“No,” she said quietly. “I’ve been doing everything. And I’ve been scared.”
The table went silent.
I set the blue binder down in the middle of it, right next to the mole.
Elvira’s face went gray.
“I found this in your suitcase,” I said. “Eight names. Eight people who lost their husbands or wives. My name is third on the list. My daughter is described as an obstacle.”
“You went through my things?” Elvira hissed.
“After I found my sixteen-year-old scrubbing clothes in cold water at midnight with your handprint on her arm, yes. I did.”
I laid the rest of it out, one piece at a time. Dr. Ibarra’s report. Doña Carmen’s photographs. The list from the refrigerator. The school emails that had been redirected. The bank statements, with every transfer to Elvira Montes highlighted in yellow.
Patricia’s voice went high and soft. “Gabriel, this is a misunderstanding. Mamá handles some of the finances because you’re always away. Sofia exaggerates. She’s never accepted me, you know that—”
