"Where do we go, Antonio?" Clete asked.
"I suggest the library, Se¤or Cletus."
"Father, I will be with you in just a moment," Clete said. "There is some-thing that requires my immediate attention."
"I understand," Father Denilo said.
Clete motioned the priests to proceed ahead of him into the house. They in-sisted that he go first.
Clete went with them to the library, and then motioned Antonio to follow him back into the corridor.
"Has Se¤ora Carzino-Cormano been here? Last night, or this morning?"
"No, Se¤or."
"That will be all, Antonio, thank you," Clete said, and walked down an in-terior corridor with Enrico on his heels.
"Where's the safe?" Clete asked.
"In el Coronel's study."
"Christ, we may need a key!"
Enrico went into his pocket and came up with a single key on a key ring. Most of the keys to doors at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo were old-fashioned, large and simple. The key Enrico held up was small and modern; the lock it fit could not be picked by an amateur burglar with a screwdriver.
El Coronel's study had been off limits to just about everybody, and kept carefully locked. Clete was not surprised to find it locked now.
"I'll need my own key, Enrico," Clete said.
Enrico stepped past him and put his key in the lock.
"S¡, Se¤or," Enrico said, and pushed the door open for him, and flicked on the lights. The heavy metal blinds on the window were down. Enrico looked to Clete for orders about the blinds.
"Leave them down for now," Clete said.
El Coronel's study was furnished simply. There was a comfortable-looking, thickly upholstered dark-red leather armchair with a matching foot-stool. Beside it was a table holding a cigar humidor and a large ashtray. Two smaller, cloth-upholstered armchairs that showed no signs of use faced a large wooden desk, behind which was a high-backed, red leather office chair, the cushions showing signs of much use. A library table held four leather-bound photo albums. A large oil portrait of Elizabeth Ann Howell de Frade with her in-fant son, Cletus, in her arms hung over the fireplace.
Jesus, I'd swear I saw that hanging in Uncle Willy's house. Are there two of them ?
Clete walked to a small table holding a large photograph in an ornate silver frame and looked at it. He had seen it once before, on the only previous time he had been in his father's study. It had been taken before the altar of the Cathedral of St. Louis on Jackson Square in New Orleans. It showed Elizabeth Ann How-ell de Frade in her wedding dress standing beside her new husband, in formal morning clothes. They were flanked by His Eminence, the Archbishop of New Orleans; Mr. James Fitzhugh Howell; and Miss Martha Williamson, his fianc‚e. At opposite ends stood Mr. Cletus Marcus Howell, whose smile was visibly strained; and a tall, erect, olive-skinned young man in morning clothes, whom Clete had not previously been able to identify. Now he was sure he could.
"Enrico?" he asked. Enrico came to him. Clete pointed.
"S¡, Se¤or Clete. Juan Domingo Per¢n."
"He was my father's best man?"
Enrico looked confused.
"El Coronel Per¢n-he was then, as your father was, Capitan-stood be-side your father. Had the rings. Is that 'best man'?"
"Yes, it is," Clete said.
I'll be damned!
"Open the safe, Enrico, please," Clete ordered.
One of the walls in the study was covered with framed photographs of Clete. At age nine, taking first place in the Midland FFA Sub-Junior Rodeo Calf-Roping Contest. As Cadet Corporal Cletus Frade in the boots and breeches of the Corps of Cadets of the Texas Agricultural and Mechanical College. In sweat-soaked whites, looking as if he had already had at least three post-tournament Sazeracs, with the rest of the Tulane Tennis Team...