If on occasion a bit of important business came up that required preparation and expert collaboration, Pere Ranalies would seek out his relative, Dorotea Palau, for the dressmaker was also a voluptuary of such viands, with a special talent for their elaboration.
When Ranalies learned of the death of the chauffeur in the bar on Carrer d’Aribau, he went straight to Dorotea Palau and told her the whole story. The name Antoni Mates didn’t appear on the Monk’s list and he — who knew everything — had not till that moment had any suspicions regarding that well-known and well-respected gentleman. Ranalies thought that if the story were true — and he didn’t doubt for a moment that it was — there was big money to be had. But it was an extremely delicate operation that would require great tact. Perhaps Dorotea Palau would find a more deft, natural and efficient way of navigating it. Dorotea thought it was superb, and clever as she was, and skillful as she was beginning to be, it wasn’t hard for her to come up with a plan of attack.
Dorotea did not yet have the honor of counting la Senyora Mates among her devotees. She sent her a string of invitations, proposing impossibly low prices. She paid her several visits. Finally, Conxa received her and placed an order. Employing exquisite manners and the flourishes of a grand vedette, Dorotea won her client’s heart. Since Antoni Mates had assumed the obligation of never leaving his wife’s side, she began to win her client’s husband’s heart as well. One day, on her return from a trip to Paris, Dorotea regaled the Mates couple — on whom the barony had just been conferred — with a string of dazzling and fascinating stories. Her performance was so delightful, with just the right touch of understanding and delicacy, not to mention enthusiasm, that the couple lost all notion of space and time. Since the death of their chauffeur, life had gone dark again for the newly-minted Baron. Antoni Mates was feeling a combination of fear and remorse. He wanted to turn his back on all that. Above all it horrified him that anyone might suspect such a thing of him. Sensing from the gaze of the baron and the baronessa that she could now cast her hook into the water because the bait was irresistible, Dorotea made a few vague, extremely tenuous, gestures, as if the whole thing meant absolutely nothing to her. Among normal people, a situation like this is practically inconceivable. But Dorotea knew what kind of individuals she was dealing with, because Pere Ranalies had presented her with a textbook case and a perfect diagnosis. In the event Ranalies had slipped up, at most Dorotea might lose a client. But there was also a likely chance of gaining many more. If the Baronessa de Falset took her “under her wing” with the kind of protection she had in mind, Palau-Couture would soon reach the summit. Dorotea brought the red cape closer to the horns of the beast and waited a few seconds, during which her heart almost stopped beating. Instead of a mortal goring, she received an ovation. The barons surrendered before the stylist’s tact, talent and discretion.
At first, the Monk supplied his relative with the necessary personnel. Material of excellent quality, in very good condition, and guaranteed to be safe. With the baronessa behind her, Dorotea Palau came to serve the most select clientele of Barcelona. Realizing that she should choose an apartment that met with the needs of the baron and baronessa, Dorotea moved. One day, Dorotea learned of the existence of a certain group of more or less elegant and dissolute young men. By chance, one of these young men came from a very good family. Dorotea had met him in a seigneurial mansion when she was a young girl and he was a ten year-old boy, very cute, and very diligent, with a sailor suit and curly hair that was irresistible to ladies’ fingers. Dorotea also learned that the seigneurial family was practically in the poorhouse, that for a hundred-pesseta bill that boy was capable of doing a great many things, and she found an opportunity to bring a great lady with an excellent heart into her obligation by doing a “favor” for her son. Dorotea made a deal with the young man. She spoke clearly from the start, and the young man accepted the conditions. The readers already know the rest of the story of Dorotea, the young man and the Barons de Falset.
Up to that point, Pere Ranalies had been living off the fat of the land. However, starting with the negotations between Dorotea and Guillem de Lloberola, he began to note an inordinate negligence on the part of his relative. The Monk had become a nuisance to Dorotea, who no longer had any need for him. Not to mention that Dorotea was an absolute miser. The Monk asserted that the “she-beast” had cheated him, and demanded the money owed him. The Monk had fallen on hard times; all his savings had been wiped out in the notorious failure of a bank that had affected half of Barcelona. The Monk was ambitious by nature. He saw that he had lost, and he had a right to recover what he demanded of Dorotea. She refused, and she threatened to turn him over to the police for a whole pile of reasons. The Monk, who was smarter than Dorotea, laughed in her face and said it was “hard to believe she was such a fool.” When he saw that Dorotea wouldn’t cough up the dough, the Monk vowed that he would kill her. She took it as a joke. She thought of Ranalies as a kind of repugnant, but inoffensive, mosquito.
Pere Ranalies bought a knife to kill Dorotea Palau with. He didn’t know when or where it would happen, but he swore that his distant cousin would not get away with this. Ranalies believed in witches. A murder like the one he had in mind was a bit hard to carry off with absolute impunity. But Ranalies believed in witches. Besides, inhabited only by impotent monsters and vomitous aberrations, his brain demanded a special kind of cruelty. Ranalies had a sick mind, cold, calm, and fully conscious. He wanted to kill like a cat, without a sound, with clean hands and a smile on his face. When, and how? He was sure that luck would favor him. Dorotea would fall into his hands. He envisioned the moment, he savored the impunity of his crime, he heard the woman’s muffled scream and smelled her viscous blood … With his soft, icy fingers he would sit and caress the knife. It was a five-spring stiletto, like the ones from the days of the hoodlums, the kind that plunge delicately into a man’s body fat, like a diver with perfect style.