He frowned. “I don’t know. Even if she can talk a little now, she doesn’t speak much English. But,” he added, brightening, “everybody else in the family does and one of them is with her all the time, so somebody can translate for her.”
“Any information she might have is better than none.”
He wrote something on a Post-it note. “The Moreno house is on Ray Street, two blocks over,” he said, thumbing over his shoulder. “Look for the pink house. And watch out,” he warned, “she’s got a cranky old rooster guarding her hens and he’ll peck your eyes out if you give him half a chance.”
I got up and smiled. “I’ll be on the alert. Thank you for your time.”
Hopeful that I might get the unexpected opportunity to question the woman, I hurried to my car. Pedro was right; it took me all of th
