Twisted Lies

by Robin Patchen

  Luis nodded, and Nate took his hand back.

  "He say the chapel is closed until four," Luis continued, "but is okay. The gardens are muy beautiful. You will enjoy. Or you want to go and come back later?"

  "We'll stay," Leslie said.

  "I should wait for you?"

  "Um..." Leslie looked at Nate, a question in her eyes.

  "Can't hurt," he said. As long as she was footing the bill.

  She turned back to the driver. "Yes, please wait."

  Luis pulled forward on the small drive and parked. "I wait here. Many photos from Las Manos de la Hermandad."

  "Um, okay." Leslie looked at him and shrugged. "Thanks."

  They meandered up the walkway and peered in the windows of the chapel. "Mid-century modern," Leslie said. "Not my favorite style. And for a church?"

  "It has its charm." Nate led the way toward the gardens, where they followed the path for a few minutes, both of them scanning the area for Marisa, before they discovered what Luis had been talking about.

  Las Manos de la Hermandad was a giant sculpture of two hands, fingertips touching as if in prayer. The sculpture stood near the foot of the giant cross Nate had seen from town. Nate read the sign, printed in both English and Spanish. "The Hands of Brotherhood."

  Leslie nodded and studied the intriguing sculpture. "Or sisterhood," she said.

  "Of course."

  They moved on. The chapel was open in the mornings and again in the evenings, but closed between one and four. Siesta. And what intelligent person would choose to be outside right now? He wiped the dripping sweat from his temples, as if that would help, and continued looking for Marisa. Was she here yet? Had something kept her from making it today, or perhaps, had she changed her mind?

  They strolled through the gardens and all manner of flora—palms and flowers and spindly plants that had grown high on each side in this particular part of the garden, so Nate and Leslie could hardly see ahead more than a few feet at a time. The effect made him claustrophobic. He focused on the beauty, the scent of the flowers and the twitter of exotic birds, and tried to push the growing fear away

  Suddenly, a little girl dashed around a bend toward them, giggling and looking over her shoulder. She had brown skin and shiny black curls. Nate would have guessed she was Mexican until she turned and called over her shoulder, "You can't catch me, Mama," in perfect English.

  No more than four, she froze when she saw them. Her baby-toothed smile faded as she looked up into Nate's eyes.

  "Hi, there," he said.

  Leslie smiled at the girl.

  "Hola," the girl said. "I'm Ana."

  "Nice to meet you. Where's your Mama?"

  As he said it, a woman rushed around the corner. "Ana, don't run off like that. You scared me!"

  Leslie gasped. Nate's reaction was quieter but no less shocked. So focused on the little girl, the woman hadn't looked at them. Her hair was longer, and her braid had fallen over her shoulder and nearly reached her waist. Her build was slender, her face a little more mature, though not at all wrinkled. If anything, Marisa had only grown more beautiful in the years since he'd seen her.

  Leslie seemed to pull herself together. "Marisa."

  Marisa looked up from the little girl, and he caught the first glimpse of her eyes. Oh, he'd forgotten those eyes. Big, innocent eyes like... What was that princess's name from his little brother's favorite Disney movie? Jasmine—yes, that's who she'd always reminded him of.

  Her jaw dropped, and then she smiled. "Leslie." The large canvas bag she'd held fell to the path, and Marisa stepped forward into her sister's embrace. They held each other and rocked and cried.

  Nate looked at Ana and smiled. "I guess they know each other."

  The little girl nodded. "Si. Mama said we might meet my aunt today."

  Might. Like she'd doubted they'd show. Well, he'd doubted Marisa would, hadn't he? But now that she was here, all those doubts slid off him like the latest beads of sweat. Somehow it seemed as if this reunion had been destined since the first moment he'd laid eyes on Marisa more than eight years earlier.

  A ridiculous thought, but there you go.

  Marisa stepped out of the embrace and turned to him. She looked as if she might want to step in for a hug, but she held back. "Thank you for coming."

  He nodded, itching to embrace her and feeling sort of shy himself. And foolish. Very foolish. "You knew I would."

  She nodded. "I sort of did, yeah."

  Leslie bent toward Ana. "And who's this little girl."

  "I'm Ana."

  She held out her hand, but Leslie pulled her into a hug. "It's lovely to meet you, Ana. I'm Leslie."

  "Aunt Leslie." The girl pulled back and looked at Marisa. "Right, Mama?"

  "Right."

  Leslie stood straight and looked at her sister. "We need to talk. Can we go back to your place?"

  Marisa turned to her sister. "Can't we just talk here?"

  The smile the older sister had worn faded. "You're in such a rush to be away from us?"

  "Worried. You said your life was in danger."

  "Right. I'd rather talk about it someplace private. Is your house far from here?"

  "I don't live in Acapulco. We just arrived in the city today."

  "Oh." Leslie seemed confused. "Where do you live?"

  "It's a little village a few hours from here." She glanced at Nate, then back at Leslie, and bit her lip. "I should have told you that. I hope you have a place to stay."

  Nate couldn't help the smug expression he felt on his face, though Leslie was careful not to look. "We do. Do you have a car, or—?"

  "Nope. We took the bus."

  Leslie wrapped her hand around her sister's. "All right. I'm glad we had our taxi wait for us. Let's go."

  Chapter 4

  MARISA DIDN'T HAVE to coax Ana into the Volkswagen Beetle that served as Leslie and Nate's taxi. The little girl so rarely rode in cars, she was thrilled at the opportunity—though Beetles were almost as common as cockroaches around here. Ana's initial shyness had faded away, and now she chattered constantly as they made their way back to the city. Marisa let her, content to study her sister, who sat on the other side of Ana, and Nate, who sat in front.

  Leslie was turned to Ana, though she seemed to struggle to focus on her words. Well, who could blame her? She and Nate had spent all night on a plane before they'd driven up here to the chapel. Marisa should have suggested a place nearer to town, but she'd never been to Acapulco, and the chapel was the only place she knew to meet.

  "Mama, are they coming home with us? Where will they sleep? On the floor? Or I can sleep on the floor, and they can sleep in your bed. But maybe not him." She tugged on Nate's shirt, and he turned back to face her. "You'll have to sleep on the floor with me. Did you bring a sleeping bag?"

  "Uh..."

  "It's okay," Ana said. "We can borrow blankets. Do you mind sleeping on tile? Abby says it's uncomfortable, but I don't mind. It's cool."

  "Pajarita." Marisa chanced a glance at Nate, whose eyes were wide. She tried not to giggle. "They are not coming home with us. We're going to visit with them here."

  "But I'd love to see where you live," Nate said. "I bet your house is very pretty."

  "It is. Mama's paintings are on the walls, and she brings in flowers sometimes and puts them on the table. I like yellow flowers. Do you like yellow?"

  "Of course," Nate said. "Is yellow your favorite color?"

  "No." Ana shook her head solemnly, as if Nate had asked a very serious question. "My favorite color is blue."

  "No way!" Nate said. "Me, too."

  "Mama, did you hear that? His favorite color is blue! Can we drive in this car all the way home? Oh, wouldn't Abby be jealous."

  Marisa smoothed her daughter's hair. "That's not a very kind thing to say."

  Ana frowned and nodded. "You're right." She brightened immediately. "But we could give her a ride, couldn't we? Oh, can we, Mama? Abby's never even been on a bus before!"

>   "Not this time, pajarita. We are going to visit with Aunt Leslie and Nate for a little while before we take the bus back."

  Ana's disappointment lasted long enough for her to take a breath. Then she started chattering again like a little bird.

  More than once, Leslie looked between Marisa and Ana, eyes squinted as if she were trying to work out a difficult problem. Leslie looked older, of course, but aside from a few wrinkles, she seemed just like the big sister she'd been eight years earlier. Brusque, impatient, but kind and protective. Marisa's heart swelled as she took in her sister's presence. How Marisa had missed her.

  "She's adopted," Marisa said. "Or almost. It's a really long process in Mexico."

  "Oh." Leslie's glance went to Marisa's left hand. "Are you married?"

  "Nope."

  She waited for Leslie's next question, but Ana's sweet voice started up again.

  Marisa listened to her daughter while she studied Nate in the front. He'd aged, too, of course, but the few wrinkles she could see when he smiled only made him look better. His hair was a bit shorter. His eyes wiser, kinder, maybe. Nate had improved in the eight years since she'd seen him.

  Had he always been so handsome? Perhaps she'd just missed it, wracked as she'd been by grief and fear all those years ago. She wasn't missing it now.

  The taxi driver pulled up outside of what had to be one of the oldest hotels in Acapulco, if the design were any indication. This three-story structure was the ugly step-sister to the top-quality high-rise resorts that lined the beach. Still grand luxury compared with what Marisa was accustomed to.

  Leslie paid the taxi driver in American dollars, which made him smile wide and insist on giving them his cell phone number in case they needed him again. He waved wildly as he pulled away. Though he'd probably overcharged them, compared with a taxi in Manhattan, it was a bargain price. And Marisa didn't blame the guy. The twenties Leslie handed him could probably feed his family for a week.

  "We can go to my room," Leslie said, leading the way inside.

  Ana was silent as she took in the fancy lobby. Marisa followed her gaze to the tile floor and the gleaming chrome of the bar on the far side.

  Marisa couldn't help gaping herself. Old, yes, but still, it was air conditioned and freshly painted. Bright pink and aqua contemporary sofas and chairs dotted the lobby like confetti, flanked by shiny white tables. A bowl of candy sat on one table as if these people had money to burn. A man sat in one of the chairs, focused on his cell phone. Two women behind the tall desk smiled when they walked in.

  Leslie and Nate were headed toward the elevators when Ana pulled on Marisa's hand. "Hold on," Marisa said.

  They paused and turned.

  Ana, suddenly shy again, wouldn't speak until Marisa crouched down beside her.

  She spoke in Spanish, an extra measure of security for the four-year-old. "Mama, do you see?" She pointed out the rear door to the sparkling blue water of the swimming pool. "Can we, Mama? Please?"

  Leslie and Nate had stopped to wait. Nate wore a pleasant smile, though his eyes looked tired. Leslie's gaze flicked from the elevator to the child.

  "Could we talk outside?" Marisa stood and faced her sister. "She's never seen a pool before, and we've been traveling since dawn."

  Leslie's jaw dropped. "Never seen a pool? What do you mean?"

  "There are no swimming pools in our village, Leslie." She turned to Nate. "I know how hot it is, but maybe there are fans running somewhere, and we can watch her from the shade."

  Nate shrugged. "It's fine with me."

  After a nod from her mother, Ana raced ahead of them all, pushed open the door, and bolted to the pool.

  Marisa was glad she'd borrowed a swimsuit for her daughter, which Ana wore under her clothes. She'd promised a dip in the ocean, but right now, the pool would do nicely. Marisa found a life jacket and put it on her daughter. She gave her strict instructions about where she could play in the water.

  "If you disobey, you will get out. Comprendes?"

  "Si." Her head bobbed, and she raced to the wide steps of the kiddie pool. Marisa watched a moment. Joy bubbled at her daughter's happiness, followed quickly by sadness. What American four-year-old had never been swimming? She shook off the thought and joined Leslie and Nate at a table beneath the thatched roof of the tiki bar. The area was deserted except for the waitress and bartender, who seemed deep in thought at the bar behind them.

  "I hope this is okay," Nate said. "It seems like the best vantage point. And I do need the shade."

  "Thank you. I promised her we'd walk to the beach, too, before we go back. She's never seen the ocean."

  "Why not?" Leslie asked.

  "We live pretty far inland."

  Nate leaned forward, eyes narrowed. "Where exactly?"

  Marisa opened her mouth. She'd kept the secret so long, she couldn't bring herself to same the name of her village. "You've never heard of it. We live in a little village about thirty kilometers from Chilpancingo."

  He scowled. For the first time since she'd met up with them, the kindness disappeared from Nate's gaze. Now, it was hard and demanding. "Why in the world would you choose to live there? Do you have any idea how dangerous Mexico is?"

  "Um, yeah, Nate. I live here."

  "You escaped New York to save your life only to move to one of the most dangerous places on earth? I mean, if you lived near here—"

  "It's a long story."

  Leslie looked between them. "Is Mexico that dangerous?"

  Nate ignored her. "Weren't those students from around there?"

  She was impressed by his knowledge about Mexican issues. Not that the kidnapping and murder of forty-three college students hadn't made the international news. "That was years ago, and it took place in Ayotzinapa, about two hours east of Chilpancingo. We don't live—"

  "It was in Guerrero, though."

  "Wait," Leslie said. "What's that?"

  Marisa turned to her sister. "That's the state we're in." To Nate she said, "Yes, it's dangerous, if you speak out. If you make waves or cause trouble. I don't do that. I teach English and help at the orphanage. I am well-liked, and I fit in."

  "I didn't help you risk your life to tell your story so you could..." Nate seemed to falter, struggle with his words. Fatigue couldn't help, and he was getting pretty riled up. "Could risk your life..."

  Marisa lifted her eyebrows. "Wasting my time?"

  "Well, no, but—"

  "Because little Mexican kids' lives aren't as important as my own?"

  "I didn't say that."

  Leslie jumped in. "Just relax, both of you." She turned to Marisa. "I think he's just worried about you, that's all." She turned to Nate and said, "Right?"

  He sat back in his chair. "I just wish you'd chosen somewhere less dangerous."

  She started to defend herself and her choices, then stopped. She didn't have to justify herself to Nate or Leslie. She could understand his worry. If anybody had asked her nine years ago where she thought she'd be now, she certainly wouldn't have guessed this. But despite Nate's fears, Marisa felt she lived right where she was supposed to. She wasn't sure what she believed about God or destiny or whatever, but Ana was meant to be her daughter. And if all the craziness after Vinnie's murder eight years before was the price to find her precious girl, Marisa would gladly pay it again.

  She watched Ana run after a bird into the pretty gardens surrounding the pool, waited until she returned poolside, and turned to Leslie.

  "Tell me what happened."

  Leslie shared a horrifying tale. Someone had broken into her house in the middle of the night and threatened her. Marisa felt the details deep in her soul. Marisa had never been threatened in that way exactly, but hadn't she lived with the fear of it for years? Hadn't she worried that any minute, some gun-wielding crazy person would find her, threaten her, hurt her? The fear of it had been bad enough.

  Leslie had lived it.

  Marisa had to do what she could to help her sister, as long as she
could also keep Ana safe.

  Ana. She jolted upright in her seat. How much time had passed? She'd been so caught up in her sister's story, she'd forgotten about Ana. Her daughter wasn't in the pool, wasn't beside it. Where was she?

  Nate reached across the table and patted her hand. She looked at him, then followed his pointed finger. "She found a playmate. See?"

  Indeed, Ana and another little girl ran from the gardens. They jumped onto the top step and into the shallow pool. Their laughter filled the space.

  "Thank you."

  He nodded, and Marisa turned back to Leslie. "So they think you have the money?"

  "No. They think you have it, and they thought I could get it from you."

  "But I don't have it. I don't know who does."

  Leslie took Marisa's hand. "Listen, I never thought you stole it, not back then. But they seemed convinced. If you did, if you come clean now, we can figure out what to do."

  "Come clean?" Marisa yanked her hand away. "Come clean! You think I stole it? After everything—"

  "Don't be angry," Leslie said, all big-sister-like. "I'm just saying that maybe—"

  "You flew all the way to Mexico to call me a thief and a liar?" Marisa looked at Nate, whose jaw had lowered.

  "Do you believe her? That I stole the money?"

  "I never doubted you, and I still don't." He stood and stretched. "Why don't I give you two some privacy? I'll keep an eye on Ana while you talk." He walked toward the pool and sat on a lounge chair to remove his sandals.

  With his shorts, he could get wet to the knees, and at least he was away from the squabbling sisters. Smart man.

  Marisa turned back to Leslie. "I didn't take the money."

  Leslie's eyes filled with tears. "But you have to have it! If you don't, I'm dead."

  MARISA SHIFTED IN THE most comfortable bed she'd slept in since New York. Part of her had wanted to stay awake to enjoy the luxury—soft sheets, a real mattress that wasn't fifty years old, and air conditioning. It was like heaven.

  Instead of enjoying it, she worried. Who could have threatened Leslie, and what could Marisa do to help from her home in Mexico? Though she'd known just enough about the illegal real estate deals Vinnie and his boss had been involved in to put Nate on the case, he knew a lot more than she did about what went down the night the money was stolen.