were unpleasant.”
“I knew what you meant,” he said. “Why don’t you just tell me what’s bothering you?”
“I can either expose all those things, or I can tell you and Mrs. Rogan in private. If I do it in public, it will get ugly.”
“Are you afraid?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “But I don’t want you or Mrs. Rogan to be embarrassed or uncomfortable. You’re the client. Tell me what you would like me to do.”
“Do any of those things compromise or have the potential to compromise the security of the family?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Rogan drank his coffee. “I say let’s get it all out there. As much as my mother wants to retain her privacy, she would be the first to tell you that potential security issues override that. Do what you need to do.”
“Okay.” I just hoped he wouldn’t regret it.
The rehearsal dinner took place in the courtyard.
In twenty-four hours everyone was going to be dressed up, so for the rehearsal we went with casual. Tables were set out, covered with white tablecloths. Pitchers of lemonade and iced tea were distributed. Baskets of rolls were placed on the tables, next to simple centerpieces of wildflowers in plain glass vases. Valentina’s House Catering had prepared a traditional Texas barbecue, and platters of smoked meats made their way around each table—moist and dry brisket, smoked chicken and turkey, beef and pork ribs, sausage rings with jalapeno kick, followed by bowls of coleslaw, corn on the cob, and baked beans.
I sat at the head table, with Rogan and Nevada, together with Arabella, Bern, Leon, Mom, and Grandma Frida, and Mrs. Rogan. My seat was on Nevada’s left, because I was the Maid of Honor. My sister practically glowed.
I felt so bad. I had warned her that some crazy stuff was coming, but I didn’t go into specifics. It was either ruin the rehearsal dinner or the wedding. This was the lesser of the two evils.
Mrs. Rogan smiled at me. “It’s time, dear.”
I got up and walked to the raised porch where Rogan had set up a huge flat-screen tv. To my right stood a lectern covered with a length of blue cloth.
Rogan’s entire family was in front of me. My family too. So many people. They were all looking at me. My skin felt too tight. I glanced around the tables, noting the familiar faces. Lucian and June; Maria and Mikel; Markel and Isabella; Iker and Eva, sullen Xavier sandwiched between them; Ane and Lance; Zorion and Teresa . . .
I took a deep breath. I had spent a good hour writing the intro to my speech and trying to sound as adult as I could. “Recently we became aware that the Sealight tiara, which is traditionally worn by the brides of the Ramírez family, has been stolen.”
The courtyard went quiet, surprise and concern registering on people’s faces. The blue cloth hiding the lectern fell to the floor, revealing a blue pillow with the Sealight on it, its jewel still missing.
“We were able to recover the Sealight and in the process of our investigation, several facts have come to light, which I will now share with you.”
I looked at Elba sitting at the table with her parents, Mikel and Maria. Elba grinned at me. Keep smiling. Let’s see if you are still smiling when I’m done.
I smiled back and looked to the table where Markel and his wife, Isabella, sat. “Isabella Ramírez is buying and selling prescription medication and is using Elba and two other children, not related to the family, to distribute it. Here’s the footage of her resupplying Elba and collecting the money.”
The flat screen came to life showing Isabella counting off OxyContin pills into the jar and handing it over to Elba.
“The authorities in Bilbao are aware of her activities due to one of the parents of the other children filing a police report.”
A copy of the police complaint appeared on the screen. Bug really was a wizard.
The smile fell from Elba’s face. Isabella went bright red, then white. Markel stared at her. “Why?”
“Because you have me on an allowance like a child,” she snapped. “This man rations everything. He wants to know where every euro went. He would ration my tampons if he could.”
Maria was glaring at Elba. The next part was going to be even better.
“Maria Ramírez,” I said.
Maria jerked in her seat.
“Your husband is not bisexual. He is not having an affair with Lucian. Mikel is running a Ponzi scheme through Ramírez Venture Capital. To date, he has