Olivia StoneMy inquiries at the government office and the library had provided a taste of the history of my ruin but I was no closer to finding out about Señor Baraso, or why the locals referred to my house as Casa Baraso. The Olivia Stone wouldn't arrive any time soon and it felt like my investigations in Puerto del Rosario had come to a halt. I spent the rest of the week browsing through furniture stores, kitchen and bathroom showrooms, and car yards—I needed to purchase my own vehicle and lose the rental—whiling away the time. I replied to an email from my father with a brief update and sent a longer email to Aunt Clarissa, tailored to suit. By the following Saturday I had had my fill of hanging around Puerto del Rosario.
As the sunlight warmed the street and the air in the city heated
