Once again, I wish to thank all my wonderful readers for all their support and feedback. The last week or so has been rather hectic and cut into my writing time quite a bit, but it isn't like I made you wait too long. I also want to thank storyteller362 on Fanfiction dot Net for offering their experience when it comes to genealogical and library research.

Miguel honestly believed that they must have circled the plaza twice, listening to the different instruments carefully while musicians showed off their skills. While the obvious reason that they were going around to them was to help Abel and Rosa find instruments that suited them, Miguel and probably Eduardo were also trying to introduce the pair to the different styles and types of music that existed. Every performance, the musicians trying to show off and have fun as they demonstrated their preferred instruments for a completely innocent audience, was a new and novel experience for Miguel's cousins. And the musicians would rarely get to perform for people so inexperienced with any form of music and seemed to like the unique challenge. The fact that their efforts attracted larger crowds was only a bonus.

But it was certainly a long process. There were several musicians in the plaza and more seemed to show up over time, perhaps gossip from the others letting them know that there was a chance to show off. And while Rosa instantly loved the violin from the first song, Abel had a harder time. He liked them all and didn't seem to have a preference for the longest time. But as the sky started to show the first hints of the approaching sunset, he started leaning towards one instrument.

Though Miguel certainly didn't expect for him to be drawn to the accordion.

After that, Eduardo managed to coax Miguel into a performance of his own. He even loaned the boy his guitar. And after all the man's help and what happened with Abuelita, how could Miguel refuse?

Miguel did struggle briefly on the issue of what song to play. "Remember Me" wasn't an option. At all. "Un Poco Loco" would be familiar to the mariachi as Ernesto de la Cruz's song while Rosa and Abel knew it as Papá Héctor's creation due to Miguel playing it for Mamá Coco. They knew that it was written for Mamá Imelda. That song would only provoke a lot of questions that Miguel couldn't answer. He finally decided on "The World Es Mi Familia" because his cousins hadn't heard it yet and he felt rather confident with the song. He could easily play it and no one would argue over who wrote it.

Not yet anyway.

The cheerful applause from Abel and Rosa was nice. The approving nod from the mariachi left him feeling similarly warmed. The small crowd who wandered over to listen reminded him of his adventure in the Land of the Dead. The entire experience left Miguel smiling. He didn't expect the handful of pesos from the audience afterwards, but Eduardo said he'd earned it and that he was quite the talented performer.

It was certainly growing late by the time they left the plaza, Rosa and Abel chatting excitedly as they went. Miguel, however, took a slight detour rather than heading straight home. With his backpack weighed down with school supplies and thick books with dozens of pieces of scrap paper tucked into the pages, Miguel wove his way towards the biblioteca.

He didn't run this time. Miguel wandered slowly while Dante padded loyally beside him. The dozens of new songs from the afternoon floated through his head. Since most of the songs weren't performed on guitars, he couldn't watch the fingerings to learn them. He would just have to experiment and play it by ear to figure out how to adapt the songs. He was humming the catchiest one by the time he reached the building.

Once again, Miguel was hit by the sheer silence of the biblioteca. The later hour hadn't made a difference. It remained quiet and relatively empty of life. His humming died down, unable to continue in the face of the smothering silence.

"Hola." The librarian poked her head out of the stacks of the books. "Welcome back, Miguel."

Waving at her, he said, "Hola." Shifting his backpack slightly as he spoke, Miguel said, "I know I'm supposed to return the books soon, but can I keep them a little longer? It's… it's a lot to read through."

"Understandable. You wanted some rather dense and detailed books. I suppose I can renew them and let you keep the books for a couple more weeks," said the librarian. She gestured towards her desk. "I have some copies of the documents that I promised. And Señor Tomás Estévez's book, 'Music, Memories, and Myth: The Mysteries Behind Ernesto de la Cruz' is here. It should have all the conspiracy theories that you might be looking for."

Miguel grinned broadly. While the general research in the other books was helpful, it just wasn't enough. Not by themselves. But if it was easy to prove that Ernesto de la Cruz was a lying, music-stealing, and selfish murderer, then someone would have done it years ago. The man hid the truth too well. But Miguel had one main advantage over those people: he knew what he was looking for. He just needed to comb through all the material possible for the evidence.

"Gracias. And if you don't mind," continued Miguel, digging out the pesos from his pocket, "could you make me a few more copies of the foto like last time?"

The actual original picture was at home in a new frame, properly displayed for the family to view. But Miguel had one of the paper copies tucked into his backpack, which he proceeded to slide off his shoulders so that he could dig it out. A few more copies of the foto wouldn't hurt. The more pictures of Héctor that their family had, the better.

"Of course," she said. "But perhaps you could do a small favor for me."

As she stepped behind her desk and pulled out a stack of paper, Miguel said, "Sure. What kind of favor?"

She dropped the stack of paper with a dull thump. Miguel could see old documents, neatly photocopied on new sheets of paper. He could already tell reading through it would give him a headache. But he could also glimpse where she'd highlighted certain parts of the copies. That was nice of her. Maybe it would make it easier.

"Tell me the truth, Miguel Rivera."

He stiffened at her words. He turned them over in his head, trying to find another meaning than what he was coming up with. What did she know? What did she suspect? Did she know about what Miguel was trying to prove? He didn't have enough proof yet. He couldn't face down all of Santa Cecilia and their faith in Ernesto de la Cruz. Not yet.

"I… don't know what you mean?" said Miguel, the last words twisting it up into a question.

She plucked the foto from his hands before he even saw the librarian move. Panic fluttered in his chest as he grabbed for it, reminding Miguel too much of how another picture was torn from his grip as he plunged off a building. But she held it just out of reach as she stared at him.

"There is no school project. If there was, then the other children would be here as well, looking for books for their own topics," she said firmly. "And not a single person in Santa Cecilia wouldn't recognize the guitar in your foto."

This time, Miguel managed to snatch the picture back. Once he reassured himself that it was safe, he glanced back at her. He still had no clue what to expect. He didn't know what she was thinking or what she would do.

Tightening his fingers on the foto, Miguel asked, "What do you know, Doña?"

"I know that your great-great-grandfather, Héctor, lived at the Orfanato de la Cruz during the same time frame as Ernesto," she said, pulling a sheet from the pile and sliding it towards him. Repeating with the next sheet of paper, the librarian continued, "And while it would normally be kept in the court house, they moved some of the older files here for storage during renovations and they never got around to reclaiming them. So here is a copy of the marriage certificate for Héctor and Imelda Rivera with one of the four mentioned witnesses listed as Ernesto de la Cruz." She moved to the next page. "The census for 1920 isn't completely reliable due to the instability of that entire stretch of history, but it has Ernesto's place of residence as a few streets away from Héctor Rivera, Imelda Rivera, and their child, Socorro Rivera."

"Mamá Coco," Miguel said with a cautious nod.

"The census also lists both men's occupations as musicians, though it is likely that they supplemented their income working odd jobs around Santa Cecilia before Ernesto de la Cruz's rise to fame. And while I expected his absence from the 1930 census since Ernesto de la Cruz would be working on his songs and his movies during that time period, it is interesting that Héctor Rivera is no longer mentioned. Imelda Rivera, with her occupation now listed as a zapatera, is stated to live only with her daughter and her brothers, Oscar Rivera and Felipe Rivera. But even though Héctor Rivera never reappears on the census, Imelda remained listed as married."

"Papá Héctor left in 1921 and after his letters stopped, no one ever heard from him again," Miguel explained. "Mamá Imelda believed that he abandoned his family, but I think there was something else that kept him from coming home."

"Is that what you're looking for? An explanation for what happened to Héctor Rivera?"

"Among other things," he admitted.

Miguel stared at her, trying to decide what to say. She'd found out a lot of information and she clearly wasn't blind. She was noticing things.

But how much? How much did she know or guess? Would she believe the truth? Could he trust her?

Could she help him?

"What do you think all of this means?" he asked carefully.

"From the documents, we can tell that your great-great-grandfather grew up with Ernesto de la Cruz and that they were close enough that Héctor Rivera invited him to serve as a witness at his wedding. They both were musicians and both left Santa Cecilia within the same decade. Possibly even at the same time. Your comment about him leaving in 1921 would match the time frame established with Ernesto's history," said the librarian. "And from what kind of books you were looking for, you're interested in Ernesto de la Cruz's early history. Specifically, something that he wouldn't admit or talk about since you didn't want autobiographies, so you're searching through other books to see if someone else uncovered the information. Which is something that most people would consider to be a conspiracy theory. Something that probably connects to Héctor Rivera."

Nodding slowly, Miguel said, "Sí. You're right."

"Can you tell me more?"

"No," he said. "Not yet. I need… I need proof. More proof."

He rubbed his thumb along the paper copy of Héctor's foto. This couldn't be like when he discovered the guitar in the picture and tried to tell everyone immediately. That impulsiveness could ruin everything. If he messed up, it wouldn't just be his family freaking out. It would be the entire town. Or even all of Mexico. He would only get one chance to expose the truth. If he didn't have enough proof to at least earn their curiosity, then they would decide that he was a liar and anything he found later would be considered more lies.

He needed to be able to convince everyone. He needed enough evidence to face down decades of belief. But… maybe he could also use an ally.

"I have letters," he said slowly. "Letters from Papá Héctor. And I have Mamá Coco's stories. He left to tour with Ernesto de la Cruz in 1921. Both the letters and stories say that. And he never came home." He shifted awkwardly, trying to decide how much more to say. "I… I have some suspicions, but I can't tell you yet. Not until I have enough proof that maybe you'll believe me. So I have to keep looking. But I'm getting close. And the stuff you found really helps."

She stared at him silently for a moment, searching for something in his expression. Miguel didn't know what she was looking for, but the librarian seemed to find it. Her eyes slowly softened and she gave a small nod.

"If you do find what you need, are you going to tell people?" asked the librarian.

Miguel gave his own small nod. It was his ultimate goal. Unfortunately, he wasn't exactly certain about the details of that part of the plan. But he would figure it out eventually.

"Are people going to be… upset about what you're trying to prove?"

He nodded again. No one would be happy about the truth. But he couldn't let Ernesto de la Cruz be remembered and beloved by the world when Héctor was nearly forgotten. It wasn't fair. The man's lies needed to be exposed.

"Then when you have enough evidence, perhaps you could share it with me," said the librarian. "If… if it is as big as I'm suspecting, I may know a way to share it without people realizing it came from you. Assuming that I agree that what you uncover seems accurate. Whatever you want to prove concerning Ernesto de la Cruz and Héctor Rivera, it might be more credible if people can't claim that his great-great-grandson is trying to stir up controversy."

After a moment of silence, Miguel grinned brightly. Apparently he had the next step in his plan after all. He couldn't wait to tell Mamá Coco that they had more help.

This time when he started to stir, he wasn't hit by the feeling of disorientation as he tried to remember where he was. Héctor knew he was lying on a comfortable bed. Imelda's bed. In Imelda's bedroom. In Imelda's home. The thought both warmed him and left him anxious.

Trying to keep still and let his aching bones rest on the soft mattress, pillow, and quilt, Héctor slowly opened his eyes. The light streaming in from outside had taken on a red-orange tint, suggesting that it was late afternoon or evening and that he'd slept through the entire day. No one else was in the room this time, leaving it quiet. There was no one holding his hand, an absence that he should be used to and yet…

Creaking floorboards and quiet footsteps drew his attention towards the doorway. A short and sturdy skeleton, one with a large mustache and facial markings consisting of dots running above his eye sockets and a few green and orange curls on his chin, walked into view. Héctor watched him startle abruptly upon catching sight of the tired skeleton, the short man nearly dislodging his hat in surprise before scrambling into the room.

"You're awake again," yelped the man. He pulled his hat tighter, the brim bending around his skull. "Sorry about that. We didn't think you needed constant attention anymore, but one of us have been checking on you every hour or so. How do you feel? Should I get you some more medicine? Should I tell Mamá Imelda?"

"I'm fine. I'm fine," he interrupted, trying to calm down the anxious-looking skeleton. "Just tired and sore. I… I'm sorry, but I don't remember your name."

Ducking his head briefly while claiming the chair next to the bed, the short skeleton said, "That's all right. Día de Muertos was a rather hectic night and we didn't get much time to talk." He shifted nervously, as if someone could actually find a barely-conscious and motionless Héctor intimidating. "My name is Julio. And I'm… Well, you see… I am the one that… Back when I was alive… I am…"

"Should I come back later to see how you finish that sentence?" he asked with a slight teasing tone, trying to put the nervous man at ease. "I don't know what I did to scare you, but you can talk to me. We're supposed to be family, right?"

The last bit came out a little quieter than Héctor intended it to be. He was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that yes, he was part of the family again. It had been a long time. And even through Héctor was uncertain of the exact relation in this case, he wanted to know every member of his long-estranged family now that he finally had the chance. But part of him was afraid of pushing too hard or too fast and how easily Héctor could lose everything that he'd miraculously gained.

Taking a deep breath and cringing in anticipation, his skull nearly burrowing into his ribcage, Julio said, "I'm… Coco's husband. That's how we're family."

He forced himself not to react, remembering how badly it hurt the last time he moved abruptly. But Héctor couldn't stop the surprise and the quiet regret over the missed time that the news sparked in him. He knew that his daughter had grown up and married. How else would he end up with a great-great-grandson? If Coco didn't meet and marry someone, then Miguel wouldn't exist. But even though he knew she'd grown up, married, had children, and grown old in the decades since he left home, Héctor still saw his small child when he closed his eyes. He still remembered her as being young and tiny enough to be scooped up in his arms rather than a woman old enough to be the wife to the short, bald, and mustached skeleton sitting beside him.

He missed her growing up. He missed her falling in love. He missed Coco's entire life.

But Julio was there. This short skeleton who was brave enough to attack Ernesto's security personnel and yet clearly nervous to meet his wife's papá… This man was the one that Coco chose to marry.

"Do you love her?" Héctor asked quietly.

"Yes. I love her, Victoria, and Elena more than anything in life or death," said Julio without hesitation.

"Was she happy?"

Glancing down briefly, he said, "I… I think she was. I hope she was. I still don't know why she chose me of all people. I don't know what I did to be worthy of her, but she seemed happy to have me." He met Héctor's eyes again. "I love her and against all odds, Coco seemed to love me enough to share a life together, to share children, and to even share grandchildren and great-grandchildren."

Héctor recognized that look in the man's eyes. He knew it intimately. It was honest and unwavering love for someone he desperately missed.

But Julio's shoulders were hunched as he spoke, as if awaiting judgment. Or perhaps awaiting harsh accusations that he didn't deserve her.

"That's all I wanted for Coco," Héctor said quietly. "For her to be happy and loved by someone."

He gave a tired smile, his regret at missing so much of his daughter's life briefly outweighed by the knowledge that it was a long and good one. Julio looked surprised by his words. But then, he didn't know his father-in-law. He probably expected a harsher conversation. As if Héctor could ever treat someone his daughter loved with that type of suspicion and distrust.

As if Héctor would ever react as Imelda's papá did.

Though that man turned out to be right in the end… Héctor did break her heart… He did leave his family alone…

"Just promise that you won't hurt her… Not like I did…"

Julio stared at him for a moment as Héctor tried to drag his thoughts away from that familiar and darker path. He didn't want to dwell on how much he hurt Imelda and Coco. Not now. He was too tired to think about the guilt that he'd been bearing for so long. He wanted to focus on his daughter's happiness instead.

"I think I would have preferred a scary father-in-law conversation to one who is good at threatening with guilt," muttered Julio.

"Imelda was always better at being intimidating than me."

Julio chuckled quietly, nodding in agreement. Then, climbing out of the chair and walking across the room, he plucked a picture frame from the dresser. He carefully handed it towards Héctor, helping him get a grip with minimal necessary movement.

Moving slowly and wincing at the sharp pain that jolted through his aching joints, Héctor closed his fingers around the frame. Julio had brought over the wedding picture that he'd glimpsed before. His Coco looked beautiful and so happy, a young woman in lovely dress holding onto a slightly shorter young man with an impressive mustache. Now that he knew what to look for, Héctor could recognize Julio standing with her. The foto captured a moment of absolute love between the pair. Héctor felt a smile tugging at his face as he stared into his daughter's eyes.

"She looks so much like Imelda did on her wedding day," he whispered.

"It completely stole my breath away when I saw her like that," said Julio. "Coco nearly distracted me from the actual wedding itself."

"I could barely hear the words. I couldn't stop staring at Imelda the whole time."

"I nearly fainted before it was over."

"That morning, she was the most beautiful thing I could have ever imagined. And I already thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world."

Héctor smiled wistfully, remembering that wonderful day. Everything about it seemed so perfect. And Imelda was the most perfect part of all.

"Mi amor. Mi vida. Mi alma," he whispered, familiar words that hadn't been spoken by him in so long and that Héctor wasn't certain he was still allowed to use. Then, a little louder, he said, "But as beautiful as Imelda was and still is, it seems that Coco grew up to be just as pretty."

"Pretty, smart, kind, loving," described Julio, "and despite everything, a wonderful dancer."

"Just like her mamá."

He glanced up briefly, meeting Julio's gaze. The distant and dreamy look in his eyes was similar to the one that Héctor saw in reflections when he thought about Imelda. He slowly turned his attention back down to the foto in his grip, staring at the black-and-white image of his daughter.

"Can…," Héctor began, his voice shaking a little against his will, "can you… tell me more about her?"

He'd missed everything. He missed watching his daughter grow up into a wonderful person. He knew so little about who she grew up to be. But Héctor desperately wanted to know. He wanted to know everything about her that he missed. He wanted every possible sliver of information about her. He'd been denied even a glimpse of Coco for almost a century and the possibility of reconnecting to her even through stories was something that he practically ached for.

Julio smiled and nodded, settling back in his chair. Héctor tried to sink further into the pillow. He did his best to ignore the dull aches and the weariness pulling at him, staring at the foto quietly. He knew he would drift off soon. He could feel it. But not yet.

"The first time I saw Coco was in the plaza," described Julio slowly. "She'd snuck away so that she could go dancing."

Oh, fun fact. There is now a TvTrope page for this story as well as a recommendation that someone made. You are perfectly welcome to go and add stuff to it if you want.

"Sentimento" essentially means to play with feeling or emotion. As you can probably guess, the music should sound very sentimental to the listener.