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There most certainly was, and Ellie’s first impressions of this comfortable, confident woman made her feel certain that Mrs. Linares could provide it—but she had no idea how to broach the subject without it seeming abrupt.
Her eyes lit on the glass in Mrs. Linares’s hand.
“Is that lemonade?” she asked.
“Limeade,” Mrs. Linares replied. “Would you like me to have some sent up to your room?”
Ellie’s hopes crumpled a bit.
“Yes. I… suppose that would be appropriate,” she conceded.
Mrs. Linares looked amused.
“Or you are welcome to join me here, if you would prefer to watch Rosalita do the laundry while you drink it,” she offered with a gracious wave to the other weatherbeaten wooden chair.
“Would you mind that terribly?” Ellie replied, perking up.
“Tito!” Mrs. Linares shouted with impressive volume.
A young boy with messy hair appeared in the door to the kitchen.
“¿Qué, Mamá?” he demanded. He startled a bit at the sight of Ellie. “¿Qué hace esta bakra aquí?”
“The bakra is having limeade with me. Bring her a glass. Con más azúcar!” she shouted after him as he darted away.
“What is a bakra?” Ellie asked as she took the seat beside her.
“It’s a Belize word for fancy white people. A little rude, if I am honest,” Mrs. Linares said conspiratorially. “Tito will hear about that later.”
The boy in question came hopping down the stairs with a limeade in his hand. He handed the glass to Ellie with a neat little bow.
“Your drink, ma’am,” he said with perfect courtesy after a slightly nervous look at his mother.
Mrs. Linares dismissed him with a regal wave of her hand. He pounded inelegantly up the steps.
Ellie took a sip of the limeade. It was tart and delicious. She settled back in the chair as the teenager continued to poke halfheartedly at the laundry.
“You must forgive me if I am being too forward… but then, you did invade my yard,” Mrs. Linares said playfully. “But I think perhaps you are Mrs. Nitherscott-Watby who joined us earlier this morning, yes?”
“I am,” Ellie replied. She hoped that her response to her outrageous alias didn’t sound as awkward as it felt.
“It was not such a hard guess,” Mrs. Linares admitted. “You are the only woman staying here at the moment other than the sister of some missionary—but she is always in her room, and her face looks like someone just fed her a lemon.”
Mrs. Linares shaped her lips into an illustratively disapproving pucker. Rosalita snorted by the tub.
“We get all sorts, as your people would say,” Mrs. Linares concluded.
“Yes,” Ellie agreed tentatively. “I believe I ran into another—er, guest?—earlier this afternoon. I must say, he was alarmingly pushy.”
Mrs. Linares’s eyes narrowed dangerously.
“Did one of my guests behave in a way not fitting for a gentleman?” she demanded.
“Oh—not like that,” Ellie quickly corrected. “It was all the knife-waving and kicking down doors.”
“Kicking downdoors?” Mrs. Linares echoed. Her voice rose with alarm.
“Well, admittedly, it had something to do with the snake…” Ellie hedged carefully.
