Lizardo shrugged.
“Well, let’s call her María,” the father said. “She did our cleaning for us for a couple of months.” He turned to the younger one. “Do you remember her, Carlos?”
Carlos nodded. “She had a beautiful voice.”
“Oh, yes,” the old man said. “She was always singing while she swept and mopped. This one”—he pointed at Carlos—“this one was enchanted by her voice. He thought there was no one more charming in Guayaquil.”
“Papá . . .”
“But I do agree that there was something special about her. Even though she was poor, she was very neat. Her clothes were always clean, her skirts always starched. She had what they call class, and she was smart. I don’t know how, but she knew how to read and write, and she started helping this simpleton with his additions and subtractions.” He pointed at his youngest son with his chin. “You should have never trusted her.”
“We all did, Padre,” Lizardo said in his brother’s defense.
Bolivar shook his head. “One day, she didn’t come to work. We thought she was sick and didn’t make much of it, although she was always efficient and timely. But then, that evening we noticed that there were some watches missing. This was one of them.”
Lizardo rubbed the case slowly.
“We called the police, of course. Well, I did. This one was in shock and swore on his mother’s grave that the girl would never rob us.” He stared at Carlos, sighing. “Men in love are idiots, you know?”
I pretended not to notice that the younger son was blushing.
“But she did,” the old man said. “A couple of days later, the police found her. She was part of a ring of thieves who sold stolen things. It turns out she worked for her stepfather.”
Her stepfather? My pulse raced. “What happened to her?”
“She went to jail for some time. Then, we lost track of her.”
“We recovered all the merchandise but this watch,” said Lizardo.
“It goes to show you,” the father said, shaking his head. “You can never fully trust people. You think you know someone, but then, as soon as you turn your back on them, they’ll stab you.” He pointed his finger at his elder son, as though teaching him a lesson that had escaped his younger one. “The only God out there is money. It’s the one everyone follows.”
“Papá . . .” Lizardo said.
“Anyway.” He looked at me. “That’s the story.”
“I would like to pay for this watch and keep it,” I said, “if you don’t mind.”
“That’s generous of you,” the older brother said.
“Well, it’s the fair thing to do. You deserve payment for your work, even if it’s nine years late.”
The father banged the counter. “I got it!”
The three of us turned to him.
“Her name.” He smiled as if he’d uncovered one of the biggest mysteries in the world and spoke in an ominous voice the words that only confirmed my suspicions. “Her name was Elisa.”
CHAPTER 38
I spent the night at Aquilino’s house. The lawyer was discreet enough not to ask me where I’d been and I didn’t offer any explanations, either. I returned to the hacienda the next day. When I arrived, it was already nighttime and the house was silent and dark. I hadn’t eaten all day so I headed directly to the kitchen. The sobs inside the room stopped me. I could tell it was a woman but didn’t know whether it was Catalina or Angélica.
I really needed to eat something if I didn’t want to pass out, but I didn’t want to intrude in this private moment.
Before I made up my mind, Angélica opened the door, handkerchief in hand. Had Martin told her who I was? I held my breath.
“Don Cristóbal! I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were coming back tonight. Someone in town said they saw you leaving with Tomás Aquilino yesterday.”
“Yes. He offered to take me to a dentist in Guayaquil.”
“Oh, good.” She pointed at a silver teapot on the counter. “I just prepared some Hierba Luisa tea. Would you like some?”
Her eyes were swollen. I’d never seen her hair this untidy. Even in the mornings, she was well-groomed.
“No, thank you. Is something the matter?” I said.
“No. Yes.” She blew her nose, sitting on a stool.
“Do you want to talk?” I said.
She nodded.
I sat beside her.