Cut Throat (11 page)

Solomon turned around just as a heavyset man came out from a back room.

Solomon frowned, then shrugged. No need to make an enemy in the place he intended to live. At least, not yet.

“No offense meant.”

The man stared at Solomon long and hard, making no effort to hide his curiosity at Solomon’s appearance. Finally he nodded.

“None taken,” he said. “Can I help you?” “Bring me a plate of tortillas and beans.” “You maybe want some carne asada, too?”

“Yeah, whatever,” Solomon muttered, and sat down, then pointed toward the bar.

“And a beer.”

The heavyset man eyed Solomon again, as if trying to decide if it was wise to turn his back to him, then finally nodded before moving toward the bar.

Solomon stretched wearily, then sighed as he kicked back in the chair. Things were finally looking up.

Cat flew past the skeletal remains of the gas station and took the left fork, confident she was still on the right road. As she passed, a roosting turkey buzzard took flight.

By now the sun was directly overhead. She glanced at the gas gauge, then frowned. She had a five-gallon can of extra fuel in the back. It wouldn’t be enough to get her back to Dominguez and the baby. She’d have to find more fuel. As isolated as Adobe Blanco was, they must have a gas station for the locals.

As she took a curve in the road, her cell phone slid over and bumped into the console. Several hours ago it had begun beeping at her, signaling unanswered voice mail, so she’d turned it off. There would be time later to check her messages—after she’d located Pilar’s family. She picked up the phone and dropped it into a cup holder. When she looked back up, she saw the rooftops of a small village on the horizon.

“Finally,” she muttered and, while she wasn’t into depending on anyone else for help, she couldn’t help but add, “Please, God, help me find that baby’s family.”

A few minutes later she pulled into the village. As she did, her hopes dropped. Adobe Blanco consisted of less than two dozen houses, all of which were single-story, flat-roofed adobe. Less than half had ever been whitewashed. An emaciated dog wagged its tail as she passed by the doorstep where it was lying. A pair of scrawny chickens pecked in the dirt, while nearby, a woman walked past, balancing a large basket on her head. Cat couldn’t tell what was in it but admired her ability. If she could balance her life as well as that woman balanced her load, things would be a lot simpler.

The little village square consisted of a large communal water well. Without electricity, the water was drawn from its depths the oldfashioned way, with a rope and bucket. Cat’s frown deepened as she drove even slower. There were no obvious businesses that would give her a stopping point to begin her search. All she could do was get out and hope to God someone here spoke English.

Two women and a young boy who appeared to be in his early teens emerged from the back of one of the houses as Cat pulled to a stop. By the time she got out of her car, the women had stopped, as well, and were staring, obviously surprised by her unexpected appearance.

Cat could tell they were uneasy, but there was no time for delicacy. “Habla inglés?”

Both women shook their heads. Cat frowned but wasn’t ready to give up. Her gaze slid to the boy.

He shrugged.

“Un poquito,” he said, holding his thumb and forefinger together to indicate his meaning.

“Is there anyone else here who speaks English?” “Padre Francisco.”

“Where is he?” Cat asked.

The boy pointed down the road. “The…how you say…temple.” “You mean…church?”

The boy smiled and nodded. “Sí. Sí. Church.”

“How far?” Cat asked.

“Maybe five minutes if you walk.” Cat nodded. “Gracias.”

“De nada, señorita,” he said.

Cat got back in the car and drove in the direction the boy had indicated. Within a couple of minutes, she saw the church in the distance.

“Okay, God…please let this work.”

Padre Francisco was sitting on a bench beneath a Joshua tree in back of the church, deep in prayer for a sick child in the village, when he heard the sound of an approaching car. The smooth, high-pitched whine of the engine told him it would be a stranger, because no one in this part of the country owned a car that ran as smoothly. He stood, dusted off his robes, then headed for the front of the church. Although the day was sunny, it was cold. In fact, the older Padre Francisco grew, the colder his winters became. He shivered slightly, then poked his hands inside the sleeves of his robes, curious as to who was coming.

Adobe Blanco had been Padre Francisco’s first church. He’d arrived in this dusty little no-place over thirty years ago, confident that, once he’d paid his dues to God and the church, he would be assigned to a place more befitting his goals.

The chances had come, but Padre Francisco hadn’t gone. He’d been unable to tear himself away from the combination of people and poverty. In truth, he’d learned true humility here, where the only thing people had of any value were their good names.

And so, when he came around the corner of the building and saw the dark, dusty vehicle pulling up at the church, he knew he’d been right. It was a stranger.

To his surprise, the stranger was a lone woman, and when she got out of the vehicle, his first impression was that her beauty was striking but she was far too thin. No one came to Adobe Blanco on purpose, so most likely she was just lost. But when she got closer, and he saw the set of her jaw and the fiery gleam in her eyes, he reassessed his opinion. She might still be lost, but there was an anger in this woman the likes of which he’d never seen.

Cat was looking toward the front door of the church when she realized the man she’d come looking for was already outside. She paused as the priest came toward her and thought to herself that he was taller than most Latinos she knew. His stride was slow but measured, and his face was lined and leathery from the years and the chill of the season. By the time they were face-to-face, she had to look up to meet his gaze.

“Padre Francisco?”

He only nodded.

“You are American?” “Yes.”

“Are you lost, señorita?”

She tried to smile, but it didn’t quite make it to her lips. “I’ve been lost most of my life,” she said. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

The odd, husky quality of her voice was explained once he saw the ugly scar on her neck. He sighed. Life was hard, no matter who you were or where you came from.

“Then how can I help you?” he asked.

“Do you know a young woman named Pilar Mendoza? She would have a baby girl less than a year old.”

Cat was more than slightly surprised by the smile that spread across his face. It drastically changed the somberness of his expression.

“Sí! Sí! The little mother.”

Cat flinched. The isolation of her life had not prepared her for being the bearer of bad news to anyone but bail jumpers. Still, it was why she’d come.

“It is cold today,” the priest said. “Please…we will talk more inside…okay?”

The priest’s smile, as well as his gentle touch, was almost painful to Cat. Still, she let him lead her inside the small one-room church.

Once inside, it was obvious that the priest’s life was no better or worse than the other people of Adobe Blanco. The normal ornamentation one expected to see in Catholic churches was absent here. Behind a pulpit there was a single wooden cross hanging on the wall, bearing the crucified figure of Jesus, and there was a small figurine of the Virgin Mary in a niche by the doorway.

The priest dipped his fingers in a small metal bowl of holy water, made the sign of the cross, then genuflected, before leading the way down the center aisle to the pews in the front.

“Please…sit,” he said.

Cat sat down as the priest moved to a small potbellied stove near the wall and stirred the coals before adding a small stick of wood. When he was done, he sat down beside her.

“Now then, you mentioned Pilar. Are you a friend?” Cat took a deep breath. God, help me do this right. “No, Padre. I never met her. Does she have family here?”

Padre Francisco frowned. It seemed strange that this woman would ask about a woman she didn’t know, then inquire about a family.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Maybe if you explained your true reason for —”

Cat swallowed nervously. “She’s dead.”

The priest reeled as if he’d been slapped. Again he made the sign of the cross as he whispered some prayer Cat didn’t understand.

“Dear God…what happened? How do you know this?”

Unaware than her fingers were curled into fists, Cat started talking, wanting to get it all said without coming undone.

“I found her and the baby in the desert last night.”

Tears rolled down the old priest’s face as he reached for Cat’s hands and held them firmly in his own.

“She left only two days ago to meet a man who would take her to her husband, Jorge, who is working for a vegetable grower in the San Fernando valley in California.”

“So Dominguez guessed right,” she said. “I’m sorry?”

Cat looked up, meeting his gaze. “Lieutenant Dominguez…the policeman in Casa Rojo, figured she might have been robbed and dumped by a coyote, since she was so far from any towns.”

The weight of sorrow was heavy on the priest’s face and shoulders.

“I am so sorry…so sorry…for all of you, but how do you become the bearer of such news…and how did you learn her identity if she was already dead?”

Cat shuddered as she looked down at his hands, his fingers curling around hers in a gesture of protection. His sympathy was something she hadn’t counted on. She bit her lip and looked away, unwilling to let him see how touched she was by his words.

“When I found them, I took them back to the last town I’d been through, which was Casa Rojo.”

“Ah, yes…I know it well.”

“That’s where I met Dominguez, and he went through the papers Pilar was carrying. He identified her from those.”

Padre Francisco shook his head in dismay.

“Poor little mama…poor little baby…I can not imagine how this came to be.”

Suddenly Cat realized that the priest thought both of them were dead.

“Oh! No! The baby…the little girl…she’s alive. I found them before the animals did. The mother…Pilar…had been dead for a while. She died of snakebite. It was actually the baby’s cries that I heard and that led me

to find them. I changed the baby, then fed her with some milk Pilar had been carrying, before I went for help. The baby is the real reason I came. Dominguez is going to turn her over to the authorities in Nuevo Laredo if I can’t find family before tonight.”

The priest jumped to his feet, clapping his hands to his face, then to his chest.

“Praise be! It’s a miracle.” He touched Cat’s face, then her hair. “You are an angel.”

Cat shuddered, then held up her hands as she stepped away. “No. I’m no angel.”

The priest smiled gently, allowing Cat’s denial, and for the first time, allowed himself to stare at the scar on her neck. He frowned, then quickly looked away, fixing his gaze on her face instead.

“What is your name, my child?”

“Cat…Catherine…Dupree.”

“So, Cat Dupree…to the Mendoza family…you are an angel.” Cat started shaking. Maybe this trip was going to be worthwhile after all. “You mean there is other family?”

He nodded. “Yes…Pilar’s parents, as well as her father-in-law, still live in Adobe Blanco.”

“Will you go with me to tell them? They need to get to Adobe Blanco before the day is over or Dominguez is going to turn the baby over to the welfare department in your country.”

“Yes, yes, of course I will go with you. We can’t lose little Maria Elena, too.”

So now she knew the name of the baby who’d stolen her heart, Cat thought. “That’s the baby’s name?”

“Yes. She was christened in this very church.”

Cat looked around, imagining a much happier occasion than her visit here today.

“Is there anyone in the village who has a vehicle? You will need to bring back Pilar’s body, as well as the baby.”

“Yes, yes…I…the church…has an old station wagon. It won’t be the first time it is used for a hearse.”

Cat glanced at her watch.

“Can we go now? There’s not a lot of time.”

“Just let me get the keys. You can follow me back into the village to the

family home.”

“I don’t know what to say to them,” Cat said. He nodded, then put a hand on her shoulder.

“Do not worry. I will tell them for you, because they do not speak English. However, it would be good if you were there, should they have a question they want to ask.”

“Oh. Sure.”

It was the last thing Cat wanted to do, but she could no more have refused the priest’s request than she could have driven away and left the baby—Maria Elena—without a chance of returning her to her family.

The priest grabbed a coat and some keys.

“The car is behind the church. You go to your vehicle and wait for me. I’ll be right there.”