"Roald and I introduced ourselves and shook hands with each of the newcomers. Montoya appeared to be, perhaps, 40. The other three were adults, but yo...nger."How many people do you have in your group?" Montoya asked."We have twenty," Roald said. "Four are small children." We started out with six," Montoya said. "All of us adults. But two people have since died." You saw no one else? In Monterrey?" No one else -- anywhere," Montoya replied. But I am concerned, about the deaths." You mean -- the. The Photographer licked his lips and murmured “Oh, Emma, you are so… so… vibrant! So… so… perfect!” and all the time kept shooting. She brushed her hair back over her left shoulder, exposing her beautiful shoulders and back, as she flattened her stomach against the wall. She smiled that mysterious smile once again and laid her cheek against the wall, staring back at the camera, her face radiant within the mass of her silky hair. Her excitement was evident in the crimson flush of her cheeks,. I just asked for Miranda's office and walked down the hall like I belonged there. Once inside her office, I scooped up the diaries and the personal papers she wanted me to secure for her. I guess she was not too confidant that they would remain confidential if they stayed open for snooping inside her office. I was just getting ready to leave then the queen bitch editor at large came in and slapped my backside as I was bending over getting Miranda's hair dryer from her bottom drawer."Miranda, my. }We went into the room she indicated. There were two women in the room. One had to be nearly a hundred years old. She was senile, but her brain was still functioning. The other was a young black girl in her late teens or early twenties.{Sharon, would you object to being a black woman?} I asked.{Not unless I thought it would bother you,} she said.{Honey, it's you I love. I don't care what color of body you're in. You know from being in rapport with me that I'm not prejudiced.}{Guys, she is brain.