“You found it?” Gran stopped chewing mid-bite.
“I think so.” Luisa and her mother were having dinner at Gran’s in the dining room. Her grandmother had redecorated the entire first floor of the Barrington home after her husband, Carmine, died in a sudden car accident not long after Gran’s father passed. Luisa was a baby during the renovation—they had just arrived from Miami—but her mother told her about the heavy dark furniture, thick rugs, and air that reeked of cigarette smoke. Now the house was light and airy, with shiny hardwood floors, rich oriental rugs, and lots of crystal that made the light sparkle. Gran was a wonderful cook, and although she had help—so many secretaries, bodyguards, and assistants that they usually tripped over each other—she still enjoyed cooking. Tonight was lasagna with a salsa twist.
Her mother looked up from her plate. “Found what?”
Luisa and Gran exchanged glances.
“Luisa has been on a treasure hunt,” Gran finally said.
Carla looked puzzled. “For school?”
Luisa looked at Gran, who gave her a brief nod. “Um, not exactly, Ma.”
Carla stiffened almost imperceptibly, but Luisa caught it. Her mother only did that when she was disturbed. And no one disturbed her more than Gran. Especially when Gran managed to make her mother feel excluded. Luisa didn’t know if it was intentional on Gran’s part, but her mother clearly thought so.
Gran cut in, apparently oblivious to Carla’s discomfort. “What did you find?”
Luisa rose from the table, went to her backpack, and pulled out what she’d printed. Her mother followed her with her eyes. Luisa came back and handed it to Gran.
Gran studied the paper. Then she looked up. “I’m sorry. What am I looking at?”
“It’s a map of a small area in Angola.”
“Angola?” Both Gran and her mother said the word at the same time. Gran’s eyes widened. Her mother’s narrowed.
“The northeast part of the country, near the Congo border,” Luisa said.
Gran’s eyebrows arched.
Luisa pointed over her grandmother’s shoulder. “These three squiggly lines are rivers. Two of them begin with the letter ‘C.’” She pointed to the two ‘C’s at the bottom of the page. “Look at their names. ‘Chiumbe’ and ‘Chicapa.’ And the one in the middle is ‘Luachimo.’ That’s the ‘L.’”
Gran’s mouth opened. “Unbelievable!”
“Jed helped me figure it out. And these…” She gestured to two dots on the page. “Those are cities. One is Lucapa, which is one of the bigger cities in that part of Angola. The other is Dundo, which is in the northeast corner, practically in the Congo.” Luisa went back to her seat at the table. “I researched it, and it turns out Cuban forces were posted in both places. Most were in Lucapa, but there was an outpost in Dundo.”
“So Luis could have been there?” Gran murmured.
“It’s possible. The only thing I don’t know is what the third dot at the top of the page represents.” She hesitated. “But the area is known for diamonds and other minerals. It could be a mine. Maybe Granpa Luis found a diamond mine. And I’m not sure what the circle of dots around the larger circle is on the bottom of the page. It might be an inset—you know, a close-up of a portion of the area.”
Gran opened her mouth, about to say something, when a sharp voice cut in. “What the hell are you doing?”
Both Luisa and Gran looked up. Her mother’s features had gone rigid, and her face was crimson.
Oh no, Luisa thought. Ma’s pissed. Aloud, she said, “Gran asked me to take a look.”
“And this map. Where did you get it?”
Gran spoke up. “I gave it to her. Well, a copy.” Luisa heard a trace of defiance in her voice.
“Why?”
“Because it’s time we knew the truth.”
Now Luisa was confused. “Truth? What truth?”
“I don’t believe it, Francesca. How could you?” her mother cried.
“It’s long overdue, Carla.”
Her mother’s face darkened.
“What’s overdue?” Luisa asked. “What’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you,” Carla sniffed. “Your father—and your grandfather—were killed because of this map. Both of them murdered. On the same day. All because of…” She waved her hand, unable, apparently, to finish her thought.
Luisa whipped around to face Gran. “Is that true, Gran?”
Gran didn’t answer, but she didn’t have to.
“It’s the truth,” her mother said. “But your grandmother can’t leave it alone. I should have burned the damn thing when I got to the States.” She looked at Gran. “I almost did, you know. But I thought you’d want something tangible. A memento that belonged to the man you loved.” She sniffed again. “The more fool I.”
Gran extended her palm. “Carla. I am grateful for what you did. As I am for the photo.” She gestured to a small glass-covered table on the end of a black leather sofa where a photo of herself and Luis in a sterling silver frame sat in the place of honor. “But we have to discover the truth.”
“Francesca, this happened over twenty years ago. It was another lifetime. A dangerous one at that.”
Gran straightened. “No one gets away with killing the people I loved.” Her tone was harsh, imperious. “No matter when it happened.”
Carla pushed away from the table and stood. The cords on her neck stuck out. Her eyes turned steely, and her voice was cold fury. “You have no right to expose my daughter to danger because of your need for revenge.”
Luisa gazed at her mother, then her grandmother. Two alpha women, both protecting their turf. She hardly dared to breathe.
Then Gran relaxed, smiled sweetly, and softened her voice. “Carla. Be reasonable. Do you think I would put Luisa in any jeopardy? She did a little research. That’s all. Nothing dangerous.”
But her mother wasn’t buying. “I know you want to control the universe, but sometimes things happen that you cannot anticipate. You have no idea what could be unleashed. What if it opens—how do you call it in English?” She looked at Luisa.
“A Pandora’s box,” Luisa said softly.
“Si. A Pandora’s box,” her mother repeated.
“That’s simplistic, Carla,” Gran said. “I would expect it from someone whose beliefs are mired in superstition and rigid ideas about destiny.” It was a jab at her mother’s penchant for Santería beliefs, Luisa knew. “But you’re far too intelligent for that. We make our own destiny. And we have. Both of us.”
“You weren’t there, Francesca. I saw it happen.”
Luisa pulled on a strand of hair. “Is that true, Gran?”
“The map was why your father went to Cuba in the first place,” her mother jumped in. “Someone wanted it. His mission was to bring it back. At any cost.”
Luisa frowned, half in shock, half in anger. “You never told me that.”
“You were too young, and there was no need. Your father did not know Luis was his father. But whoever sent him did. And knew that Michael would be the only person Luis would give the map to. When your father discovered the truth, he aborted the mission.”
“But they killed him anyway,” Gran said, as if that explained everything. “It’s time to hold them accountable.”
“Who?” Luisa asked.
“Your grandmother doesn’t know,” her mother said. “But if you find them, she will put us all in danger.”
Luisa looked from one woman to the other. “Gran, Ma has a point. Maybe we should leave it alone.”
But Gran didn’t answer. An absorbed expression came over her, as if she was making connections, putting things together.
“Francesca, did you hear me?” her mother said.
Gran didn’t answer.
Her mother folded her arms. “You’re trying to figure out who sent Michael, aren’t you?”
Her grandmother focused, then, and cleared her throat. “Carla, my life has been filled with men taking advantage of me. Using me. Controlling me. They tore me away from Luis. They killed my son.” Her expression grew steely. “No more. I’m done with that.”
“What men?” Carla snorted. “Strangers like the people Michael was working for? Or your father? You could have gone back to Luis.”
“My father would have killed him if I tried. Plus, I was pregnant.”
“You could have escaped. Like you did when you went to Santa Clara. Babies are known to have been born in Cuba.”
“Like yours?” Gran’s voice was heavy with sarcasm.
Her mother’s eyes flashed. “We are not talking about me. It was your father who ruined your life, Francesca. Not the people behind Michael’s mission. If you want revenge, start with him.”
But Gran’s father, Grampa Tony, was gone, Luisa thought. He’d died before she was born.
“You’re playing with fire, Francesca,” her mother went on. “You’ll endanger all of us. And for what? Because you can?”
Francesca’s voice was quiet but held such a firm resolve that Luisa grew unsettled. “Carla, I will not tolerate being talked to this way. We’re done here.”
Gran left the room and headed to her office. The office used to belong to Carmine, but Gran took it over after he died. When Luisa was a little girl, she would sneak past the bodyguards—or so she thought—into the office. Sometimes her grandmother would be arguing with someone, but they’d stop as soon as she crept into the room, and Gran, all smiles and sweet words, would offer her a lolly-pop. She learned later that the guards had been instructed to allow Luisa free rein in the house.
Neither her mother nor Gran had been sweet tonight.
“Let’s go,” her mother said tersely, cutting off her memories. Luisa went to the closet to get their coats.
In her office, Francesca picked up the phone.