the traditionally garbed nuns a few rows in front of us turned to give us a basilisk glare, putting a forefinger to her lips. We obediently lapsed into silence, but as the processional started, Lotty muttered at me again.
“You’re wearing your gun, aren’t you?”
I grinned but didn’t say anything, concentrating my attention on the priest.
The mass was conducted in Spanish, at such a rapid rate that I couldn’t follow it. Consuelo’s schoolmates sang an anthem, and the priest preached a sermon in Spanish, which I picked up parts of. Consuelo’s name figured a number of times, as did Victoria Charlotte’s. I gathered that we were bemoaning the cutting off of life before it had had a chance to flower, but that God would sort it all out at some later date. This struck me as pretty grim counsel, but from what I’d seen of Mrs. Alvarado it probably satisfied her reasonably well.
It took a scant forty minutes to do all this, including giving communion to all the frilly dressed girls and the Alvarados. The organ piped up again and the church began to empty. Burgoyne made his way against the tide to Mrs. Alvarado. I leaned back and rubbed my eyes.
“I’ve done all I think I’m up to,” I announced to Lotty. “Are you going to the cemetery with them?”
She grimaced. “I’m no crazier about this charade of piety than you are. Besides, I need to get back to the clinic. Mondays are our busiest day and I don’t have Carol to help me…. Your face is looking better. How are you feeling?”
I made a face. “Oh, more bruised in spirit than body, I guess. I’m a little nervous of what Sergio will do after the police pick him up. And it makes me really nervous to think I was so far off base on him—thinking he’dbe reasonably pleased to see me, instead of bearing a grudge all these years.”
I told Lotty what he’d said about my treating him like a worm. “He has a point, you know. But the thing is, if I’d been at all sensitive to that—how I’d treated him, how he’d felt about it—I wouldn’t have gone off to see him alone. So it makes me wonder about my judgment.”
Burgoyne reappeared at the pew, waiting politely while we gathered handbags—and in Lotty’s case gloves. We strolled outside together. Burgoyne looked nervously at Lotty.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t save Consuelo, Dr. Herschel. I wondered if—I’m sure Dr. Tregiere gave you a report, but maybe you have some questions? If I could see a copy of what he wrote, I might be able to fill in the gaps on what we did before he got there.”
Lotty looked at him measuringly. “Dr. Tregiere was killed before he got a chance to give his report to me. So I would be most obliged if you would send me a complete record of your treatment.” She fished in her handbag for a card for him, then put a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
“You’ll be okay, Vic. You’re fundamentally sound. Trust yourself.”
11
Artistic License
I caught up with Paul Alvarado before he got into the limousine that was to carry him to the cemetery. He and Diego, looking uncomfortable in black suits, were waiting for their mother to finish talking to one of the nuns. Paul bent over to kiss me underneath the brim of my straw hat. He took the opportunity to inspect my face.
“Lotty told Carol what happened, Vic. I’m real sorry—sorry you got messed up with that heap of garbage because of us.”
I shook my head. “It wasn’t because of you—I was trying to find out something about Malcolm for Lotty…. I saw Fabiano. Was that your handiwork?”
Paul stared at me solemnly.
“You don’t know anything about it, huh? And Diego doesn’t either, I suppose?”
Diego grinned. “You got it, Vic.”
“Look, guys—I appreciate the spirit. But I’m nervous enough about Sergio as it is. What’s he going to think when Fabiano comes whining to him?”
Paul put an arm around me. “I have a feeling, Vic, that the boy is not going to cry to the Lions. The way I heard
“You’re wearing your gun, aren’t you?”
I grinned but didn’t say anything, concentrating my attention on the priest.
The mass was conducted in Spanish, at such a rapid rate that I couldn’t follow it. Consuelo’s schoolmates sang an anthem, and the priest preached a sermon in Spanish, which I picked up parts of. Consuelo’s name figured a number of times, as did Victoria Charlotte’s. I gathered that we were bemoaning the cutting off of life before it had had a chance to flower, but that God would sort it all out at some later date. This struck me as pretty grim counsel, but from what I’d seen of Mrs. Alvarado it probably satisfied her reasonably well.
It took a scant forty minutes to do all this, including giving communion to all the frilly dressed girls and the Alvarados. The organ piped up again and the church began to empty. Burgoyne made his way against the tide to Mrs. Alvarado. I leaned back and rubbed my eyes.
“I’ve done all I think I’m up to,” I announced to Lotty. “Are you going to the cemetery with them?”
She grimaced. “I’m no crazier about this charade of piety than you are. Besides, I need to get back to the clinic. Mondays are our busiest day and I don’t have Carol to help me…. Your face is looking better. How are you feeling?”
I made a face. “Oh, more bruised in spirit than body, I guess. I’m a little nervous of what Sergio will do after the police pick him up. And it makes me really nervous to think I was so far off base on him—thinking he’dbe reasonably pleased to see me, instead of bearing a grudge all these years.”
I told Lotty what he’d said about my treating him like a worm. “He has a point, you know. But the thing is, if I’d been at all sensitive to that—how I’d treated him, how he’d felt about it—I wouldn’t have gone off to see him alone. So it makes me wonder about my judgment.”
Burgoyne reappeared at the pew, waiting politely while we gathered handbags—and in Lotty’s case gloves. We strolled outside together. Burgoyne looked nervously at Lotty.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t save Consuelo, Dr. Herschel. I wondered if—I’m sure Dr. Tregiere gave you a report, but maybe you have some questions? If I could see a copy of what he wrote, I might be able to fill in the gaps on what we did before he got there.”
Lotty looked at him measuringly. “Dr. Tregiere was killed before he got a chance to give his report to me. So I would be most obliged if you would send me a complete record of your treatment.” She fished in her handbag for a card for him, then put a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
“You’ll be okay, Vic. You’re fundamentally sound. Trust yourself.”
11
Artistic License
I caught up with Paul Alvarado before he got into the limousine that was to carry him to the cemetery. He and Diego, looking uncomfortable in black suits, were waiting for their mother to finish talking to one of the nuns. Paul bent over to kiss me underneath the brim of my straw hat. He took the opportunity to inspect my face.
“Lotty told Carol what happened, Vic. I’m real sorry—sorry you got messed up with that heap of garbage because of us.”
I shook my head. “It wasn’t because of you—I was trying to find out something about Malcolm for Lotty…. I saw Fabiano. Was that your handiwork?”
Paul stared at me solemnly.
“You don’t know anything about it, huh? And Diego doesn’t either, I suppose?”
Diego grinned. “You got it, Vic.”
“Look, guys—I appreciate the spirit. But I’m nervous enough about Sergio as it is. What’s he going to think when Fabiano comes whining to him?”
Paul put an arm around me. “I have a feeling, Vic, that the boy is not going to cry to the Lions. The way I heard
Similar Books
