A jumble of feelings went with Elena as she hurried back to her room. The feeling that finally burst into the open was anger. She was angry. At Luisa. A scalding anger that bubbled and hissed and threatened to boil over. What did that little witch think she was doing? Money! Money! One hundred dollars! She does know something about my father! And so does Juan Otero. He lied to me! Why? Why? He’s as deceitful as his daughter! Twice I’ve asked him. Twice he’s put me off.
Elena closed the bedroom door sharply. Through the open window came the sounds of Mario and Carlos at play at the edge of the woods: laughter, shouts, an argument. Her anger extended to Carlos. Stop fussing, Carlos, she muttered to herself. Stop being such a demanding little macho! She closed the window and her thoughts returned to the telephone call. My father was in that storeroom! And he’s hurt. Fear cut into her angry feelings like a cold knife and she stiffened. But in a few seconds the inconsistency of anger won out. Luisa’s lying, she told herself. Luisa’s lying to get money. He’s probably not hurt at all. And now all the crises of the last two weeks: the confrontation with her aunt, the decision to come to Los Angeles, the raw disappointment at Emerald Avenue, and Luisa’s trickery all combined to trigger in Elena’s mind a wave of childhood grievances against her father that were painful and not easily forced back into the depths from which they had surfaced. Yes, something was going on that she didn’t understand. That was certain. But her father should have warned her somehow. He knew Carlos and she were coming. He should have let her know what was going on!
She was still struggling with the confusion of her feelings when, fifteen minutes later, someone knocked at her door. This time, surely, it would be David. She threw open the door and found Mrs. Addison standing in the hall.
“Miss Ana asked me to tell you that she and David will be dining at the home of friends,” she said, smoothing the skirt of her gray striped dress. “Last minute arrangements, don’t you know.”
Elena stared blankly and nodded as the realization sank in. She wouldn’t see David until Thursday. Four long empty days. If she had been thinking clearly, thinking at all for that matter, the darkness of her disappointment would have told her about herself and David. Mrs. Addison raised her voice, forcing Elena to hear her words.
“Left me with a lovely pork roast sizzling in the oven.”
“That’s too bad. Come in, Mrs. Addison.”
The older woman sighed and tucked a wandering wisp of hair behind her ear as she walked into the room. “I always prepare a proper Sunday dinner. Well, I dare say, you and the boys will enjoy it. And Henry. Henry does love a juicy loin.”
“I’m sure we will,” Elena said, trying to smile.
Mrs. Addison eyed her for a moment and then said gently, “You look peaked. Are you all right?”
The unexpected concern from Mrs. Addison almost brought tears. “Yes, yes. It’s only that I’m tired.”
“Well, then, I’d best be tending to our dinner. I’ll set the table in the breakfast room.” She walked firmly to the door and started to open it, but instead, turned. “Something lying heavy on your mind, love? If you’re wanting to talk, I can take time to listen.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Addison. You’re very kind. I’m fine. It’s all this change to get used to.”
“Nothing to be ashamed of. We all have trouble when things change. It’s been nine years, and I still think of Miss Ana as Mrs. Martel, not Montalvo.”
Elena looked across the room and caught her friendly gaze. What did Mrs. Addison know about last night? “Will Doctor Montalvo be here for dinner?” she asked.
“Him?” Mrs. Addison looked at her blankly. “He’s not returned. If he had, Miss Ana wouldn’t have gone off. He expects her to be as near as the next room, but he comes and goes where and when he chooses.”
Now Elena was certain that nobody knew that Doctor Montalvo had come and gone again. Why? Why would he do that? She said, “Ana told me he would be home tonight.”
“And that’s just when he’ll be here. Late tonight.” Mrs. Addison sniffed. “Him and that Jim Donald. Tight as thieves those two, with their special projects and special keys for that downstairs room.”
“What are they doing there?”
“Only the walls know. But whatever it is, it’s dusty work. That Jim Donald comes into my kitchen without wiping his feet and trails in all that powdery stuff.” She stopped abruptly. “There. But I’m not one to gossip, and the applesauce will be burning. It may be just us, but I still intend to serve a tasty dinner.” She nodded as, with firmness of purpose, she opened the door and closed it.
When the sound of Mrs. Addison’s footsteps had faded, Elena slumped into the wing-backed chair. David hadn’t cared about seeing her at dinner. So why had he brought her flowers? She reached out and touched the daisies on the table by her side. Whatever his reasons, she told herself, keep in mind that this isn’t Camelot and you’re not Guinevere. You’re just a girl from the country who has yet to learn the city ways. She sighed. And if you had Merlin’s magic, you’d spirit yourself back to Playa Blanca right now, wouldn’t you?
Yes, it was true. She missed everything about Playa Blanca. Even her aunt, although they had parted unpleasantly. Tía Concha was not usually mean-spirited. It was only a fear of hunger that had made her so grasping in the last few months. Elena closed her eyes and imagined the table in the low-ceilinged kitchen where they had taken their meals. Picadillo and carne asada and salsa fresca and frijoles. Frijoles, refried, with long strings of white cheese melting on your chin and becoming an excuse for silly laughter. She missed the good-humored jibes of her cousins. She missed the narrow bed in the small room she shared with the three girls. But most of all she missed the barefoot walks on the beach with the sea breeze smelling of fish and shells and rocky islands, blowing her hair over her face. It was on one of those walks that she had met David, the boy who could speak only English and who claimed he could perform magic feats. Maybe he could. At that thought she shrugged, jumped out of the chair and called to Carlos that it was time to wash for dinner.
Perhaps it was Mrs. Addison’s pork roast, which Elena forced herself to eat, or the memory of the stealthy footsteps of the previous night, or the thought that her father could be hurt and in pain, but her sleep was restless. During her waking moments, she took turns, it seemed, thinking of David and of Luisa. And all that thinking led her nowhere in regard to David, but, as to Luisa, sometime during the night she made up her mind.
In the morning, only Carlos and she were at the breakfast table. A breathless Mario came in to say that his father was home, that he was talking to him, and that he would meet Carlos out front in time for the bus.
Instead of answering Mario, Carlos sulked. “Where’s my father, Elena?” he whined. “It is time we found him.”
“Yes, Carlos,” she said. “You’re right. It is time that we found him.”
Immediately after breakfast she knocked on Doctor Montalvo’s study door.
“Enter.” Doctor Montalvo was seated at his desk, his chair swiveled toward the hall.
“May I talk with you for a moment, señor?”
He nodded, indicating a chair. “Well, Elena, what can I do for you?” His face was grave but friendly.
Nonetheless, nervousness tightened her throat. How to start? Not at the beginning, because the beginning would make no sense to him. “Doctor Montalvo, I wonder if…” She stopped.
“You have a problem? Is that it?”
She nodded and, in a voice which she struggled to keep calm, said, “Is it possible to ask for one hundred dollars? I know that’s a lot of money, but I need it to find my father. It will get me information.”
“About your father?”
“Yes.” She took a deep breath. “A girl I met at the restaurant told me she knew…well, there’s no need to bother you with that. But since you were so kind about offering me money in advance, I thought maybe…”
“Of course, of course.” He picked up the quartz paperweight on his desk. He seemed to be far away as he stared at it. Then with a quick, decisive motion, he returned it to the desktop. “This restaurant,” he said. “It’s close to where your father lived?”
“Very close. Carlos and I found it—no, that isn’t how it was. We were taken to it by the police officers.”
“Police?” he said sharply, leaning forward. And then, as if catching himself, he added more softly, “Now, now, Elena, you didn’t tell me you were in trouble with the police.”
“I’m not. It was they…”
“Ah,” he said, his mouth tightening, his eyes alert, “you went to the police then. Why would you do that?”
What was he thinking? “No, Doctor Montalvo, we did not go to the police. They found us when we were lost, and because we were hungry, they drove us to that restaurant. They’re friends of the owners.”
“Ah-h, you were lost. I see.” Slowly, he settled back in his chair. Again, he picked up the paperweight, turning it over and over in his hands. Finally he smiled and said, “Now, about the money. You can have it as part of your first week’s pay. I assume you need it today?”
“If you can, señor. After my driving lesson, perhaps?”
“You can have it right now.” He rose. “Let’s hope the driving school doesn’t disappoint you again. David isn’t here to substitute.”
So he had heard about that. She returned his amused look. “The instructor will be here,” she said quietly. “I made sure of that.”
“Lo que será, será,” he said. He reached into an inside pocket of his suit coat and brought out a tooled leather wallet. He placed two fifty-dollar bills on the desk before her.
“How can I thank you?” she said.
“There is no need to. I only hope this will help you find your father.”
“I do, too,” she said with a grateful little laugh. She had been dreading this meeting with him, and he had made it so easy. With the bills held tightly in her hand, she went out of the door.
Upstairs in her room she took her purse from the closet shelf and slipped the money into her wallet. She paused, frowning. Something was wrong. Her purse was too light. Even before she had spilled the contents of the purse onto the bed, she knew what it was. The packet of her father’s letters was gone! Quickly, she searched the closet and Carlos’ room and found nothing. Her gaze circled the sunny green and gold of her room, lingering on the vase of daisies on the mantle. Oh, no, the deed!
With hands that were wet and cold, she tilted the heavy base of the clock. The papers were right where she had put them, but there was something on the mantle that she had not put there. The daisies. They had been on the table by the wing-backed chair. She lowered the clock carefully and looked in the bathroom. There was no sign left of Carlos’ untidiness, or hers, for that matter, and fresh towels were hanging on the rungs. Sara had been here. She had moved the flowers, but would she have dared to take the letters? Mrs. Addison would know.
Elena hurried across the gallery to the back stairs. The blue-tiled kitchen was empty, but someone was in the pantry. “Mrs. Addison, can we talk?”
Jim Donald, a loaf of bread in one hand, a butter dish in the other, stepped out of the pantry. A fine, gray dust covered his shoes and hair. He said, “Will I do?”
“No, thank you. It’s Mrs. Addison I have to see. Or, better yet, Sara.”
He grinned. “Sara’s bumbling about somewhere. As for Mrs. Addison, you’re out of luck like me.” He put the butter dish on the counter. “Addie and old Henry are gone for the day, and I can’t find the mustard. Know where she keeps it?”
She shook her head, and he shrugged and unwrapped the loaf of bread. “Have a sandwich with me?”
She wished she could say yes. With his fair hair flopping at each movement of his head, Jim Donald gave the impression of a long-legged, friendly puppy. Reluctantly, she shook her head. “I’ve just finished breakfast.”
“Have another cup of coffee then.”
“I can’t. I have a driving lesson in…” She looked up at the clock. “…in three minutes.”
“Out of luck again,” Jim said. “No mustard, no company. My day just isn’t going well.”
Elena grinned. “Neither is mine,” she said. “But I intend to change that.”