They walked arm in arm back to the plaza, and I kept them both in sight. He was a Mexican man of about thirty, well dressed and slender, a man capable of turning her into one half of a respectable couple. There was nothing remarkable about them in that respect, and despite the sudden disappointment I felt, I understood the logic. It was as if old age had finally come crashing down upon me in a square filled with penitents and cripples. I was old and they were young, and they had grace where I had none.
They parted by the edge of the square—a quick kiss—and she walked back toward the religious goods shop. She went down Calvario without a care and hailed a taxi at the corner. An hour later we were both at the Gran Hotel and I got out at the square and contrived to arrive there well after her.
I stopped first at a chocolate shop and bought a small box of nougats. The boys were too busy to notice me when I came in through the lobby. I went to the reception desk and asked if I might send up the box to Mrs. Linder’s room or, if they preferred, they could tell me the room number and I could take it up myself. They were flooded with new arrivals and gave me the room number purely to disburden themselves of an extra task. It was a room on the third floor. I went up straightaway and waited until the corridor on either side was empty. Then I knocked on her door.
When there was no response I considered asking one of the staff to knock for me. I wandered off until I found one of the room cleaners. Giving her the box, I asked her to take it back to the room and try again without telling the occupant who had given her the box.
She returned a few minutes later saying she had delivered the box successfully. There was a beautiful young girl in the room and she had been very surprised to be given a box of nougats.
“I’m secretly in love with her,” I whispered, holding a finger over my lips and winking.
A half lie always works better than the full one.
I pictured her opening the box, seeing the wrapped squares of nougat and the note I had written in the shop. Black Widow.
I spent the rest of the day in my room, having already arranged with one of the doormen to call me if Dolores or her boy went out. No call came. I went up to the roof at the end of the afternoon and downed a succession of strong caipirinhas. My nougats had probably spooked her. Could she have guessed that her hunter was still on her heels and had broken his side of their agreement? It was now becoming even clearer that Donald had been left behind with no face in the abandoned house in Guanajuato. Had he still been with her, I would likely have left them to their devices. But it was a different tale now. Dolores had emerged into the new life she had probably been planning all along. Her motive must have been to invent a new life for herself and in this she had apparently succeeded. A new man, a new identity, her finances all lined up. Could there have been any serious reason to stay with the old man? Jealousy and hatred flashed inside me now, hatred for this new lover, for his youth, and the rage that comes with impotence. But when all that had subsided I didn’t mind that, in all likelihood, he was a good-looking chucklehead and he would only get to have her for a passing season. In the end, she would shed him just as well as she had shed Donald and me. Calm down bronco, I thought. She’s gone with the wind, and she likes it better that way. She, too, would grow old one day in a hidden villa with handsome servants, and I would already be dust on someone’s mantelpiece.
And so the downstairs bar.
There, a large helmsman in colorful suspenders and with perfect English manned the counter. It’s the one man in a hotel you can talk to. I asked him if he could make me a gimlet with Rose’s lime.
“Nothing easier.”
The place was deserted that night and he said a lot of guests were traveling to a place called Yautepec to visit the Carnival there and had left that night in private taxis. Some said it was the biggest Carnival in the world.
“You don’t say. Where the hell is Yautepec?”
“It’s to the left of a place called Tepoztlán. Don’t tell me you don’t know where Tepoztlán is.”
“Never heard of it.”
Then something occurred to me.
“Is it south or north?”
“Due south and over the mountains. About three hours if it isn’t raining.”
“I’ve always wanted to go to a Carnival. It’s the one thing I never saw. I only saw them in movies.”
“Don’t believe anything you see in movies.”
“I don’t believe in anything else.”
“Well, that’s your funeral. Here’s your gimlet.”
Never did a gimlet look more beautiful, more icy green and clear.
“I’m a little meshuga without question,” I said.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not playing with a full deck of cards.”
When I tapped a temple his eyes came alive.
“I see.”
Then he laughed and rested both his hands on the counter, one on either side of the gimlet as if confronting it.
“You’re a funny guy. What’re you down here for?”
“What does it look like?”
“A woman?”
“What else? Maybe you saw her at the bar.”
And I described Dolores.
“She’s been down here a few times,” he confirmed. “She only drinks soda water with grenadine.”
“I suppose she was with her beau.”
“Not that I saw. A bit young for you, though. I’d give that one a miss.”
“When do you call it quits on that front? The madness goes on and on and then you drop dead. Hopefully anyway.”
“Sure, it’s better that way. She’s probably down here for the Carnival at this time of year; most people are.”
I ordered a second gimlet and asked him to make the lime a little weaker. Tepoztlán, Yautepec. I would be throwing myself into the dark and it was a wonderful prospect.
“Then when is the Carnival?” I said.
“Tomorrow. You should go. You may not find your girl, but you’ll have a good time.”
I went back to my room half-snockered and called my employers. We hadn’t spoken in a while and I was due to deliver an update before their patience gave out and my fee with it. I had rehearsed my little speech quite thoroughly two nights before and now it came out with a convincing ring. I explained with cold attention to detail how Zinn had been killed in Guanajuato and how thereafter the trail had gone cold. I explained the whole thing from beginning to end, a long monologue. They sat through it patiently. The money had disappeared, the principal plotter was in hell, and I was alone in a hotel in Mexico with nothing more to do. I wanted to go home.
“But what about the wife?” one of them burst out.
“She has vanished into thin air. It’s her country, of course. Maybe she has the money or maybe she doesn’t. I’m at a loss to know either way. I feel like I’ve done as much as I can. I am going to ask the Mexican police to forward their own report and you can see for yourselves. I’m sorry I never got to the bottom of it for you. C’est la vie, as they say in Mexico. That’s French, if you didn’t know.”
“They don’t speak French in Mexico.”
“Don’t they? Ah, well. I’ll be damned. I’ve been speaking it all the time and everyone’s happy. It’s all the same to me. Aside from that, I’ll be coming home tomorrow.”
“And you didn’t find any trace of our money?”
“Money’s such a slippery thing, isn’t it?”
“Is that a no?”
“Not a single note. It’s a tragic end to a happy vacation, but we’ll all survive to fight again another day. I’m finished. Would you like a receipt?”