Part 12 (1/2)

BRUCE AND WILL headed to Caracol at eight, but Monica chose to lounge around the guesthouse during the morning hours. A driver would come get her around eleven. She felt relieved to have some time to herself after the excitement of the last few days. headed to Caracol at eight, but Monica chose to lounge around the guesthouse during the morning hours. A driver would come get her around eleven. She felt relieved to have some time to herself after the excitement of the last few days.

Monica was grateful for her own restraint the night before and resolved to try to avoid being alone with Will. She thought about Yvette, tried to imagine what her life with Will had been like. Had they been happy? Monica didn't know for sure, but her guess was that they had been happy in a normal, if not extraordinary, way. Sylvia had shown her some snapshots she kept around to try to help Yvette remember her own life. Monica could see that Yvette had indeed been pretty, and that she had been social. There were even a few pictures of old boyfriends. ”Will understands,” Sylvia had said. ”Showing her these pictures can help her reconstruct her past.” But one photo in the pile had made Sylvia frown, one of Yvette holding hands with a tall, dark-haired hunter who was dangling a dead pheasant in the other hand. Sylvia had scratched at the surface of the photo and said, ”Now why would she want to remember you?” And she returned the photo to the pile.

Monica thought it would be a privilege to witness Yvette's unlikely recovery, to witness impossibility melting into miracle, to watch the emptiness of grief flush and engorge with relief, grat.i.tude, awe, and love. It would be a gift to all, a sign that G.o.d is neither cruel nor pa.s.sive, that He was at least willing to meet man halfway. Being smitten with Will made her understand what beauty and light this girl would return to. It would allow her to cheer in a louder voice. Will was Yvette's to keep, and Monica did not want to covet what was intended for another-especially someone as helpless as Yvette.

Monica sat in one of the rocking chairs and listened to the birds in the courtyard while she glanced at one of the local newspapers. She made a mental note to call in to work, call Paige, Marcy, and Kevin. She was about to get up to inquire about using a public phone when she remembered the sh.e.l.l catalogs. She felt like having more coffee, so she went to get the catalogs out of her room and sat back in the rocking chair, lazily leafing through the last of the pages she hadn't yet seen, pausing at length only when she ran across mollusk discoveries and interviews with marine biologists.

What caught her eye about the Hexaplex bulbosa Hexaplex bulbosa, or swollen murex, was that it had been discovered in Costa Rica. Most of the new discoveries were in Indo-Pacific waters; Central American discoveries were rarer. This sh.e.l.l had rose-colored bands and was unusually inflated through the body, with a long foot and large spines with jagged edges. She studied it for a moment and scanned the text below, which was written in a print that was tediously small. She was about to turn the page when a word snagged her attention like a protruding nail. By now she had already turned the page, and she flipped back, wondering if she hadn't just imagined it. If the page had been stuck, she would have moved on. But, no, there it was, at the end of the paragraph. The name of the discoverer.

”Borrero.”

Monica shook her head. What were the chances? And in Central America.

Scientific protocol did not include listing the person's first name, so the book offered no more information. Had one of her estranged cousins been inspired by her mother's collection at Caracol? It was certainly possible. But to actually discover a new species of mollusk was the work of a careerist. If Bruce insisted they be secretive about their family ties-well, she would just have to research it on her own. It wasn't that hard to do, considering she had been planning on calling Paige, researcher extraordinaire. Paige did fund-raising research for UConn's development office, and she had access to a universe of members-only commercial and academic journals, databases, and archives. Monica looked at the picture of the sh.e.l.l again. It had been found in a researchers' expedition off the Panamic coast of Costa Rica, in 1999.

Borrero.

She skipped the extra cup of coffee and ran to find a phone.

LETICIA RAMOS looked vaguely familiar to Monica. She was in her fifties-short, squat, with graying hair pulled back into a bun. When she smiled, she flashed a row of lab-coat-white teeth as perfect as piano keys, which were striking against her dark skin. Bruce and Will were sitting in the two chairs across from her desk. Bruce had just finished interviewing her. Monica sensed tension in the room as she stood at the doorway. ”May I come in?” she asked. looked vaguely familiar to Monica. She was in her fifties-short, squat, with graying hair pulled back into a bun. When she smiled, she flashed a row of lab-coat-white teeth as perfect as piano keys, which were striking against her dark skin. Bruce and Will were sitting in the two chairs across from her desk. Bruce had just finished interviewing her. Monica sensed tension in the room as she stood at the doorway. ”May I come in?” she asked.

Will stood and offered her his chair, and Monica accepted it while a pa.s.sing staff member brought in another, then returned with a tray of small china coffee cups for everyone. ”I hope I'm not interrupting,” Monica said. ”It sounded like you were finis.h.i.+ng up.”

”We were,” Leticia said eagerly. Will flashed Monica a look that suggested the contrary. He forced the conversation to return to issues of regulation and accountability, and Monica, who sat observing in silence, noticed that half-moons of moisture had sprung up under Leticia Ramos's armpits. Monica studied the face. She had seen her before. But where? She was connected to the Borreros in some way-not by blood, of that she was sure. Was she related by marriage? Was she a step? An ex?

”Whenever you're ready,” a voice said out in the hall.

The men stood. ”This is my daughter, Dr. Fernanda Mendez,” Leticia said. ”She is the brain behind this clinic.”

So there was was a real Fernanda behind the old pseudonym. Monica turned and looked behind her. It took less than a second for her to figure out who these women were. Fernanda was about her own age and looked very much like Leticia, except for one thing: the unforgettable, pumpkin-colored eyes of Maximiliano Campos. a real Fernanda behind the old pseudonym. Monica turned and looked behind her. It took less than a second for her to figure out who these women were. Fernanda was about her own age and looked very much like Leticia, except for one thing: the unforgettable, pumpkin-colored eyes of Maximiliano Campos.

Monica stood and held out her hand. ”Hi, I'm Monica, his daughter,” she said, pointing at Bruce. ”You look familiar to me,” Monica dared. ”Did you by chance go to grade school in a little town called El Farolito?”

The woman smiled, baring a row of tiny, coffee-stained teeth that were too small for her mouth. ”As a matter of fact I did live in El Farolito,” she said, and paused, waiting for Monica.

”I lived with my aunt for a short time, and I was enrolled in school at El Farolito for a few months,” Monica lied. ”I was quiet, you wouldn't remember me, but I never forget a face.” Monica didn't dare look at her father, lest she invite reckless denial.

”Who was your teacher, do you remember?” Fernanda asked.

”Oh, gosh, I don't remember.”

”Well, then, we'll have to get reacquainted while you're here,” Fernanda said. ”We can talk about the good old days.” She rolled her eyes at the last part, then paused, c.o.c.king her head. ”I'm surprised I don't remember you. El Farolito is a poor town in the middle of nowhere. Someone like you, with those green eyes, would have stood out.”

Monica chuckled dryly but didn't reply. Bruce flashed her a look of warning, got up, and headed toward the door.

”How are you two related to the Borreros?” Will asked casually, slipping his hands into his pockets and delivering Monica's shoe an almost imperceptible, conspiratorial kick.

Fernanda's chest and voice rose with pride. ”My grandmother was the nanny of several Borrero children, including Alma Borrero. And when Magnolia Borrero was old, my grandmother took care of her.”

”... Grandmother on her father's side” Leticia clarified.

”Yes, and Dona Magnolia Borrero left my grandmother a nice sum of money that paid for my medical school. So my mother and I have close ties to the family. I originally learned about the potential of cone venom from my father,” Fernanda said, hands on her hips, orange eyes suddenly bright. ”The Borreros already had this history with seash.e.l.l collecting, and they had the facility, the capital, and the interest to pursue a cone venom study. It's a marriage made in heaven.”

”And speaking of marriage ...,” her mother said in a singsong voice, smiling brightly. Monica couldn't help but think that it was a d.a.m.n shame Fernanda hadn't inherited those fabulous teeth.

Fernanda waved at her mother in a dismissive, embarra.s.sed way, but Leticia persisted. ”Fernanda is engaged to one of Dona Borrero's nephews,” she said proudly. ”He's a chemist.”

”Congratulations,” they all said, and Fernanda nodded her head modestly.

Monica suddenly noticed the three-carat engagement ring on Fernanda's short, stubby finger. By American standards it was huge, but by Salvadoran standards it belonged in a museum.

”So interesting” was all Monica could manage. ”And is your grandmother still alive?”

”Barely,” Fernanda said. ”She works at the Borr-Lac dairy plant, not too far from here. She's so old she hardly does any real work, but she hates being idle. The Borreros keep her on the payroll because she's a family relic.”

Suddenly, Fernanda slapped her hands together, signaling that chitchat time was over and she had more important things to do. ”So, Mr. Winters, Mr. Lucero-what are we going to talk about today?”

”I want to talk about competence,” Will said, clapping his hands together in mockery of the bossy way she had clapped her own. ”I want you to convince me that you know what you're doing.”

Fernanda pursed her lips and nodded. She pointed down the hall. ”My office is down the hall to your right”-she motioned to Will-”please.” They all shuffled out into the hall. Will and Bruce stepped into the office and Fernanda followed them in and closed the door.

Monica and Leticia Ramos were left alone in the hall. Leticia turned to Monica slowly, her head turned to the side, as if someone far away had just called her name. She blinked twice, then smiled oddly, a cold smile with only the teeth. She said, ”Nice to meet you ... Monica ... Winters.” And in that slow and astonished p.r.o.nunciation Monica understood, without a question, that the woman who had once been Maximiliano Campos's common-law wife had just now figured out exactly who Monica was.

THE MEETING had left Monica giddy. She wondered if Bruce had figured out the connection to Max or if he was truly as distracted with his vigorous note-taking as he appeared. Leticia Ramos, the only staff member at Caracol who would remember Alma when she was alive, had picked up on the mother-daughter resemblance. Surely she would tell someone and it would get back to the Borrero uncles, the ones who'd cut Monica out of the will. But so what? After Bruce walked out of the doctor's office, he would have all the raw material he needed for his story. The two of them would go home in a few days anyway. Besides, she wasn't here to take a piece of their empire or to discredit the program. If anything, they all had one thing in common: everyone wanted the venom program to work. had left Monica giddy. She wondered if Bruce had figured out the connection to Max or if he was truly as distracted with his vigorous note-taking as he appeared. Leticia Ramos, the only staff member at Caracol who would remember Alma when she was alive, had picked up on the mother-daughter resemblance. Surely she would tell someone and it would get back to the Borrero uncles, the ones who'd cut Monica out of the will. But so what? After Bruce walked out of the doctor's office, he would have all the raw material he needed for his story. The two of them would go home in a few days anyway. Besides, she wasn't here to take a piece of their empire or to discredit the program. If anything, they all had one thing in common: everyone wanted the venom program to work.

Monica sighed. Maybe, just maybe, the whole money saga had two sides; maybe there had been some miscommunication somewhere along the way. But it seemed like wishful thinking, since according to Bruce, they had essentially erased her from the family. No, the Borreros would undoubtedly be threatened by their presence. She decided against telling Bruce about her moment with Leticia. He would only get more nervous than he already was.

So the old nanny Francisca was still around, Monica thought with a mix of nostalgia and delight. Francisca had been so worn-out by raising h.e.l.lions like Alma, Max, and several other Borrero urchins that by the time she got to taking care of quiet little Monica, she had been a loving but tired grandmotherly figure. Monica thought she would definitely like to pay her a visit.

Monica headed toward the lobby and looked at her watch. Three o'clock. By now Paige would have spent her lunch break scouring for information on the Costa Rican sh.e.l.l. Monica guessed the registrant of the sh.e.l.l would turn out to be Fernanda's fiance, the chemist. Which cousin was he? Monica wondered. The doctor had not said his name. Monica took inventory of her Borrero second cousins-not much more than a blurry memory of a crop of scruffy schoolboys: Rodolfo? No-too young. Alejandro? Marco, maybe. She wondered what had changed in their prideful code of behavior to allow him to marry so far down socially. Perhaps it was just a matter of history repeating itself-perhaps this cousin was the rebel du jour, and Fernanda was the new Max.

Looking into Fernanda's all-too-familiar eyes had made Monica's head feel swimmy with the sensation of peering into the past. She had the feeling that she was rus.h.i.+ng toward something, like being on a ride at an amus.e.m.e.nt park; she was no longer certain of where she stood in the context of things from one minute to the next.

There was a public phone in the lobby of Caracol, across from the seash.e.l.l displays. Monica looked at her watch and dug her calling card out of her purse.

”PAIGE NORTON, Development Research.” Development Research.”

”Monica.”

”h.e.l.lo? h.e.l.lo? h.e.l.lo?”

”h.e.l.lo? Paige can you hear me?”

”Monica? I can barely hear you.”

”Now?”

”Yeah, hi there. Hey, I'm running to a meeting, so I can't talk for more than a sec, but the good news is I found it. The sh.e.l.l was registered with the Conchologists of America in 1999 to someone named Alma Borrero, who also happens to be a current member of the COA, with the members.h.i.+p dues paid up right through next month.”

Monica chewed on her bottom lip.