The Shadow of Your Smile

79

On Thursday afternoon, with enormous pride, Tony Garcia washed and polished his newly acquired Cadillac. With loving hands, he vacuumed the interior and wiped the dashboard and door handles with a damp cloth. Finally, he opened the trunk and it was then that he remembered that he had not yet looked to see if the file that Olivia Morrow had asked him to place in it was still there.

With absolute shock, he had read that Dr. Hadley had admitted killing Ms. Morrow. The nicest lady you’d ever want to know, he thought. Fearful that he might lose out on the car, he’d phoned his brother-in-law and been reassured that as long as he kept the receipt for the cash he had handed Hadley, there shouldn’t be any problem getting the car transferred to his name.

The trunk was deep and the lap robe that had been covering the manila file was almost as dark as the black interior. I wonder if that file is still there, Tony thought, as he bent down and leaned into the trunk. Dr. Hadley had said that the garage attendants took out any personal stuff that Ms. Morrow had in the car. But maybe they didn’t bother looking under the blanket.

He lifted it up and it was there. The manila file. He pulled it out and held it in his hand, wondering what he should do with it. Maybe he should turn it over to the cops.

He walked up the three flights to their apartment. Rosalie was out in the park with the baby. Tony left the file on the table, changed, went back downstairs, drove the car to the service station where his buddy let him park it cheap, then headed for the Waldorf where he was working at one of the black-tie affairs.

When he got back home at one in the morning, Rosalie was sitting at the table, reading. Her face transfixed, she said, “Tony, this file belongs to Dr. Monica. It has so many letters from her grandmother to Ms. Morrow’s mother and proof of Dr. Monica’s grandparents. Dr. Monica’s grandmother was a nun. When you read the letters she wrote about giving up her own child and spending her life taking care of other children, you’ll want to cry.” She wiped her eyes. “Tony, these letters were written by a saint.”