Leah replaced the drawer in the open compartment and closed the door, leaving the key in the lock for the manager to retrieve. They retraced their steps to the vault door, entered the four-digit code the manager had shared with them when they arrived, and pushed the heavy steel door open.
Once out on the street, they made for Leah’s car, but were interrupted by the chirping of Uriel’s phone. He stopped to answer it, and Leah glanced around, hoping to spot a café for another shot of caffeine. A man behind them turned away and stood between two cars, waiting for a break in traffic to cross the street. Something about the man’s body language drew her eye. Leah’s gaze lingered on the scar puckering one side of his face, and then he was gone, darting across the lanes, Leah’s stare following him as he trotted to the far curb. Uriel swore beside her and she turned to him.
“What?”
“That was Ortiz. He confirmed she isn’t going to be arraigned today. He’s already headed back to his office to file a complaint.”
“When will she have her hearing?”
“Maybe tomorrow. He’s not sure.”
Leah looked back over her shoulder, searching for the man with the scar, but he had disappeared. She blinked away the fatigue that threatened to overwhelm her and felt for her sunglasses.
“Now what?”
Uriel hefted the bag with the gold and then checked his watch. “Would you mind if we stopped in to see my mother? It’s been a while since I’ve seen her, and since we’re in town…”
“Of course, Uriel. I’ve got no place special to be.”
“She lives on the outskirts of town.”
“Just tell me where. I’d love to meet her.”
They arrived at the car and she popped the trunk. “You want to stash that in here?”
He nodded. “Probably safest.”
“How do you plan to get the gold across the border?”
“Not a problem. They’re trying to stop contraband going in the other direction, not into Mexico. These are just coins, manufactured there. I’ll wear the necklace under my shirt.”
He placed the bag and the box in a mesh compartment, and she slammed the trunk shut. “You mind if we get some drive-through coffee? I’m dying here.”
“I’m just along for the ride.”
Chapter 39
Uriel’s mother’s home was a modest ranch-style house that was easily thirty years old if a day, yet the paint was bright, the yard clean and well-manicured, the old Honda Civic in the single-car driveway in good condition. The street was lined with similar vehicles, economy sedans well past their end-of-life but still being used by a population that made do with the castoffs their better-heeled neighbors believed beneath them. Leah nosed the Malibu into an open spot near the house and shut off the engine.
A short woman tottered onto the porch with an ear-to-ear smile and beamed at them as they walked up the drive. She held her arms out as Uriel drew near, and he scooped her up in a hug.
“Oh, my son, my son. It’s so good to see you,” she whispered.
“It is, Mom. It’s been too long.”
Uriel had called his mother to alert her of their visit, and warned Leah that she could be almost childlike in her desire to revisit the past. Leah had nodded as though she understood, but she didn’t really – the woman in front of her seemed able and present.
“Hello, Ms. Castro,” Leah said from behind Uriel.
Uriel’s mother seemed to only then notice Leah. “Oh, hello, dear,” she said, and looked to her son as he released her. “And who is this?”
“I told you. A journalist who’s helping investigate…what happened.”
“Leah Mason,” Leah said, reaching to shake hands with her.
“Please. Carla. No Ms. around here.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
Carla’s voice was lightly accented with the nasal tonality of Spanish, her words so soft that Leah had to strain to hear her. They stood smiling at each other in the sunlight for a moment, and then Uriel cleared his throat.
“Maybe we should go inside,” he suggested.
“Oh, of course. Come in, come in. I have coffee on, and some entomatadas from last night, if you’re hungry.”
Uriel glanced at Leah. “They’re very good.”
“How can I pass that up?”
“I rarely have company, so excuse the house,” Carla said. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
“Mom, it’s fine. We gave you five minutes’ notice. Relax.”
“Would you like some coffee?” Carla asked from behind them after shutting the door.
“Please,” Leah said, the cup she’d gulped after the bank having barely dented her fatigue.
“Me too,” Uriel chimed in, and Carla smiled again. Leah caught just a hint of vacuity in her eyes, a tiny indicator that she might not be fully processing, as though she were thinking of something else, preoccupied by weightier matters.
Uriel and Leah sat at a circular wooden dining table and waited for Carla to reappear. When she did, she had two cups in one hand and a steaming pot of coffee in the other. After pouring healthy portions for them both, she sat down and reached behind her for sugar and spoons, her smile as broad as a toddler’s on Christmas morning.
“I’m just so happy to see you, Uriel. So very happy. It’s a wonderful surprise. Really,” she repeated, and Uriel returned her smile and patted her hand.
“How have you been?”
“Oh, good. You know. Nobody’s getting any younger, but I manage.”
Leah guessed Carla was no more than fifty and made a mental note of the comment, which she’d expect from someone much older – or someone who was having a hard time.
“Everything’s still fine? Car’s running well? You’re healthy?”
“You know better than to worry about me. I’m good. But look at you. So handsome…and tan!”
“I was in the mountains of Durango up until the weekend.”
“Well, whatever you were doing, it suits you. Isn’t he handsome, Leah?”
Leah blushed and nodded, and Uriel smiled again, his expression apologetic. “Only a mother,” he said, chuckling.
“And how is your sister?” Carla asked.
“Doing the best she can,” Uriel dodged. He’d told Leah that he hadn’t filled his mother in on Ana Maria’s predicament so as to spare her anxiety.
“Aren’t we all? So sad about your father. So very sad. He had his flaws, but he was a decent man deep down.”
Uriel didn’t respond, merely sipped his coffee as though she’d said something in Urdu. Carla looked to Leah and gave her a conspiratorial wink. “How would you like to see some family pictures?”
“Mom…”
Leah leaned into the older woman. “I’d love to.”
“Oh, good. Good, good, good,” she said, rising and moving into the living room to a well-worn leather photo album. “I don’t get much company, you know. Not much at all. So bear with me. A mother’s pride…”
“You have everything to be proud of,” Leah said, and felt the color rise again in her cheeks.
“Aren’t you a doll? You should hold onto this one,” Carla said to Uriel.
“She’s a journalist, Mom. A reporter. Helping look into things.”
“Right. Well, she’s still a doll.”
“Let’s see these pictures!” Leah said, hoping to end the uncomfortable direction the discussion was taking.
“There are quite a few of them,” Uriel said. “Fair warning.”
Carla sat down on an overstuffed couch that had seen better days and motioned at the coffee table. “Come sit here with me, you two. Those wooden chairs are too hard for very long.”
“I’m fine, Mom,” Uriel said. Leah stood and moved to the sofa with a sidelong glance at him. Uriel sighed and joined her, and they sat on either side of the older woman, who was running her hand along the edge of the photo album in anticipation.
She opened the old book to the first page, where three small
photographs were taped beneath a yellowing sheet of clear plastic – a very young and stunningly attractive Carla with a serious León Sánchez. The background was familiar: the spire of the church by his home.
“This was back before Uriel. We had just met,” she explained. “He was so proud – he’d just put a down payment on his house. We went out for dinner after this picture, and the rest is history. This was our first real date.”
“His wife must have been out of town,” Uriel said.
Carla smacked his arm. “It’s not polite to speak ill of the dead,” she warned.
Uriel shifted beside her but didn’t respond.
“And this is me at work. I used to be a seamstress for a dress shop. I still do it for a lot of people here. I plan to forever, or until my eyes or fingers give out.”
Much of the album was Uriel’s childhood memorialized in Polaroids and fading prints – as a toddler with a soccer ball, beaming at the camera, wearing only a diaper. Some of the snaps were cringe worthy, but most were sweet, and Leah couldn’t help but smile as Carla turned the pages.
There were more with León, but most were of Uriel, and it was obvious as she neared the end of the chronology that she’d assembled a shrine to the love of her life: her son. Another few photos, now of Uriel and his father, with Uriel as a teen and León noticeably older, his hair thinner and gray at the temples, also taken at the house. Still another with only León, this time wearing a stiff-looking suit in a group of men carrying a statue on their shoulders.
“What’s that?” Leah asked.
“Oh, León was a religious man. Never missed a Sunday mass. Regular as clockwork.”
“Was that some kind of ceremony?”
“It was after one of the worst winters we ever had. Part of the church roof collapsed in a big storm, and much of the interior was ruined. León took up a donation to help and personally repaired many of the statues.” She tapped the photo. “That was after he’d raised enough to fix the roof and begin on the icons. This one’s Saint Michael – San Miguel, the archangel.”
“The patron saint of police officers,” Uriel said. “I remember that. I had to help him with it for weeks. I hated it.”
“Like San Miguel de Allende? That San Miguel?” Leah asked. “Forgive my ignorance.”
“One and the same,” Carla said. “He personally repainted all the gold leaf on that statue. Took him forever, but it became a hobby of sorts. He did it for a number of them over the years. It was his way of helping the church, he said.” Carla looked at Uriel. “You could learn from that.”
“I’m not religious,” Uriel said. “Or a hypocrite, either.”
“None of us is without sin,” Carla intoned. “Cast not the first stone.”
“Some make bigger targets than others,” Uriel grumbled.
They finished with the photo album and moved back to the dining table. “More coffee?” Carla asked.
Leah nodded. “Please.”
After Uriel’s mother returned with the pot and refilled their cups, Leah probed her about the call she’d received from León – the one telling Uriel to contact her if anything happened to him.
“Do you remember what exactly he said?” she asked.
Carla frowned and studied her hands. “Oh, my memory…sometimes it’s not so great. I remember your name because I wrote it down. He sounded, I don’t know, worried. Called out of the blue, which surprised me – I hadn’t talked to him for at least a couple of years. What I do remember is that he said that if anything happened to him, Uriel was to call you.”
“That’s it?” Uriel pressed. “Nothing else?”
“I asked him why he was calling and scaring me like that. He said not to worry, that everything was fine, but I know him. He sounded…agitated.”
“That’s all he said? That he was fine and not to worry?”
“Oh, sweetheart, I don’t know. I get mixed up sometimes,” Carla said, and then her eyes widened. “No, I remember now. It’s so funny after we were looking at those pictures. Wasn’t Uriel a beautiful baby? I’d get stopped in stores and asked if he was a little girl. He would take your breath away.”
“He was an angel,” Leah agreed. “But what did León say?”
Carla laughed. “Yes, an angel. Michael! That’s what León said. Not to worry, that the angel San Miguel would protect him, as it had his entire life.”
“That’s it?” Leah asked. “Just not to worry because of some patron saint?”
“Yes, and to call you. I definitely remember that part. Call Leah…Oh, I’m terrible with names. I’m sorry. Leah…”
“Mason,” Leah finished. “It’s okay. It’s not important.”
Carla gave Uriel a conspiratorial smile again. “She’s awfully sweet, isn’t she? And pretty.”
“It’s true,” Uriel agreed.
Carla insisted they eat her entomatadas, which turned out to be enchiladas smothered in a tangy red sauce, topped with cheese and lettuce, and Leah surprised herself at how quickly she devoured her portion. Uriel was right behind her and sat back patting his stomach when he was done.
“She makes the best in the world,” he said, basking in Carla’s warm smile as he gathered his and Leah’s plates and carried them into the kitchen. “Home cooked. I’ve missed that, Mom.”
“When was the last time you saw your mother?” Leah asked.
“I fly her to Guadalajara once a year or so, but last year she wasn’t feeling up to the trip, so…two years.”
“Too long,” Leah said.
Uriel nodded and regarded Carla. “Too long, indeed.”
Leah smiled at the older woman. “Tell me you have some more pictures to show me.”
Carla brightened, the sadness in her demeanor at their visit drawing to an end vanishing at the prospect of more time strolling down memory lane.
“You know, I might just have another album somewhere.”
“I can’t wait to see.”
~ ~ ~
Lorenzo Aguilar watched the old house with single-minded intensity from the passenger seat of a beige Buick sedan.
“Doesn’t look like they’re coming out,” the driver said. “They’ve been in there forever.”
“Most of the afternoon,” the assassin agreed.
“What do you think they’re up to?”
“Beats me, but I’m running low on patience,” he said, and patted the pocket of his windbreaker. “Stay here and keep watch.”
“What are you going to do?”
Aguilar glared at the driver. “We need to know what they got at the bank. If it’s the file, I can end this here.”
“In broad daylight?”
“I don’t see any other way, do you?”
“We can just follow them. Maybe run them off the road somewhere secluded.”
Aguilar’s attention remained on the house, and his expression hardened. “Screw that.”
“What if someone comes along?”
“Keep the engine running,” Aguilar said, and swung his door open, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a cigarette as he scanned the area. He walked easily over to Leah’s car, glanced around, and then ducked out of sight by the rear fender and removed a small zippered case from his pocket.
He opened it and removed a pair of picks, and inserted one into the trunk lock. He eased the second flat pick in and stroked the first along the tumblers, twisting the flat one as he brushed the other gently against the mechanism.
Ten seconds later the trunk snicked open and he replaced the picks in the case and slid it into his pocket.
When he made it back to the car, he slid low in the seat and opened the heavy bag first. The contents tumbled out onto the floor. The driver gave a low whistle at the sight of the gold, but Aguilar just swore and popped the lid on the box. He skimmed the two notes and his lip curled with anger.
“This is shit,” he spat.
The driver nodded. “Now what?”
The assassin was gathering up the coins and replacing them
in the bag when the driver hissed a warning. “They just came out.”
Aguilar looked up as the reporter and the architect walked toward their car.
“What’s the plan?” the driver asked.
Aguilar thought for a moment. “Stay on their tail.”
Chapter 40
“Your mother is a sweetheart,” Leah said as they drove toward El Paso. “She loves you very much.”
“Yes. I’m lucky in that regard.”
“She seems…like she struggles a little with her memory.”
He nodded. “She’s been like that for about six years. The doctors said she had a minor stroke – she was much heavier back then. They told us it shouldn’t have any long-term consequences, but there were no guarantees.” He paused. “Which reminds me. I need to have the investigator call Emilia and keep her strung along about her mother until the police can pick her up.”
Uriel placed the call and had a hurried discussion. He hung up and dialed Ortiz, who had no new information. Leah drove in silence as he gazed through the window at the unending sameness of the landscape, and when he disconnected, continued her train of thought.
“You were a cute kid,” she said.
“Thanks. It’s difficult to be on display like that, but she enjoys it so much, how can I refuse her?”
“The good son.” Leah glanced at the gas gauge and then at Uriel. “She makes enough from her sewing to get by?”
“She doesn’t have a house payment, so, yes. I send her money when I can, but Mexican salaries are far different from here. The peso doesn’t go far.”
“The mortgage in the safe deposit box?”
Uriel nodded. “At least he took care of her in the end. But that doesn’t make him any sort of hero.”
Leah bit back the rebuttal that rose in her throat and reminded herself that she had no business butting in with the information she’d learned from Gabriela.
“I liked your mom a lot,” Leah said, leaving it at that. “But unfortunately, we’re still at a dead end with the file.”
He rubbed the dusting of stubble on his jaw. “True. I was hoping the box…I don’t know. It seemed like the logical place to hide something. What could be safer than a bank vault?”
A Girl Apart Page 21