her, a way to make everyone crave her attention. I could see it in the way her friends held her arm to call her attention or whispered into her ear. In return, she would reward them with a heartfelt laugh.
Laurent looked more vivacious than ever. He thrived telling stories about his travels, his many friends, his expensive purchases to enjoy his hobbies （he mentioned a Brownie camera brought from France and a pair of binoculars for bird-watching）。 After a while, I was ready to stuff one of those conchitas asadas into his mouth to see if that would keep him quiet for two minutes.
With her customary discretion, Julia made sure our drinks were always filled to the rim. The cook, Rosita, whom I’d just met, brought in a serving bowl of cazuela de mariscos—the main star of the evening—while her plump derrière wobbled from side to side.
I had no other choice but to continue shoving copious amounts of food in my mouth until I found the perfect moment to escape.
The time came after dinner, when Angélica invited the group to the patio. There, they’d set up three rows of tables. On each table were bingo cards and chips. I sat in the last row.
There was a lot of movement around me. Laughter, gossip, men flirting with women and women flirting with men. The only person who seemed as out of place as me was Catalina—I only hoped she stayed here and didn’t decide to wander about the house, too.
As Laurent and Angélica called out numbers, I took advantage of the distraction and, making sure no one was watching, I stepped away from the group at the same time a woman yelled: “Bingo!”
I darted up the stairs, glancing behind me every few minutes, and headed straight to Angélica’s bedroom. Hopefully, she didn’t lock her door.
Drying my sweaty hands on my trousers, I turned the knob.
My sister’s chamber consisted of two rooms: a sitting area and a sleeping area. I felt a little stupid standing there, not knowing where to look, playing detective. What could I possibly find here to tie my sister to Franco?