She had to think. Money. Yes. Aside from the coffin and the burial, they would have to at least purchase a few flowers.
She remembered her mother’s and father’s funerals, with the pomp of the nine days of prayers and food and drink. Those had been fine affairs; no silly onions were sliced and placed under the coffins to absorb evil scents. Her sister’s funeral, which had taken place many years before, in leaner times, had been more modest but nevertheless appropriate to the family’s status.
A household was judged on how they handled such events. Skimp on the food offered at the novenario and the townspeople would forever call you ungenerous.
Tongues would wag if Perla didn’t have a wake for the professor, butthe idea of spending money on the man who had perished owing her three months of rent was repulsive.
The dog continued to bark. Dear God, that beast never ceased!
She was adding the last few pins to her hairdo when her husband walked into her room.
“Inés is back, and the policemen are here,” Ulises said. “I really don’t think they’re needed.”
“Get them a couple of cups of coffee and something to eat. Beto is sure to be bleary-eyed. He wakes up late on Saturdays. Fetch me a cup too while you’re in the kitchen.”
“We ought to send them away.”
“Hush! Will someone quiet that dog!”
Ulises stared at her, but at last he went to the kitchen. Perla checked her hair in the mirror one final time before heading back to Nepomuceno’s room. Beto was standing with his arms crossed by the door, looking half asleep as usual, while Bartolo walked around the room, bending down to inspect a bottle, the rug, the blanket Rita must have thrown over the deceased to cover him. The dog had quieted down and she breathed a sigh of relief.
“Gentlemen, I’ve asked that coffee be prepared while we wait for the doctor,” Perla said. “Will you follow me?”
“Should I look in the bathroom?” Bartolo asked, turning to the older policeman.
“For what?”
“I don’t know. It would seem—”
“The coffee will get cold,” Ulises pointed out.
“I hate cold coffee,” Beto muttered.
“We should still look around,” Bartolo suggested.
“It’s a pity to throw away a good coffee,” Ulises said. “And besides, I can never think on an empty stomach.”
Perla couldn’t think when she had a hangover, and she dearly neededthat coffee. “I’ll ask that Dr. Carrel join us after he’s concluded his examination,” Perla said firmly. “You gentlemen may look around at that point.”
“Coffee would be lovely. If there’s a concha we might nibble on, even better,” Beto said.
They went into the dining room. Ulises appeared with a tray and distributed the cups of coffee, then he sat down and lit a cigarette, handed another one to Perla. Inés walked in with the bread.
Perla watched Ulises as she smoked. The previous evening she’d thought he’d been focused on Inés. This morning, his eyes didn’t linger on her niece, they were distant, as though he was plagued by many worries and the girl was the last thing on his mind.
He appeared genuinely distracted and she began to doubt the accusations she had levied at him. True, she had seen him talking to Inés by the gates of the house, but that didn’t mean anything.
Perla supposed their quarrel hadn’t even been about Inés, really, but about the nagging concerns surrounding their marriage. It was, so far, a satisfying union, and yet Perla found issues that irritated her. Some were a matter of personalities clashing. Others, like the money discussions, were proving more substantial obstacles.
Perla had been aware that she was not marrying a rich husband, but she was discovering that Ulises’s means were slimmer than she’d calculated and his demands more irritating than she had imagined. Yet he was handsome, skilled at lovemaking, decidedly charming when he put his mind to it.
With Ulises distracted and Inés wrapped in a stony silence, she was forced to entertain Beto and Bartolo as best she could, although, frazzled, she was hardly up to the task. Eventually, Dr. Carrel walked through the doors of the dining room and slammed his medical bag on the table.
“It’s a murder, and you must make an immediate arrest,” the doctor declared, with such a dramatic intonation that Ulises spilled coffee on his lap and Beto began to cough. Bartolo patted him on the back.
The word “murder” chilled Perla’s blood. She felt as if a cold windhad blown into the house and banged a door shut, causing echoes to reverberate through the halls. She thought of her sister. Her headache threatened to split her skull.
“What are you talking about?” Perla asked, and her hand went to her throat, resting against her silver crucifix.
