“Hola, querida. What can I do for you?” Vidal asked, looking up from his desk. Warm sunlight illuminated him, making him shine like a bearded, black-haired angel.
My angel… but who can hold onto a heavenly being? Surely not me. Rosalind regarded her beloved with a bleak heart.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“Carmen is back.”
Vidal drew his brows together. “And…”
“Esteban Medrano is dead.” She spoke flatly, without inflection, not wanting to put ideas in his head
“What a shame.” He turned back to his papers.
“Aren’t you going to do anything about it?” she asked, puzzled by his lack of reaction. There wasn’t even a spark in his eye.
“Like what?” he asked, lifting his face again and lowering his eyebrows in confusion
He looks confused… the same way I feel. “I don’t know, talk to her
