“How do you figure you’ll be safe? Just because it’s a big crowd? Sounds dangerous.”

“Too many people in a small space. Too many children. Too much publicity. If Juan wanted to stage something, I believe he’d choose a situation where he had more control.”

“Anything else? Any other events between now and the end of the year?”

Carmen shook her head. “Not that I know of. Juan was planning to have a small dinner party on Christmas Eve, with just a few couples. That was before I moved out of the house. I assume the dinner has been canceled, or at least that I am no longer invited. Juan hasn’t mentioned it since I left.”

Carmen stopped and looked at me. “Spenser, I’ve answered all your questions. You’ve provided me with no information, nor have I asked you for any. I hope that you believe that I act on my own and not for Juan Alvarez, and that what I tell you is true.” She waited to see if I’d reassure her. When I didn’t, she went to her duffel bag.

“Would you do me a favor?” she said, handing me some hundred-dollar bills. “I want to give Slide a Christmas present. I don’t own a car and don’t want to ask Juan or his men to take me in to Boston to shop. I want Slide to have an electric-blue Razor. All the kids have them. You know, those motorized scooters.”

“Consider it done,” I said. “One last thing.” I took out a small pad and pen and handed them to Carmen. “I need a map of the property. Just give me the general location of each building. And I need a map of the house. What’s in each room, where the doors and windows are.”

She talked while she drew the maps.

“Some setup, right?” she said. “The stable, this tennis facility . . .”

“I know ten guys out of work who’d be happy spending the night in one of the horse stalls if they’re as grand as I think they are,” I said. “Not me. Horses scare me.”

Carmen smiled. “A big handsome guy like you?”

She handed me back the notepad and pen.

“Hard to admit, but true.”

We walked toward my car. “You’ll make sure Slide gets my present? Even if something were to happen to me?” She looked at me, her hand held up to shield her eyes from the bright morning sun.

“I will. And I’ll do my best to see that you give it to him yourself.”

“Good. Take this, too.” She handed me a piece of paper. “All my bank stuff. My accounts, my contact there. I want Slide to have it. I spoke to my dad and the bank when all this started with Juan, but there has been no time to make a new will. I know a written codicil is legal, and I have sent one to my dad and my lawyer. I know it is probably overly dramatic, but I want Slide to have something for his education, his future, if I were to meet with an accident . . . you understand.” She stood very still.

“I do.”

“Thanks, Spenser.” She stood on the balls of her feet and gave me a kiss on my cheek.

“Adiós, Carmen.” I got in my car and drove away.

I CALLED JUAN ALVAREZ and made an appointment to see him at his office, which was on Exchange Place on State Street. The building was a tall glass column with a black marble entrance. Inside the heavily gilt-painted lobby were the biggest potted palms I had ever seen outside the set of Aida. Over in one corner was a huge fir tree decorated with blue and silver balls for Christmas, which clashed with the brushed-gold elevator door.

I got off at the twenty-fourth floor. The elevator doors opened directly into a spare modern reception area. A young woman with strawberry-blond hair, brown eyes, and matching freckles sat behind a black granite workstation.

“I’m here to see Mr. Alvarez,” I said.

“You must be Mr. Spenser?”

“I am,” I said, flashing her what I hoped was a roguish grin.

She was not moved. “You’re a bit late for your appointment. Mr. Alvarez doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

So young. So jaded.

She got up and led me down a hallway and through a tall double door. Juan Alvarez got up from his half-crescent desk. “Spenser. Come in, come in.” He waved me in. “Alice, what can we get for Spenser? Coffee, tea, or something stronger?”

He was wearing an expensive charcoal-gray bespoke suit with a faint chalk stripe and a floral Turnbull & Asser tie. His desk was burnished oak. On top of the desk were several neat piles of papers and three clocks showing different time zones.

“No, thanks,” I said.

“Let me give you the nickel tour. I can’t get enough of this view.” He led me around the large room, which had a panoramic view of Boston Harbor and, on a particularly clear day, probably a good chunk of Newfoundland. The paintings on the walls reeked of expensive original. Picasso, Bacon, a Turner. Obviously not a discerning collector, but maybe it didn’t matter when you had lots of money.

He waved me to one of the chairs opposite his desk, and we sat down. “Before you tell me why you are here, please allow me to apologize for my outburst the other day. I regret I came on a little strong. I have always been a very private man, and I find any intrusions into my affairs upsetting.” He smiled.

I smiled. Amigos again. Just like that.

“Apology accepted, Juan,” I said. “My innate curiosity isn’t always understood or appreciated. Some people have told me I can be annoying.”

He chuckled, but he didn’t disagree.

I looked around. “This is a swell office,” I said. “What type of business gets you the picture-postcard view?”

“I run an import/export business. Art, textiles, some clothing, small leather goods.” He smiled some more, and I smiled back. After a moment, he said, “And to what do I owe the honor of your visit today?”

“I’ve been thinking of relocating my office, and I was wondering if any of those houses over by Jackie’s Street Business are for sale. I’d even consider renting, if it got my foot in the door.”

Alvarez smiled again. His teeth were white and even. Maybe I’ll ask for the name of his dentist, too.

“An interesting concept,” he said. “How many employees do you currently have?”

“One,” I said, “including me. But I aspire to growth. And I have plenty of files.”

Alvarez leaned back in his chair, put his arms on the armrests, and studied me.

“Your abiding interest in those properties intrigues and perplexes me, Spenser.”

“And annoys?” I said.

“Amuses. Those buildings are simply investment properties, nothing more.”

“I’m just a real estate junkie,” I said. “I hate to miss a great investment opportunity.”

“And an astute investor such as yourself would certainly check the public records, so you would know that I have recently transferred ownership of all of my Boston holdings. You would therefore know that I am no longer the legal owner of those buildings.”

“Damn,” I said. “Why unload such swell investments all of a sudden?”

“Not all of a sudden. It was the result of months of planning by my financial advisers. I hate to disappoint you, Spenser, but it was merely some long-overdue estate planning.”

“I’m intrigued, Juan,” I said. “Why the estate planning? Just contract a terminal disease? Plan to go skydiving? Recent unsettling visit from Marley’s ghost, perhaps?”