A Pilgrimage to Death

by J. J. Cagney

  Cici frowned, remembering the hurt in Evan’s eyes before he shut down on Cici this morning.

  What had her sister been involved in?

  Why hadn’t Anna Carmen told Cici about her concerns?

  Juan yanked some faded, ripped papers from his back pocket and shoved them into Cici’s hands. Cici had to bite her tongue to keep from yelping. Paying attention—being present as she always preached—proved impossible for her to do tonight.

  “Anyways, when we were cleaning stuff today . . . ,” Juan said. “We wouldn’t have ever found ’em except Dad dropped his end of the bed when we hauled it out of the trailer.”

  Juan shifted his eyes around the room, his lips twitching.

  “Dad said it’s divine intervention, him deciding this now, and then us finding these. He said you needed to know.”

  “Divine intervention,” Cici murmured, thinking of her sister and the brushes of cold air earlier tonight. “You said you found these in the late afternoon?”

  “Yeah.”

  When she was sitting in the chapel in Chimayó begging her sister to give her something. She shook her head as she shuffled through the papers. Not quite what I had in mind, Aci.

  If her sister had a hand in whatever Juan gave Cici at all. Either way, that’s what Cici deserved for not being more specific about what she wanted from her sister.

  Two newspaper clippings, a PO Box number, and handwritten notes. Anna Carmen’s essence—for lack of a better word—jumped out of the scrawl, causing Cici’s neck to tingle.

  “Where were these?” Cici asked around her clogged throat.

  “Shoved in a hole in Marco’s mattress. He wasn’t secretive, Rev. Least I didn’t think he was.” Juan swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the effort.

  “Your sister was helping out my brother, see. Dad said to bring it to you. He doesn’t want any of that drug sh . . . er, stuff tainting me. I’m looking to get a full ride to Tech. I really want to work for NASA.”

  Cici set the papers onto the small coffee table with trembling hands. Juan slammed a key down on top of it, causing Cici to jump and Mona to yip. Both dogs stood, tails up and eyes wary.

  “I think that’s the key to the post office box. Marco told me he had to go back, check it for Miss Gurule.”

  Juan hung his head, tears dripping off the end of his nose. Anger built in his words—probably in the reason he slammed down the key—but so did grief. The poor child. Cici reached forward and clutched the teen’s hands, which were as cold and shaky as her own.

  “I don’t know if he ever did,” Juan whispered. “Mom went out that night, and . . . well, you’ve heard that story.”

  “Do you know which post office?” Cici asked.

  Juan shook his head.

  Cici clutched Juan’s hands tighter. She did know that story. Rosalia Sanchez’s body turned up in the trickle of water Santa Feans insisted on calling a river, up near the large park on East Alameda. A jogger found her the next morning, her throat slit, but no one uncovered a motive.

  “He was my idol, Rev,” Juan said, his voice thick. “Miss Gurule’s the one who got him in advance classes and in the medical program over there at Capitol.”

  The young man rubbed his eyes. “He shoulda graduated last year.”

  “Yes, he should have.” And Cici should be able to hug her sister. Life wasn’t fair.

  “Marco adored Miss Gurule. You gotta find out what they were working on. ’Cause it got ’em both killed.”

  11

  I say there is no darkness but ignorance. — Shakespeare

  Sam had stopped by moments later, while Juan Sanchez was still in her living room. She opened the door but blocked the entrance.

  “Talk later?” Cici asked. “I have something here I need to handle.”

  Sam eyed Juan with concern over Cici’s shoulder before his gaze refocused on Cici’s.

  “All right. We have an APB out on the truck. Not that it seems to be doing us much good.”

  “Thanks, Sam,” Cici said, her voice subdued. “I’ll call you.”

  He nodded to both Cici and Juan, who watched their interaction with wary eyes.

  “You better,” Sam said. “Tonight.”

  Cici nodded as she leaned against the door. Sam slid his thumb down her cheek in silent comfort before jogging down her front steps.

  She closed the door with slow, careful movements, trying to recalibrate her world. Juan’s story bothered her. Then, now. Always. Had she been so caught up in her own grief that she missed the needs of this teenager?

  She and Juan talked for a while longer. Well, he did most of the talking while Cici tried to be a good listener. But her mind kept drifting back to the notes in what she was sure was Anna Carmen’s handwriting, to the black truck and the note tossed so casually from the cab.

  She called Sam. He declined coming over but he did make her go through the entire timeline twice, from the drive up to Chimayó to her return home. Once he was satisfied she could offer no further information, Cici’s mouth was dry and her eyelids felt weighted down with lead.

  She picked up the papers Juan tossed on the coffee table. She sifted through them, her eyes roving, noting . . . not understanding.

  She blew out a breath and let her tired eyes slide shut.

  Maybe the realization that her sister’s fiancé believed she’d cheated with an older married man wasn’t such bad news after all. Not when the alternative was her sister involving a young boy in a dangerous drug ring. But there was no doubt that the first page of papers Juan sent was a list in Anna Carmen’s handwriting. Cici opened her eyes, looking at the list again.

  2-PS

  5-SFPM

  3-DVM

  3-NRD

  2-IPR

  3-MS

  Another page offered maps of Santa Fe, Española, and Madrid. Tiny red dots overlaid the maps, making the street names below hard to read.

  Cici set all three of the maps out on her table, shuffling them, trying to make sense of the papers.

  Nothing.

  She picked up the news clippings that outline details of her twin receiving the Santa Fe Public School’s Teacher of the Year award. Cici ran her fingertips over the page, trying to ignore the trembling that set in.

  Lights flashed through her front window and Cici grabbed all the materials Juan had given her, clutching them to her heaving chest before she realized it was just her neighbor pulling into his driveway.

  Her dogs cocked their heads at her.

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m a nut.”

  Cici carefully folded each of the papers and walked down her short hallway. She shoved them into the pillowcase of the pillow that laid on the unused left-hand side of her queen bed. After ensuring that each of her doors was locked—and the windows, too—she trudged back to her bathroom where she took a quick shower, wincing as the hot water hit the cuts and abrasions on her hands and arms. Once dry and bandaged, Cici fell into her bed.

  Her furniture used to be Anna Carmen’s. Cici had sold her teak bedroom set back in Boston, hoping this older, white wicker set of her sister’s would bring the woman closer to her—at least in slumber.

  And Cici did dream of her sister—often.

  She did so again, that night.

  Cici dreamed she was one of those white birds. Whole and pretty, soaring through the large open blue expanse of the Northern New Mexican sky.

  Anna Carmen veered in closer. She opened her bird beak wide, and the words seemed to pour from her.

  “Here, you are the white bird. That means you’ll find your soulmate. The question is: Are you courageous enough to go and get him? I had mine.”

  Somehow, her black bird eyes morphed into Anna Carmen’s hazel ones, filled with sorrow.

  “But I wasn’t ready to accept all that came with Evan.”

  Cici frowned. Courageous enough? It wasn’t a question she wanted to think about right now. She wanted to hear as much of her sister’s voice as possible, to feel safe as she
always had in Anna Carmen’s presence.

  “What do you mean? What do you mean you weren’t brave enough?” Cici asked.

  “I wanted more than I should have,” Anna Carmen replied, her voice melancholy. “I wanted to protect my students, their families, but in the process, I lost sight of what was truly important. Do you know what that is?”

  Anna Carmen’s beautiful hazel eyes stared out of the bird’s sharp features. There was a strange pop. Anna Carmen fell, her eyes never leaving Cici’s face. Cici screamed as she dived toward her sister, only then realizing the sound was gun shots—many of them—in rapid succession.

  “Don’t follow me. You can’t save me. I didn’t understand the danger. Don’t follow!”

  But it was too late. The pain burst in Cici’s chest, causing her breath to shatter and her wings falter. She couldn’t spread her wings. She couldn’t breathe. Her sister’s eyes disappeared into the black as Cici fell.

  And she was in her bed, gasping for breath.

  Her dogs stood at the window, hackles raised and teeth bared so that the sharp points of their canines flashed in the dark.

  Cici rose with care. She tottered toward the window.

  A form rose to fill the space. Darkness swirled around the figure, save the whites of its eyes, which shone even brighter than the dogs’ fangs.

  The person in black raised something in a gloved hand. Something that glinted in the moonlight. A knife—like the one that had killed Anna Carmen. Its blade was about three inches long, silver, the moonlight slithering off each side of the sharp edge.

  A single word was smeared in red—please don’t let it be blood—on the glass: Stop.

  Cici staggered back, screaming. Rodolfo leaped onto the sill and barked. Cici put her hands to her ears to block out the dog’s supersonic boom.

  A light flared, followed by voices yelling, “Get down! Police!”

  But the figure seemed to melt back into the shadows, leaving Cici standing there, at her window, shivering in her perspiration-soaked pajamas.

  Sam called Cici a few minutes later. Cici managed to answer the call but put him on speaker because her hands weren’t steady enough to hold the phone to her ear.

  “Good God, woman, there’s been quite a procession you had at your place tonight.”

  Cici started. Then warmth broke through the iciness attacking her chest and gut.

  “You’ve been here this whole time?” she asked.

  “Like there’s any other place I’d rather stake out.”

  “Why?” Cici whispered.

  “Because someone tried to run you over,” Sam said.

  Cici touched her hair before she trailed her trembling fingers across her cheek. “You should have told me. I’d have invited you in.”

  “Defeats the purpose of a stakeout, Cee. I wanted to see the comings and goings.”

  Her heart warmed further as she heard the smile in his voice. Oh, she’d needed that—something positive to latch on to. “Did you . . . did you get the person?”

  Cici heard Sam’s long and loud sigh through the phone. “No. But I wasn’t the one chasing the perp. That’s all on Officer Loomis.”

  “Don’t be mad at Kevin, Sam. He’s barely twenty-one.”

  “And he lost me the best lead on this case,” Sam bit back.

  “Will you come in now?” Cici asked, her voice trembling. “I . . .” She sucked in a deep breath, held it until her tummy quivered. “I’m so scared,” she choked out.

  “Yeah.” So much emotion in that word—emotion Cici didn’t know how to unpack and pick apart. But that was okay. Sam was coming. “Everyone would expect you to call me,” he continued, “so there’s no point in me sitting in this cold car. Will you get me a blanket and a pillow?”

  Cici smiled at the phone where it lay on her bed. Some of the fear lifted and a swell built in her chest, spreading warmth. “A step ahead of you, hombre.”

  “I’m at the door. Let me in.”

  Cici scooped up her phone and headed toward the front door, the shaking in her limbs easing with each step.

  Rodolfo stood nearby, wagging his long, plume-y tail. When Sam stepped into the house, Rodolfo whined in joy, shoving his large head against Sam’s thigh. Mona refused to be left out and pushed forward to nudge Sam for attention. He petted them both while Cici maneuvered behind him to shut and lock the front door.

  She opened her mouth to offer to make him tea, but Sam looked dead on his feet. After a glance at the clock, Cici winced in sympathy. Two in the morning was not the best time for long chats or deep discussions. She spread the blankets on the couch. Sam lay down before she shoved the pillow into its case.

  His breathing evened out after she arranged his head on the pillow.

  “How long have you been watching my place?” she asked.

  “All week,” he mumbled, snuggling into the pillow. “Since we found Donald.”

  “What did Juan want last night?” Sam asked as he waltzed into her kitchen the next morning. His hair stuck out all over his head and his eyelids were puffy from lack of sleep. The rumpled clothes and pillow creases on his cheek added to his overall dishevelment. He didn’t look like a successful police detective—at the moment, he was about half a step up from people locking their car doors or pedestrians crossing the street in reaction to seeing him.

  Still, Cici remained glad for his presence.

  She slid her hand into her jeans pocket and squeezed the key in her fist. “About that.”

  Her stomach howled louder than a coyote with a cut paw.

  Sam chuckled. “All right. Breakfast first and then we can discuss whatever Juan told you.”

  “It’s almost lunch time.”

  Sam startled. “Ten-thirty-three? Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “Because you said you’ve been sitting outside my house all week. Seemed like you deserved some uninterrupted shut-eye.”

  “Thanks. I’ll buy you lunch for your hospitality. I hope I didn’t mess up your day.”

  “Nah. I’ve been slow to get moving. I didn’t sleep much. I kept thinking about Anna Carmen,” Cici murmured. “She’s in my every thought.”

  Sam stayed quiet for a long moment.

  “I dreamed of her last night. She was a white bird, shot out of the sky,” he said.

  Cici faced him. “I dreamed that, too. I was there. A bird.”

  “My job was to stop the hunter,” Sam said, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “I didn’t get to him fast enough to save Anna Carmen.”

  “Sam—”

  He shook his head. “Talking to the dead.” He hauled in a deep breath. “That’s voo-doo witchery, and I don’t like it. But, yeah . . . Anna Carmen’s trying to make sure I know this is important—that you need protection.”

  He cleared his throat because his voice had thickened. His gaze, when it met hers, was serious, determined.

  “I should have listened to you after Donald’s funeral. I’m sorry I didn’t. But I won’t let you down, Cee. I promise.”

  “We have to find out who killed Anna Carmen,” Cici said, blinking back her tears. “That’s the key to this. Whoever killed her is involved in Donald’s death. I know it.”

  Instead of arguing with her, Sam nodded. “Let’s talk it over at lunch.”

  Twenty minutes later, after Sam showered and Cici finished getting herself ready, Cici locked up the house, the dogs happy to wait inside in the relative coolness. She followed Sam to his small hybrid SUV. He opened the passenger door for her, and she slid into the tan leather interior. Sam remained one of the only males in her life to open doors. She wasn’t sure if it was gentlemanly or just old-fashioned. Either way, she appreciated the gesture—probably because it was so rare.

  Sam drove toward the Plaza. He pulled in to a side street and hopped out. Cici followed suit, slamming the SUV’s door shut before she met him on the sidewalk.

  “The Shed?” she asked, her voice hopeful.

  “You bet. It’s your favorite.
And after last night, I figured you deserved it.”

  They waited for a table, neither talking much as Sam watched some football game on a big screen TV and Cici watched a family interact with their two small daughters.

  “Twins?” she asked just as Sam’s name was called by the hostess.

  The mom glanced up, surprised. “How’d you know? They don’t look anything alike.”

  “The way they interact. I’m . . . I was a twin.”

  The mom swallowed hard and hugged her daughters closer. Yeah, probably not the best ice breaker when meeting new people. Cici let Sam tug her to a small wooden table near the back of the restaurant. He ordered chips, salsa, guacamole, and two iced teas before Cici managed to slide her rear into the chair.

  “Look over the menu and then order the posole like you always do. But hurry it up because I want to hear about whatever’s preoccupied you to the point you haven’t even asked about the perp last night.”

  Cici chose to fold her hands on top of the menu without picking it up. “Juan gave me some notes they found in an old mattress. He also gave me a PO Box key.”

  Sam leaned back in his chair, blue eyes narrowed. “That just turned up last night? After all this time? Marco died—”

  “A few weeks before Anna Carmen.”

  The waiter dropped off their appetizer and drinks. Sam motioned to Cici and she asked for the chicken fajitas. Sam’s eyebrows rose as he ordered the posole. Once the waiter wandered off to another of his tables, Sam said, “You really think this just came up?”

  “I don’t know.” Cici swallowed hard. “Part of me thinks that crazy. But . . . Juan lost his mother and brother in a one-month span. I know his father moved them both in with Mrs. Sanchez in the little guest house behind the family’s main residence on Cerro Gordo. So . . . yeah, it’s possible they just got around to clearing out the trailer Miguel lived in with Rosalia, Marco, and Juan.”