“What do they say happened? I caught Belisario talking with Jacobo, and they think bandits kidnapped my brother.”
He looked apologetic and traced the rim of his hat with one hand. “Alba, there’s no need for me to repeat gossip.”
“I want to know. I’d rather know than guess the lies they’re spreading throughout town. Tell me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Tell me,” she demanded, her voice sharp.
“Very well. Yes, they say he was kidnapped and they’ll ransom him, or perhaps he was killed in a struggle when someone tried to rob him. Other folks say he’s run off, that he couldn’t take the pressure of handling the farm, or he fell in love with a girl and headed to the city.”
She shook her head. “He’d never leave us behind, and he has no girl to lure him away.”
“He might have fallen from his horse and lost his memory.”
“That’s silly.”
“I know.”
“What else do they say?” she asked, for it was clear by his expression that there were other tales.
“Nothing important.”
He was guarded, his eyes fixing on his shoes, and this in turn made her want to know even more. “Please,” she said. “I’d rather hear it than make up stories of my own.”
Valentín hesitated, but she clutched his hand and finally he nodded and relented. “They say it was witchcraft. That some evil person from Los Pinos put a spell on Tadeo and killed him.”
Luisa prayed the rosary each night, asking for the safe return of her child. Alba prayed, too. Neither one of them had yet acknowledged the possibility that Tadeo might not return home, that he had perished.
“He’s not dead, I know it. We were born ten months apart, Tadeo and I. We’re practically twins. I could always tell when he was up to mischief even before he committed it. I could almost feel his sorrows before he spoke them. And I can feel him now too, even if he’s not here. It’s like his heart keeps beating in tandem with mine.”
“I also hope for the best, and yet—”
“No, you mustn’t tell me he is dead. He lives,” she said, yet her voice was as brittle as glass, threatening to break into a thousand shards.
“Perhaps. But I fear he may be bewitched.”
The word made her tug again at her white shawl, her fingerstangling in the delicate scallop pattern of the lace. Valentín looked at her, his face grim and weary.
“How?”
“I don’t know. But such things have happened before.”
“People going missing?”
“Pitch-black luck following someone. First your father died, then Tadeo disappears and there is blood in his room and his horse left behind. It’s strange and I fear it’ll grow stranger still. Unless—”
“Alba, have you made your purchases?” her mother asked, then, noticing Valentín, she gave him a tired smile. “Hello, Mr.Pimentel. I hope you’re well.”
“I am, thank you,” he said, politely inclining his head first at Alba’s mother, then at her uncle. “You’ve been to the mayor’s house, I think?”
“Yes, we were there,” her mother said. “He’s promised to assist us as best he can.”
“We ought to hire a private investigator from Mexico City,” her uncle said. “The men of this town don’t know how to conduct any police work, and that reward money will merely be a means for every fraudster to earn an easy coin.”
“Arturo, how much would that cost us, and how would we find a reputable investigator?” Luisa asked.
“If I may say so, perhaps you should consider a cleansing before you think of city investigators,” Valentín suggested.
