The abrupt transition brought Crawford's head up in surprise. Jacinto set the mold end up in a dishpan, chuckling.
"I am not as stupid as I am corpulent, Crawford. You didn't come here just to eat my cracklings." His great bloodshot eyes slid upward in their pouches till they met Crawford's. "But I can't tell you anything, Crawford. I know something is going on. Huerta and that woman. Something not quite right. Tarant too, somehow. Maybe you can tell me."
"Hyacinth, what did you think of that story about Santa Anna's chests?"
"I—Santa Maria, that wax is hot." Jacinto sat shaking his finger a moment. Then he put it into his mouth. "If Santa Anna lost some chests up here, I guess he lost them, that's all. Mm, you ought to taste that bayberry. I think I'll season my chiles rollenos with it some time."
"You heard the one about the map?" said Crawford.
"The derrotero? Sí, I guess there was supposed to be a map. Isn't there always, with something like that?"
"Ever stop to think of Santa Anna's full name?"
"Ciertamente. Everybody knows it. Antonio Lopez de San—" Jacinto stopped, staring at Crawford. Wax dripped from the tin ladle onto the floor. Crawford popped a last crackling into his mouth.
"Would that give her a connection?" he said.
"Lopez is a common name," said Jacinto, almost defensively.