---------------------------------- July, 1960 - Rhonda, Spain ---------------------------------- Isabel Gemio was what folk liked to call a "Private Eye" in America. She was hired for small jobs usually, find out if someones wife was getting fucked by the baker, if a son was sneaking into the all girls wing of the school, maybe to tail an employee who was believed to be stealing from the company, etc. It was all small potatoes, but she enjoyed it well enough and the pay had allowed her to purchase a fine apartment directly overlooking the cliffs of Rhonda, nothing but four hundred feet of air between her balcony and the valley bottom. She had a few pet projects on the side, mostly celebrities or politicians she was interested in. She followed their activities in the news, enjoyed books written about them, and corresponded with people the world over to build as accurate a picture as possible of their lives. One of her pet projects, a man she was secretly in love with, was Grand Viceroy Francisco de la Cal Delgado. She had met him once many years before when he was a lieutenant in Valencia. It had been a military function and they had enjoyed a few minutes of conversation, and while he had clearly moved on to bigger and better things, she still fantasized about him showing up to make her his bride. Her home, a neat little two bedroom apartment that she shared with her dog and two gold fish, had a small office that looked out over the valley. The desk inside was always neat but her filing cabinets bulged with current open files and whatever her current fascination was. Truth be told, if she was honest with herself, she wasn't far off from being a stalker. At least she didn't write them letters and sit outside their homes. Small consolation. On this particular day, as her heels clicked on the cobblestone streets and she exchanged waves with her neighbours, she was clutching a thin manila envelope. One of her correspondents, knowing her interest in Delgado had called her and told her that a document she just had to see was in the mail to her from Brazil. For a week she had stopped in to the post office every day until, at last, the envelope arrived. She passed the small market near her apartment, dodged a police car that was rolling slowly down the street, stepped over a gutter flowing with someones pool water, and took the three steps up to her front door in one leap. She fumbled for the ancient looking key, managed to force it into the lock and pushed the blue door open so she could hurry inside. The door slammed behind her as she made her way into her small office. Her dog, a fat French bulldog named Phillip, was curled up under the desk in a sunbeam. He barely opened an eye as she hurried in, then gave a long sigh, stretched, and settled down again. The envelope was placed on her desk with care. She took the time to remove her shoes and jacket, putting them in the hall cupboard before pouring herself a glass of water. Then, and only then, she returned to the office and sat in the chair before her desk. The cool wind from outside pushed through the half open door to bring a blast of fresh air to her. In that moment, as she stared at the envelope, she felt a strange sense of foreboding and couldn't help but look around to make sure she was alone. It was foolish but her friends tone over the phone had been intense and hurried. "Isabel, I have sent you something that you must read. It will shock you, I promise." There had been the sound of shouting in the background and then a heavy pounding sound. "Goodbye Isabel." The line had gone dead. She picked up a letter opener and carefully slit the edge of the envelope open. Inside were two sheets of yellowed paper, as if they had been exposed to humidity at some point. She turned them over carefully. Both were single sided and bore a water mark on the back for the [i]SÃO PAULO Hotel and Spa[/i], in Brazil. The front of the documents bore the same water mark on the top, along with the contact information for the hotel, its address, and a list of handwritten guest names with the date of arrival, departure, and what rooms they had stayed in. Why on earth would she had been sent hotel guestbook pages? They had clearly been torn from the register and she smoothed both pages carefully. She downed half her glass of water and then took a closer look. The hand writing had been somewhat smudged or faded due to rough treatment but she was able to discern a few things right away. The first page was dated May 31, 1954, so just over six years ago. The first names at the top of the list were those of the Portuguese Royal Family. Duarte Nuno, Duke of Braganza, the Duchess, and their three children, one of whom was to be the new Queen of Spain, Princess Mariana Braganza. They had stayed for a week it seemed, but when the rest of the family had left the Princess has remained for several days. That was not so strange, certainly not enough to warrant the panicked phone call she had gotten. Turning to the second page she began to scan down the list of names. There were plenty she did not recognize but half way down she found a name that caused her heart to stop. The date was June 3, 1954. Next to that date was that name she knew only to well. It couldn't be. She glanced across at the check out date. It matched that of the Princess perfectly. She looked at the name again. The sudden shouting, the heavy thudding she had heard in the background of her phone call, it all suddenly seemed to make sense and her room suddenly felt very cold despite the summer heat. She glanced involuntarily at her door as if to assure herself it was locked. She read the name again and it seemed to stare back at her. [i]Francisco de la Cal Delgado[/i].