In the hacienda’s enormous family dining salon, white linen, crystal goblets and silver flatware decorated a table that stretched as long as a racetrack. High-backed chairs stood barely within shouting distance of each other. Cinnamon-scented candles flickered in ornate candelabra next to vases filled with fresh-cut flowers. Hummingbirds hovered around geraniums in pots that hung in the corners.
Pedrito’s father and mother wore formal evening clothes. The patriarch escorted the fine lady to her seat, then took his own place at the head of the table. Smith hurried in, brushing a hand across his newly oiled hair, tugging down his formal evening jacket. “Sorry I’m late. I thought the dinner bell was some kind of alarm.”
The servants chuckled politely, and one waiter led Smith to his chair n
