“What did you say to my daughter?” she asked.

“Nothing bad, I assure you. All these people heard it and weren’t alarmed. I simply told her she was a very pretty little girl.”

The man had a British accent when he spoke English. He sounded Portuguese when he called after Rosetta. Good with languages, Maria thought.

“What was with the whistling?” asked Maria.

“A bad habit,” he said. “I know it annoys people, but you know how habits are.”

“Who are you and what do you want with me?” she said.

“Senhor Michaels,” said one of the hotel clerks. He was the one that was on duty when Maria had first seen Straw Fedora. He had two cups in his hand. “I brought you and the senhora coffee.”

“Thank you, but none for me,” said Maria. Michaels, she thought. She didn’t recollect running across the name. Senhor Michaels did not look pleased. He hadn’t intended to give her his real name, she realized. Given away by the clerk.

“My name is Cameron Michaels. I’m with Interpol,” he said, handing her his card.

Maria arched an eyebrow. “Interpol’s United Nations representative. What on earth do you want with an archaeology student?”

“I’m looking for this woman.” He laid the flyer on the table.

Maria would have liked to snatch it up and throw it at him. But she turned it around and studied it. Frowning, to make it look believable—she hoped.

“You know her?” he said.

“No one I recognize. This is a drawing. Is it one of those police artist sketches?”

“It was done by someone she ran across in the jungle and tried to kill,” he said.

“Really? Why do you think I would know such a person?”

He gestured to the flyer. “It could be you,” he said.

She looked up at him sharply. “You think so? Really? I assure you I haven’t tried to kill anyone.”

She handed it back to him.

“Read it,” he said. “You will find it interesting.”

“You will have to read it to me. I fear my only foreign language is German, which hasn’t been very useful here. I do know a couple of words in Spanish.”

He read it to her. It sounded more sinister coming from him than when Rosetta read it.

“Ah, you think because my daughter sometimes goes by the name Rosetta, I am this person and I kidnapped her.”

“You were lost in the jungle with a little girl you call your daughter and whose name is Rosetta. Diane Fallon, Linda Hall, or whatever her name is, was traveling through the same jungle with a little girl named Rosetta whom she called her daughter.”

“My name is Maria West. And that ‘same jungle,’ as you call it, is huge. They don’t call it the Amazon for nothing.”

“You could have changed your name.”

“Why didn’t I change my daughter’s name?”

“You may have felt that she couldn’t remember a new name.”

“Rose of Sharon has a good memory.”

“Is that her name?”

“Yes.”

“So the Rosetta that you call her is a coincidence, you are saying?”

“When she was born, she was all red and wrinkled, like babies are. My dad thought she looked like a little rose. He called her Rosetta. My mother calls her Rose and one of her aunts calls her Sharon. I call her Rosetta because I think it is pretty. Her father calls her Rosasharon—all one word. She answers to all of them.”

“She is from here,” he said with such authority that she wondered if he expected her to cave in and confess.

“What in the world makes you say that?”

“Look at her. She looks like some of the tribes around here.”

“So would her father if he came here. He is an American Indian. A Cherokee.”

For the first time, Michaels looked taken aback. He hadn’t seen that coming.

“Do you have a photograph of him?”

“I did. It was lost along with my other important papers. I have to go to Rio to replace them.”

“You have an answer for everything.”

“Because there is a straightforward answer for all the questions you’ve asked me. You aren’t one of those people who thinks that someone with the right answers is suspicious and a liar, are you? Because I have no tolerance for that kind of illogic. It’s a pet peeve of mine and a conversation ender.”

“No, of course not.” He smiled for the first time. “You will have to forgive me if I lapse into interrogation techniques. I’ll try to do better, Mrs. West. You put down in the register that you came from Río de Sangue. This woman”—he tapped the flyer—“was spotted near there.”

An error to use that village, Maria thought. Hell.

“That was my last port of call, so to speak, before I got here. I was originally in Río Branco. It was several miles from there that I was attacked and lost my things. I made my way with my daughter to Río de Sangue and finally here.”

“You saw no one like this woman?” said Michaels.

Maria studied the picture again. “No.”

“It seems I must look elsewhere,” he said.

He wasn’t convinced, Maria thought. He was going to be a problem for them. She was going to have to come up with a way to get from here to Tabatinga without him.

“I need to go upstairs to Rosetta,” she said, not shying away from the name. “We’ve both had an ordeal. I hope you don’t intend to make it worse with false allegations.”

“Of course not,” he said. “I am just looking for justice for all the men she has killed.”

“All the men she has killed? Is she some kind of black widow?” Maria said.

He shrugged.

“Good evening, Mr. Michaels, or should I call you Agent Michaels?”

“Mr. will do fine. I’m sorry to have troubled you. You see why I had to make sure.”

“How did you light upon me, out of all the people here? Why do you think she is in Benjamin Constant?”

He shrugged. “Anonymous tip.”

Maria rolled her eyes.

“This is a port city that leads to many other places. She was headed in this direction according to witnesses. I put up these Wanted posters and someone responded. They didn’t give their name.”

Maria shook her head. “Of all the crazy situations,” she muttered and took her leave of him.

She walked to the stairs and didn’t start bounding up them until she got to the second landing. She rushed to their room and knocked on the door.

“Rosetta, honey, it’s Mommy. Open the door.”

She waited.