Nineteen

It was only a few blocks, but they ducked down one street, walked a bit, turned left, and walked a bit farther before doubling back. If Gabriella was right about the men at the restaurant, it was likely they were being followed. But because they hadn’t seen who those men were, it was impossible to know if they were the gunmen from the plane or someone else who was after them. At one point they saw a man watching them, or who appeared to be watching them, so they turned and ran several blocks before doubling back a second time.

By the time they got to the museum, they were both breathing hard. Finn leaned against the wall, wheezing a little before his breath returned to normal.

“When we get home, you need to go to the doctor for a check-up,” Hollis said. “We’re at that age when heart disease starts to become a thing.”

“I’m fine.”

“Wasn’t there a guy about forty in the physics department who had a heart attack last year?”

“He was a smoker. I’m fine.”

“Just get a stress test.”

“This, right now, is a stress test.”

She put her hand on his chest. “When we get home, I’m making an appointment.”

“If we get home,” he said. He grabbed her hand and they headed into the museum.

Hollis’s own heart began beating a little fast but for a different reason. She was sure the answers about what had brought them to Argentina were in this building.

But by the time they’d gone through the exhibits, past the beautiful dresses, the recordings of Evita’s speeches, the large paintings and photographs of her from nearly every period of her life, Hollis’s optimism had begun to fade.

Everyone else in the building seemed like a tourist. No one approached them, or even seemed to take much notice of them. She scanned the faces of everyone they passed, but no one looked back.

“Was she Evita or Eva?” Finn asked.

“Eva. Evita was a nickname.”

“That’s not a clue then.”

“I don’t think so.”

“We’re doing something wrong.” Finn pulled Hollis toward a corner, letting people moved by them. “We can’t just wander around hoping to bump into someone. We have to think about a specific meeting place. What do you know about Eva Perón?”

“Not much,” Hollis admitted. “She was a poor child from a town a couple of hundred miles from here. She ran off with a musician, but he abandoned her once they arrived in the city. I think he was married … or maybe that’s just a story. She might have come to the city alone,” she said, trying to remember. “I’m sure if we walked through the museum again and looked at the exhibits …”

Finn shook his head. “You remember her story. You have a great memory. Just think.”

She wasn’t sure she deserved his confidence. At home, she would know this stuff cold, but here with the gun in her purse and people chasing them, she wasn’t sure. She had a sudden empathy for Jeopardy! contestants. She always knew the answers from the safety of her couch.

“Okay,” she said. “However she got here, once in Buenos Aires, I know she got jobs on the radio and eventually in movies. She had a lot of boyfriends, men who could help her.” Her brain was moving slowly. She felt she was dragging the information from a fog. “I can’t remember much. I’m sorry,” she admitted. “All I know is that eventually she met Perón. He was older than she was, a lot older.”

“You’re a lot older than me, and it works for us,” Finn said.

“I’m two months older than you,” she said. “And you can’t run a few blocks without getting winded, so really, I’m younger.”

Finn smiled.

It took a moment, but Hollis caught on. “You think if you tease me about something, I’ll relax enough to focus?”

“Did it work?”

It had. She could catch her breath a little. “She was someone who was incredibly good to the poor, opening hospitals and giving away sewing machines so women could start their own businesses. She helped Argentinian women get the right to vote. But she was corrupt. She spent millions on clothes and jewels while the economy was suffering. She and Perón allegedly sold ten thousand blank Argentinian passports to Nazis looking to escape postwar Europe,” Hollis said. “She was complicated.”

“Sounds like Declan,” Finn said.

“Yeah, there is a certain ‘end justifies the means’ approach to both of them. Maybe that’s why he sent us here.”

“But he couldn’t have sent us to the whole museum. He sent us to one particular place.”

“The Prodigal Woman. That was the clue,” Hollis said. “Maybe there’s a movie poster or something.”

Finn looked around. The room they were in had some of Evita’s clothes along with enlarged photographs of her wearing them at various state occasions. Nothing in the room spoke to her film career.

That section, though small, was toward the beginning of the exhibits, Hollis remembered. They made their way back. She noticed they weren’t the only ones moving in that direction. Two men were also quietly making their way back toward the entrance, instead of following the set path of the exhibits the way the other tourists were doing.

Once in the area that highlighted Evita’s acting career, Hollis and Finn looked around. There was a photograph of Eva from The Prodigal Woman among several others of that time period.

“Maybe there’s something behind it?” Hollis suggested.

“If we touch it, we’ll draw too much attention.” Finn nodded toward a security guard parked at the door to the room.

“So do we just stand here?”

“If I can distract the guard—” Finn started to say. But before he could move, a tall dark-haired woman of about thirty, in a long black dress, far too overdressed for wandering the museum, walked toward the photo and looked closely.

“Wonderful movie,” she said. “Have you seen it?”

“No,” Finn told her. He glanced at Hollis, before adding, “We had it recommended by a friend, though.”

The woman smiled. “You seem to have a lot of friends. Too many.” She glanced behind her. “It’s a shame what happened to her after her death.”

Finn looked confused, but Hollis knew what the woman was talking about. Eva Perón’s body had been moved after her husband lost power, even finding its way to Milan. It was only after Juan Perón’s return to the presidency that the body came back to Argentina and was finally buried in Buenos Aires.

“It’s safe now,” Hollis said.

“Well,” the woman responded, “it’s safer. Poor Evita. Life is very short, and death is long, and you have as your companion only a small dog.” She smiled and walked away.

Finn leaned toward Hollis. “We were speaking in code to a spy,” he said, “which I hate to admit was pretty cool.”

“A spy … or a member of TCT,” Hollis said. “Or one of Declan’s girlfriends, or some combination.”

“Okay, but whoever she is, I’m not sure exactly what information we got from her.”

“She just told us where to go next. Recoleta Cemetery.”

“You sure?”

“That’s where Evita is buried. There’s obviously something at her grave.”

Finn took Hollis’s hand. “The trick will be getting there without taking anyone along with us.”

Hollis and Finn looked around the room, pretending to be interested in the other exhibits. There was a young British couple at the far end of the room, the security guard, and a man in his seventies. None of them had been in the restaurant, nor had she noticed any of them in the other part of the museum.

How could they escape being followed if they had no idea who was following them? Hollis squeezed Finn’s hand. “What do we do?”

“I have a plan, but I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

“Better or worse than your idea to save some money by spending our wedding night at your parent’s house?”

“Worse,” he said. “Much worse.”