Have You Seen Luis Velez?(15)

“What about a middle name?”

“I never asked,” she said, stroking Louise’s ears. “Do you know this cat slept on my pillow all night long? Purring. Every time I woke up to roll over I could hear her purring. It was just lovely. Now tell me why you are asking so many questions about Luis.”

“No reason,” he said. “Just curious.”

If she didn’t believe him—and she probably didn’t—she never said.



Raymond stood in his own apartment, in front of the kitchen phone, with his list, staring at the horrible floral wallpaper. It was faded, worn down by children’s hands. Almost everything in the apartment was a leftover from the days when Ed’s grandmother had lived here. Which meant it was all old-fashioned and just plain old.

He’d made a list of twenty-one men named Luis Velez in the greater New York City area. Addresses and phone numbers both.

Looking at the page, he knew the first question he should have asked the old woman was how to spell Velez. It might have had an a in the first syllable, not an e. Or how to spell Luis. Maybe he spelled it the English way, Louis. And maybe Mildred Gutermann just used a Spanish pronunciation because Luis had.

He’d started to ask her. At least three times. But it wouldn’t have worked. It would have given him away. Nobody asked the spelling of somebody’s name out of sheer idle curiosity. No, if Raymond had asked that question, especially on top of asking his middle name, she would have known he was looking for Luis. And he currently had very little confidence in his ability to find the man, so he was giving no clues away for now. Or at least no more than necessary.

Raymond’s knees quivered slightly as he picked up the receiver and tapped in the first phone number. Maybe it was just the tension of beginning such a huge task, especially one so important yet so likely to fail. Maybe he was afraid of what he would learn. Or maybe it was simply scary to call a total stranger on the phone.

“Hola,” a voice said on the other end of the line. An older woman with a high, vulnerable-sounding voice. Maybe more tentative than Raymond, even.

“Um,” he said. “Hello. Is Luis Velez there, please?”

“No, él no está aquí ahora.”

“Um. I’m sorry. What?”

Raymond had gotten the bare gist of it, actually. Everybody understands the word “no.”

“Lo siento, no hablo inglés.”

“Oh. I see. Well . . . I don’t speak Spanish. Sorry.”

But it struck him hard that he had better learn some, and quickly. The basics, at least.

“Okay,” he said, breaking a long silence on the line. “Thanks. I mean . . . gracias.”

He looked up to see his stepfather staring at him over the kitchen island.

“That better be a local call,” Ed said. Without even giving Raymond a chance to finish his conversation.

“De nada,” the woman said, and hung up the phone.

Raymond stood holding the receiver in his hands and stared back at his stepfather.

“How do I know if it’s local or not?”

“Easy. If it comes up on my phone bill, and I have to shell out extra for it, it’s not.”

Yeah. I know that. Duh.

“I meant . . . how do I know before I make the call?”

“No idea. But figure it out.”

Raymond set the phone back down in its base and hurried out of the kitchen.

My Luis Project is not off to the best start, he thought.

Then he decided that statement might be giving his scant progress more credit than it deserved.



He stood in the school library, near the window, squinting under the strong fluorescent lights. There was no one in the room except Raymond and the librarian. He was actually supposed to be in a last-period study hall, but he was cutting. Lately it had been harder and harder to convince himself to sit still for that useless last period. Sometimes he just went home. It seemed to make more sense.

The librarian looked up into his face.

“Raymond,” she said. “Where are you supposed to be?”

“Study hall. But you can study in a library, too. Right?”

She gave him a crooked sideways smirk. She was about fifty, with reddish hair and a knowing gaze that always seemed to cut right through him. If he had been guilty of any crime, or even misbehavior, she’d be the last person Raymond would want to see.

“Well, yes and no,” she said, still smirking. “Regardless, you’re supposed to be where you’re supposed to be.”

He stood a minute, silently, waiting to see if she really meant he had to leave. She made no moves toward ejecting him.

“I was wondering if there was an English-Spanish dictionary I could check out,” he said. “Or even a phrasebook.”

“You’re learning Spanish?”

“I’d like to, yeah.”

“Are you taking Spanish?”

“No. I’m taking Latin. But I have less and less idea why every day. Because nobody speaks Latin.”

“But it’s the root of all the other languages.”

“That’s what my Latin teacher keeps telling me.”

“I agree that Spanish is very useful. And we have three dictionaries. But they’re reference only. I can’t check them out to you.”