“I know I shouldn’t ask, it’s terribly rude of me to do so, but he courted her, we all know that. But was there anything more? Because I suspect he died of a broken heart, so to speak. I don’t want to bring this up needlessly, seeing it might cause Lulú distress, but it’s the only thing that makes sense. Why go up there at night, otherwise? Except if he meant to kill himself.”
She stifled the nervous laugh that threatened to escape her lips.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Bartolo said quickly.
He looked at her with wide, concerned eyes. She nodded and wondered what her response should be. She fretted, couldn’t figure out a quick answer.
“Now that you mention it, he did seem upset before he died,” she said, almost stammering as she tried to pick the right words. “And him calling Ulises a phony makes sense; he never liked him. You must have noticed how strained their conversations sounded when we had a tertulia.”
“Of course. That’s why I asked about your aunt. Here’s this man, thinking he’ll marry the woman he’s been courting for months, and out of the blue she weds someone else. Cándido wasn’t much of a romantic, but that’s a fierce blow. Do you want to sit down?”
The fierce blow had been to the head, but it seemed Bartolo’s knowledge of forensics was meager.
“No, no,” she said, yet she grabbed his arm, as if needing support, but mostly to gain time. “His death, it’s been shocking.”
Bartolo nodded understandingly and patted her hand. The gesture reassured her because his fingers trembled.
He might faint before I do,she thought, and gave him a quick look from under her long lashes, which sent his fingers trembling more.
The dread was cooling down quickly, turning into a low simmer of nervousness as she understood the cards she could play.
“I wouldn’t know if Cándido was a romantic, but he was terribly fond of Aunt Perla.” Inés squeezed Bartolo’s arm and pulled him toward a shadowy corner. “I shouldn’t be telling you this. My aunt will be upset if she finds out I did, but…” She trailed off and looked down.
“Anything you say is confidential. It’s a police matter, but I won’t be indelicate,” he said, sounding both self-important and silly.
His response made her more certain of how she should speak, quickly emboldening her. He was heading in entirely the wrong direction, and she meant to steer him even further afield.
“Can you be discreet?” she asked.
“Of course.”
“In that case, I can speak frankly with you. I long suspected Cándido and my aunt had a romantic relationship. Mind you, it became strained after he refused to propose. The problem was Lulú. Cándido was a caring brother. Perhaps too caring, always putting his sister’s well-being ahead of his own, and my aunt was tired of waiting for him. The wedding must have been quite the shock.”
“Understandably.”
“I can’t condone suicide, Bartolo, but I can understand his pain. You must not repeat what I told you. What would people in town say if they knew Cándido had killed himself over my aunt? Dear God, she’d never be able to leave the house again.”
“I wouldn’t repeat it,” he replied hurriedly.
“And think about Lulú. It would be a scandal for her too. She would probably have a nervous collapse. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”
“God, no! But when you’re performing an inquest…I don’t want to hide anything. And there are oddities—”
She took his hands between her own and looked up at him. “If you write ‘suicide’ on a death certificate, it won’t benefit anyone. It would be a kindness to everyone if this remained an accident. Bartolo, it would be ashamefulstory.”
“I wouldn’t want to shame anyone,” he said, the words strained as he shivered at her touch.
It was exactly what she was hoping he would say. The more Bartolo thought suicide was the cause of death, the better for them. Yet she did not want to proclaim this openly. For if it was left implied, unsaid, there were more reasons for the townspeople to look away, to ask little about the situation, aware that there was an uncomfortable family secret in the mix. It would be simply impolite for Bartolo to dig much deeper if suicide was suspected.
“You’re terribly understanding,” she said, and she gave his arm another squeeze. “Should we get something to drink?”
They went back inside, where the women were beginning to pass out the canapés. She asked him to fetch her a cup of coffee, for she had noticed Ulises’s eyes on her the moment they stepped into the dining room. When Bartolo exited the room, Ulises walked over to her.
He took a sip from a glass and looked around as he spoke to her. “Distracted him yet?”
“For your information, yes,” she replied irritably.
“Oh?”
