A Corpse for Cuamantla (20 page)

Chapter 51

A
s the four headed out of the hotel, Miguel reminded everyone he would be visiting Pedro's parents before the funeral since he expected to serve as
Padrino de Parada
.

"I'm afraid I'll have to eat and run," he said. "I couldn't attend last night's vigil and I should spend some time with Pedro's family today as well as meet with the other pallbearers. I'll return to the room to change clothes before grabbing a taxi to Pedro's. If you don't mind, Juan, I can leave our room key on the nightstand in the Maestras' room and unlock the adjoining doors."

Anna wondered why he hadn't made these arrangements when they were in the hotel room, but the scenery outside the hotel's back entrance diverted her attention. High stucco walls enclosed a broad tiled walkway that curved gently to the left shrouding its termination point. Purple and red blooming bougainvillea covered the walls, their branches arching gracefully over the sidewalk. Anna paused to soak in the sights and smells that almost overwhelmed her senses.

"It's quite beautiful, yes, Maestra?"

"It makes me want to stop and breathe it in. Zocatlo is a gorgeous city and this walkway is stunning."

Miguel looked down at her. "A beautiful place for a beautiful woman," he said, sliding his arm around her waist. Juan and María were well ahead of them. Just as well, Anna decided, because as the pair rounded the bend out of sight, Miguel leaned over and met Anna's lips with a light lingering kiss. This time there was no mistaking what happened, but before she could react, he deftly guided her forward, his arm still around her waist. That was nice, she thought with some surprise. She hadn't minded his kiss and his embrace felt strong and secure, leaving her feeling slightly breathless.

Miguel's arm dropped down to hold Anna's hand as they approached the bend in the path.

"We should be careful, Miguel," she cautioned. "This might not be an appropriate time to start rumors."

"You're right, Maestra, I apologize," he said. "I couldn't help myself, I was overcome with the beauty of the moment."

"Don't apologize, Miguel. It was a beautiful moment for me, too."

"You're full of surprises, Maestra. My heart is skipping beats." He smiled down at her, and drummed his fingers along his chest.

"Miguel, when will you stop using Maestra and call me Anna on a regular basis? At least, in private."

"From now on, Maes. . ., Anna, I promise" he laughed.

"Hey, what's taking you two so long?" Juan called out as they came into view. María and Juan waited side by side under the arch at the end of the pathway, looking like the bride and groom on a wedding cake.

"We were smelling the flowers, Maestro," Miguel replied, "the Maestra wished to expand her senses and I accommodated her." Puzzled looks crossed the couple's faces as Anna tried to keep from blushing.

"Miguel," María scolded, "stop trying to embarrass Anna with your double entendres unless you want her to get the wrong idea about you."

"You're right, Maestra. I wouldn't want her to get any wrong ideas. Just wishful thinking on my part," he said, amused at María's reaction. "How far is the restaurant from here, Juan, are we almost there?"

"One block down," Juan said, taking María's elbow and guiding her across the street.

Miguel used the opportunity to do the same, smiling and winking at Anna as the two held up more traffic than either noticed. Anna shut off the pesky monitor in her brain warning her to be careful, and decided to enjoy this time with her friends. Peculiar, though, to think about enjoying a day dedicated to a funeral. She wondered how many others would enjoy Pedro's funeral day.

Near the end of lunch at Juan's favorite restaurant, Miguel excused himself and left the restaurant alone, weaving past the scattering of dark pine tables. At the front door, he stopped to chat with the waitress and pay for lunch. Anna's eyes followed him as he walked toward the hotel not once looking back. A foreshadowing of being separated from him forever swept over her and she fought back tears, puzzled at her response.

"Maestra, are you okay?" María asked, reaching out to place a hand over hers. "You seemed troubled after Miguel left and I wondered if his behavior on the way here upset you. He's a complicated man as I'm sure you realize, so take him in stride."

Anna nodded and concentrated on her guava flan. She and María lingered over coffee while Juan finished his second helping of hazelnut torte before they gathered their belongings to leave.

On the way back to the hotel the three walked in relative silence. If Juan was saddened by Pedro's death, his grief wasn't showing. Even María's mood changed when she was with him. Anna couldn't stop wondering why María ever rejected Juan in favor of Pedro and hoped she wouldn't make the same mistake twice. She watched María's interactions with Juan and sensed that despite the interlude of Pedro in her life, Juan was not out of the running. Obviously, María cared for him. How much wasn't clear, perhaps not even to María.

Chapter
52

M
iguel climbed into the lead taxi in front of the hotel. A short conversation with the elderly driver revealed the old man knew Pedro's family. Miguel glanced at his watch, nearly three o'clock. Not as early as he wished, but still time to meet with Pedro's family before the pallbearers gathered to transport the coffin to the church. Remembering how Pedro's
Indio
parents tended to resist modernization he wondered if he would see a burro and cart at the house instead of a hearse. Any other day and he would have walked the mile or so to the home of Pedro's parents, but a leisurely lunch hadn't left him the option. The American Maestra was complicating his life, he reflected, and that worried him a little.

"This street, Señor, yes?" the taxi driver asked.

Miguel looked up, squinting at the rapidly advancing intersection. "Correct. The García family house is at the end of the street."

"Sí, Señor. I know the house, a brick one near the end of the street. Correct?"

I believe that's what I just said, Miguel thought, trying to suppress a smile. The taxi turned onto a street lined with cars and crowded with people.

"This is the place, gracias." Miguel said, relieved at the sight of a flower laden gray pickup truck parked in front of the house. At least he wouldn't have to deal with a stubborn burro.

"I'll have to let you out here so I can turn around," the taxi driver said. "I don't want to run over someone. Will this be okay, Señor?"

"Not a problem, gracias." Miguel departed the cab, generously tipping the driver for the short ride. He was glad for an excuse to walk up to the house rather than be delivered by taxi. The old taxi driver knows people, he mused.

A crowd of black clad mourners congregated in front of Pedro's house. Miguel searched unsuccessfully for a familiar face. Smoke rose from the rear of the house accompanied by familiar odors that told him tacos were frying on a grill nearby. He'd eaten more than usual for lunch. He'd have to be judicious about the inevitable platters of food offered once he stepped inside Pedro's parents' house.

"Con permiso, excuse me." Miguel pushed his way through the crowd to reach the front door. The nearer he got to the door the more immoveable the mourners. Finally, he announced himself as a pallbearer enabling him to enter the house.

An unusual mixture of vinegar and something like floral cologne greeted him. He wrinkled his nose, trying to adjust to the unpleasant odor. Both the front room and the one behind were clear of furniture. An exquisite coffin, lid open, stood in the center of the floor surrounded by generous floral arrangements. Scented candles burned on wall shelves in every corner of the room.

Pedro's mother, a small handsome woman, nervously occupied a chair near the foot of the casket. Next to her was Pedro's son, Paulo, sitting beside Yolanda, dressed in black. An elaborate black veil concealed her face. Pedro's father, looking uncomfortable in an ill-fitting blue twill suit stood at attention near the head of the casket. He fiddled with his tie, which remained stubbornly askew. Beside him lurked a rotund priest balancing a prayer book in one hand and a plate of food in the other. Beads of taco grease decorated his habit. No one seemed to notice. Family members milled around in small groups, most with food in their hands. Miguel wondered if he were the only pallbearer not from Zocatlo.

Yolanda extended her hand in greeting. He gave her a hug and she thanked him for coming.

"Have you met my in-laws?" she asked, the timbre of her voice lower-pitched than normal.

"Yes, Maestra, but that was a few years ago. I doubt they will remember me."

"No matter, I'll re-introduce you." She turned to her mother-in-law. "Please don't get up, Mamá. I want you to meet Pedro's good friend from the Cuamantla school, Director
Miguel Menéndez. Remember, I told you he agreed to serve as padrino de parada?"

Miguel bent down to shake her hand, but Señora García used his arm to lift herself from the chair. "I remember you well, Maestro," she said, reaching up to embrace him. "I remember the beautiful flowers you brought when you came with Pedro for a visit. Your mother raised you well."

"As you did, Pedro," Miguel replied, nearly biting his tongue as the white lie slipped out. "I'm so sorry about your loss. Pedro loved life and we'll all miss him."

Pedro's mother introduced Miguel to her husband. "Papá, this is Pedro's compadre from Tlaxcala. You remember when he accompanied Pedro to our house for a visit? He brought the beautiful flowers. Remember?"

"How could such a thing happen to my son and at a school of all places?" Pedro's father asked, as if Miguel might somehow have prevented the misfortune. "I intend to find the murderer myself and woe be to that person when I do. What do you know about all of this?"

"Please, Señor, I know nothing more than what the village officials have told you," Miguel said. "In fact, I may know less. I do know your son was a good friend and I will greatly miss him. You and your family have my sympathy for this tragedy. Whatever I can do to help, I will." Miguel held out his hand to the distraught man who hesitated for a moment then shook hands with Miguel, pulling him into the next room.

"I don't understand any of this. Nothing makes sense," Señor García whispered to Miguel as they entered the adjoining room. Miguel looked around realizing they were in a former bedroom now emptied of its furnishings and filled with relatives, some grieving, some enjoying the food.

Pedro's father continued to whisper in Miguel's ear, pulling him closer and out of sight of the front room, his warm fetid breath fusing with the rest of the malodors in the house.

"I keep asking Yolanda, what happened when you went to Cuamantla and why did you go?  But she pretends innocence and tells me she knows nothing. Only that she went to Cuamantla to talk with Pedro about some business and that she and Pedro argued. So, what's new about that? Arguing is all they ever do. It's all they've ever done. It's the only thing they enjoy together. Did you know they were getting a divorce? I know because Pedro told me. Yolanda pretends she is offended by the idea but I know better. I know, too, about her latest boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?" The news surprised Miguel. "Who is that?"

"The one she keeps secret, a teacher at her school. My wife hasn't found out yet, but she will soon. He's here, Maestro, you'll see him tagging around after Yolanda, looking satisfied with himself. He's very bold, coming here today. Tell me the truth, Maestro. You were there.  Do you believe my daughter-in-law killed my son?"

"Papá, what are you and Maestro Miguel whispering about? You look like two conspirators. Do you know something you're not sharing with Mamá and me?"

Both men turned to see Yolanda leaning against the doorframe. Her black veil rested on top of her head. The lace border lay against her forehead just above her eyebrows, one of which arched royally as she questioned her father-in-law.

"Maestro Miguel is kindly enlightening me as to what he knows about the events surrounding the death of my son in Cuamantla. Why would you even assume we are conspiring?" He asked the question with more innocence than his daughter-in-law believed.

"I'm not suggesting you were conspiring, Papá, why would I think that? I was only commenting on how the two of you looked, standing in the corner whispering to each other. Nothing more. I meant no offense and I apologize. May I bring either of you some food?"

"Yes, that's a good idea, hija. I'm not hungry but I think I should eat something before we leave for the church. And you, Maestro? What can my daughter serve you?"

"Just something to drink, please. I'm not very hungry, either." The current unappetizing ambience might set off a full-fledged rebellion in his stomach if he dared insult it with more food. Yolanda walked over to one of the young women standing nearby and asked her to bring some tostadas for Pedro's father and his friend. Apparently, she had no intention of allowing the two men to finish their conversation in private.

Yolanda picked up a drink and took it to Miguel, asking if she might speak with him in private. He nodded and followed her to the opposite corner of the room. "Miguel," she asked, "do you have any idea who might have done this to Pedro?"

"No, Maestra, but I can tell you we have hope of discovering his identity. The American Maestra was filming the fiesta and we believe she may have filmed the murderer. The State Police are investigating the matter now," he said, hoping for no more questions