“Preciosa?”
“Yes, because-oh God, you don’t even know, do you? Preciosa’s getting the Hacienda. Tony left it to her.”
“Preciosa?” Julie cried.
“I better get back to Josefa,” Carl said, heading back toward the weeping woman.
“Yes, in his will,” Annie said. “At least that’s what Preciosa told us, and why would she lie? Tony’s lawyer is coming from Mexico City to read it to us-Jamie’s at the airport to meet her-so we’ll have the official version before the morning’s out.”
“But why would Dorotea quit?” Julie asked. “The Hacienda will still be functioning, won’t it?”
“Oh sure, but she refuses to work for Preciosa. It’s not just Preciosa herself, either. The Hacienda’s going to be a different place. No more dude ranch angle. She’s already told Pop the horses are going. If he wants to stay on as a general caretaker, he’s welcome.” She looked back at him. “He won’t, of course,” she said sadly. “I’m not sure what he’s going to do.”
“That’s awful,” Julie said. “What about you? What about Jamie?”
“She didn’t say. I guess for the moment, we have our jobs. At this point, I’m not sure we’ll want them. As for poor Josefa, she’s out.
Preciosa told her she’s canned, gave her one week to find someplace else.” Only at this point did Annie’s eyes gleam with tears. “Damn. Now where’s she supposed to go? Who’s going to take her in?”
While talking, they had continued moving slowly toward the table, and now they could hear what Josefa was saying. “Where I’m gonna go? What I’m gonna do?” she was moaning-as usual, not quite directly at Carl, but at some invisible person somewhere in front of or behind him. She mopped at her eyes with a wadded, grungy handkerchief. “Old lady like me.” Carl had her free hand in both of his big ones and was patting it and making impotent masculine sounds of solace.
“Oh gosh, this is terrible,” Julie said. “Where’s Preciosa now?”
“She’s waiting in the meeting room in the old chapel, next to the office. That’s where we’ll meet with the lawyer.”
Outside, a van pulled up and Jamie climbed out of the driver’s seat. A stern-looking woman of fifty in a severely cut pantsuit exited from the other side. “Here she is,” Annie said, lips pursed, “ Senora Maria Elena Garcia Navarro Sanchez, big-time abogada -our family lawyer. Oh, and look who’s here,” she said as the slide door in back eased open and a gaunt, hard, haggard woman with a cigarette wedged in her mouth climbed wearily down. “Conchita the Nutball-Tony’s wife. Well, sure, why not?-I’m sure she comes in for plenty.”
Julie stared. “ That’s Miss Chihuahua 1992?”
“Second runner-up,” Annie corrected. “She’s, um, changed a little since then.”
“Just a bit, I guess. Wow.”
“I guess that’s what comes of living with Tony,” Gideon said. The truth was, he’d completely forgotten that Tony’d been married.
The new widow remained beside the van, puffing fitfully at the cigarette, but Jamie and the lawyer came in. Jamie was limping a little, but Gideon saw that he was getting around without his cane now.
Senora Sanchez did not waste time with greetings. “Who are these two?” She asked, meaning Gideon and Julie.
“My cousin and her husband,” Annie said. “Julie was helping out while-”
“They are not included in the will. They cannot be present. I’m sorry,” she told them sternly, “you will have to leave.”
“Oh, we’re meeting in the chapel,” Annie said. “Preciosa is there already.”
“Very well. May we go now, please? The will is complex. There are numerous provisions to explain. You are all mentioned in it.” She turned and strode out. Jamie followed, and then Carl, with a final pat on the hand of the disconsolate Josefa.
“Well…” Annie said with a sigh. “Showtime.”
“I’ll keep an eye on things while you’re all in there,” Julie said.
“Not necessary,” Annie told her as she headed for the door. “There’s nothing going on. We’ve canceled bookings for the rest of the week, and gotten other lodgings for the guests we have. It’s been crazy here. The police were all over the place yesterday afternoon and they plan on being back today.”
Senora Sanchez, looking irritated, came back and opened the door. “Didn’t you hear me say everybody? I need to be back at the airport at eleven.”
“Yes, ma’am, sorry, ma’am,” said Annie. “Here I come.”
The lawyer glared at the wretched Josefa, who had stayed slumped in her chair, looking as sodden and bedraggled as her handkerchief. “You too. You are mentioned as well.”
She had to repeat it in Spanish before Josefa understood, and when she did, she looked scared stiff. What new terrors awaited her in Tony’s will? She shook her head no; she wasn’t coming, she didn’t want to know. But Annie came and helped her out of her chair. “Come, dear aunt,” she said affectionately in Spanish, “Tony has left you some money to show his love. Who knows how much?” With her arm around Josefa, they shuffled off together.
“I wouldn’t count on its being a lot,” Julie said to Gideon. “How sad it all is.”
“It sure is.” He snapped his fingers, ineptly as usual. “I just thought of something.” He ran to the door. “Annie? Do you happen to know what Manolo’s last name was?”
He had to wait for her to think of the answer, and when it came, Julie couldn’t hear it. “What did she say?” She asked as Gideon returned.
Gideon smiled. “She said it was Garcia.”WITH nothing to keep them at the Hacienda, they walked down the steep hill to the village and cast about for someplace to get breakfast. Pickings were slim to none, and they ate at El Descanso, where Sandoval and Gideon had had lunch a few days ago: melon juice, pink and frothy; eggs scrambled with beef, onions, tomatoes, and cilantro; fresh, hot tortillas; and coffee. Not quite Dorotea-class, but filling and good.
On the way out they had to stand aside for a group of six or seven sober, pensive men, mostly older, who were just coming in. The last in the line was Flaviano Sandoval, who looked anything but sober. The look on his face was a combination of happiness and relief, the sublime look of a defendant who has just heard the jury foreman say, “Not guilty.”
“ Buenos dias, Chief S-” Julie began.
Sandoval held up his hand. “Not ‘chief.’ Never again ‘chief,’ gracias a Dios.” He grinned at them. “You now address the executive officer of the village council of Teotitlan del Valle. As of this very morning.” He couldn’t stop grinning.
“Well, good for you-you made it!” Gideon said, enthusiastically shaking his hand.
“No more skeletons, no more bones, no more mummies, no more killings,” Sandoval burbled. “What is today’s agenda? Rerouting of the traffic on Avenida Juarez during festivals, and the design of new uniforms for the village band.” He sighed. “It’s wonderful.”
Smiling, they watched him go to join the others. Gideon shrugged. “What the hell,” he said, “chacun a son gout.”
Afterward they strolled aimlessly around the town, which seemed wonderfully tranquil and slow-paced after the grit and clamor of Calle las Casas in Oaxaca. There was the occasional car, but there were also burros, and even a team of oxen pulling a wagon. Mostly the traffic, such as it was, was foot traffic: sombreroed men in white; braided, earringed women in their rebozos and aprons, some with bundles on their heads; nobody going anywhere very fast. At one point a troop of uniformed schoolchildren, led by their teacher, passed politely by, many with shy waves, and giggles, and garbled greetings: “ ’Allo.” “ ’Ow you doing, pardner?” “You know him, Brad Pitt?”
By eleven, the sun was getting uncomfortably warm and they started on the twenty-minute climb up the steep, winding, cobble-stoned hill to the shady protection of the Hacienda. Halfway up it, they had to jump to one side to get out of the way of a black Mercedes that came careening down it, tires squealing on the curves.
“That’s Tony’s car!” Julie said.
“And that’s Preciosa in it,” Gideon said, as it rocketed past. “I don’t think she ever even saw us. I hope she doesn’t kill anybody before she gets wherever she’s going.”
“She didn’t look happy, did she?” Julie mused. “Say, do you suppose Tony didn’t leave her the Hacienda after
