In the morning Connie Lascano stopped by as Dominic was fixing breakfast for Miguel. Elena had not yet risen, and he had no intention of disturbing her.
He had collapsed on the couch after Susanna and Felicia left, rising at first light to sweep water across the terrazzo floors and out the door. Miguel found him in the kitchen making coffee. Despite everything the youngster looked better with a decent night’s sleep. His complexion was rosy and his eyes bright and clear. He was hungry, of course.
As Dominic scrambled eggs and heated tortillas, he wondered what Elena would do. Would she leave, would he ever see her again? He’d stay to put the clinic back together and help those who had fared badly in the hurricane. But what would Elena do? He was pondering all this when Connie arrived.
“Hola, amigos,” she said with a cheery smile. “I wanted to commend you on rescuing Elena and bringing those two guys to justice.”
Dominic frowned. “I don’t believe in the death penalty. I’m sorry they died, but I’m thankful it is over. How are you? We’re just having breakfast. Can I scramble some eggs for you? Coffee?”
“Of course,” said Connie. “Black coffee for me, no milk.”
“Coming right up,” said Dominic. He poured and handed her a cup.
“How are you, Miguel?” said Connie.
“The food is delicious,” he said, “and I have a nice place to sleep.”
“Life is good,” said Connie. “You have good friends, too.”
“Sí, and good friends.”
“What’s the town look like?” asked Dominic. “Have any lives been lost?”
“None reported so far, but we’ve had little news from the outlying villages. Amazingly enough, the municipal water supply still works because they have generators. We’ll ration water and allow use in morning and evening. Power is a problem. That may be out for days. How is Elena?”
“She’s sleeping. Her face looks awful where the guy hit her with the gun. She has a bad bruise on her leg where he kicked her, and I treated a bad cut on her knee.”
She shook her head. “I’m so sorry the three of you got caught up in this. Paco filed a full report. I’ll need your corroboration. He’s the only one I trust in the department. It’s a strange feeling to keep looking over your shoulder. And we are so short handed. But people are pitching in to clean up. They are already on the streets, picking up litter and repairing their houses. You heard about the clinic?”
He nodded. “I’m going over as soon as we’ve finished here.”
“I am going, too,” said Miguel. “I will help clean the clinic. I am good at sweeping.”
Dominic smiled at Miguel. “We’ll need your help for sure.”
Connie rose. Her skirt and blouse uniform was wrinkled and her hair fell loose from her pony tail, but she had a smile on her face, and her step was light. He had to admire her upbeat attitude. She wasn’t having an easy time of it herself with a department of crooks.
“I won’t disturb Elena now,” said Connie. “But please, will you tell her that I need to hear her side of the story and have her sign a statement. Miguel, too, but he can come with Elena.”
“I’ll tell her.”
Dominic cleaned up and helped Miguel dress in shorts and T-shirt. He walked softly to Elena’s bedside where she was sleeping. Her hair swept across the pillow, and her breathing was soft and even. He pulled the cover over her arms, left a note in the kitchen that they’d be at the clinic, she was to take it easy, and they’d be back in the afternoon to check on her.
People everywhere were trying to straighten out the tangle the storm had made of their lives. At the clinic the small door was open. He looked inside. The roof was nowhere in sight, just open sky. What little they had was wet. Papers were blown about and stuck wherever they landed. Where were they going to get the money to repair the roof? They had used all the capital funds to complete and furnish the clinic.
Miguel took his hand. “It’s not so bad. We will clean up in no time, you will see.”
Dominic was thankful for the boy’s words of comfort. He was a sensitive, endearing child.
“You’re right, Miguel. Where shall we start?”
“I will find the broom and start sweeping and picking up trash.”
“Good idea. When you find clinic papers, let’s stack them here on the table. Maybe we can dry them out.”
Together, man and boy started the task of putting the medical clinic back together.
Connie Lascano had her own problems. She had a corrupt police department. Her mandate was to clean it up, solve a murder and stop the theft of national treasures.
As she sat across the table from Elena Palomares she wondered if this battered yet resilient woman was going to have the answers. She had finished the retelling of her horrendous experience at the hands of that madman Jorge Gomez.
Connie wished she could figure out who in her department was involved besides José. She had interrogated every one of them, including the infamous former inspector Oliveros. But nothing. She did not detect one twitch of the eye that would give the guilty ones away. They were good at what they did — deception.
Raul Oliveros. She was sure he was involved, that he was the connection to the thieves, that he was mixed up in all of this. But he had alibis to cover the night of the first murder — home with wife and children; and the night of the apparent suicide of the director — home with wife and children. The cops who worked for him hadn’t buckled under questioning about their former boss.
Taming a hurricane might be easier than cracking this case. But solve it she would.
Miguel had corroborated Elena’s story. The boy sat with his legs swinging over the edge of the chair before her desk at what was left of the police station. A side wall had collapsed when the building next door caved in. Their filing cabinets were under that wall. A secretary worked at salvaging the files. Connie had everyone on guard duty to prevent looting, which was becoming more of a concern now that the storm had moved on to spread its devastation elsewhere.
“Let’s go over again the part about the hiding place,” said Connie, “Jorge was very interested in that, you say.”
“Yes, he was,” said Elena. “But I was bluffing. I was desperate for some way to lead him on, buy some time so I could get Miguel to safety. I was playing a long shot. But I had studied that drawing, and I knew Smoke Shell was looking at something. When I bluffed, Jorge bit. That surprised me but kept us going.”
“Sí,” said Miguel. “Señorita Elena is very clever. That hiding place is where I have seen the ghost many times.”
Dead silence greeted Miguel’s pronouncement. Connie stared at Miguel’s innocent face. Not the ghost again.
Elena didn’t seem bothered that the ghost was back. She spoke first because Connie was still staring at the boy, trying to figure out if he was serious or not.
“Miguel,” Elena said, “do you mean the Mayan ghost is interested in the hiding place?”
“Sí, señorita. I have seen the ghost there, like he is standing guard with his axe. I don’t think he likes people digging around the ruins and the tourists who come to look.”
“I see,” said Connie, “a possessive ghost.” She wasn’t quite ready to accept that the ghost was again in the picture.
“What do you think he is guarding, Miguel?” Elena said.
The boy shrugged his shoulders almost to his ears. “I think maybe treasure.”
Connie drummed her fingers, a habit that annoyed her in other people, but an act she found of some comfort now, when she was feeling more than uncomfortable.