had never visited the island before.
"Lindy's wife," Maia said. "You think that was a statue of her."
I nodded. "She ran away. Now that I'm getting to know Benjamin Lindy a little better, I can't blame her. I think she came here. The man who ran the hotel back in those days, Mr. Eli, he would've taken her in without question. She fell in love with Mr. Huff. She had another child, Alex. She died when Alex was young. I don't know how. But I think that statue is of Alex's mother."
Maia shook her head. "Hell of a coincidence."
"Not really," I said. "Welcome to South Texas."
I remembered what Lindy had said about the whole area being a close-knit community. Mr. Eli had said something similar, back when I was a kid: South Texas is just too small a place. Everyone is connected somehow.
Running into someone you knew, someone you were related to without realizing it - that was commonplace. The bloodlines in South Texas were as twisted as the barbed wire.
"Chris would've assumed the statue was Rachel Brazos," I said. "He'd probably seen her picture in the media many times."
"And that would've convinced him Alex Huff was Calavera," Maia said. "He may have been right for the wrong reasons."
I thought about that. Rachel Brazos and her two young daughters had died by mistake. I still had trouble believing Alex was a cold-blooded killer, but if he'd seen Rachel's picture in the paper after the explosion, and realized who she was...That might be enough to cause remorse even in a man like Calavera.
"Perhaps Alex is gone," Maia said. "Maybe he found a way off the island. When he left last night and gave Garrett that envelope...it sounded like he knew he wasn't coming back."
I wanted to believe her. If Calavera was gone, we were safe. Maybe.
"You really think that?"
"No," Maia sighed. Her facial color seemed better this morning. She'd managed the stairs all right, over my protests, but still, the idea of her packing bags or moving around at all made me nervous.
"Imelda helped me pack," she said. "She seemed distracted. I mean...even considering."
"You need to rest," I said. "We'll get you back upstairs. Safer up there."
She stared at the rain as it practiced pointillism on the window. "I'm tired of lying down. Tres, I think you should talk to her."
"Imelda?"
"She wanted to tell me something, but she wouldn't. Or couldn't. You should talk to her."
"I'm not leaving you by yourself."
"Please. I'm a big girl."
I looked at her belly.
"That's not what I meant, Tres. Find Imelda. See if she'll talk to you."
"Maia - "
"I'm perfectly fine. Besides, I'm not sure upstairs is any safer."
"Meaning?"
She gave me a reproachful look: the same look she always gives me whenever I try to protect her.
"Tres, we both know that wire is a timing mechanism. What if Calavera wasn't interested specifically in Lane? What if there are other bombs?"
By the time I caught up with Imelda, she was in the kitchen, salvaging linen from the floodwater. It seemed a hopeless task. She'd made a mountain of soggy napkins in the sink. Now she stood with her back to me, spreading out a tablecloth that looked like the Shroud of Turin.
My eyes drifted to the freezer room, then to the cellar door. I didn't know if Chris Stowall and Jesse Longoria's bodies were still in their respective places. I couldn't see...or smell any change. That was fine by me.
"Imelda," I said.
She turned toward me with a soft gasp. Her apron was sprinkled with brown stains. Her hair was tied back in a bun, but strands of it were coming unraveled, like a yarn ball a cat had been playing with.
"Senor, I didn't hear you."
I pulled myself up on the butcher block counter. "Maia thought I should talk to you."
Imelda folded the tablecloth over her arm. "Is Senora Navarre well?"
"She's worried about you. She thought you might have something to tell me."
"Please, senor, if you wouldn't sit on the counter. Jose is very fussy - "
"How did you lose your children, Imelda?"
Silence. She picked up a knife and set it in the sink. "It was five years ago. In Nuevo Laredo."
"You lived in Nuevo Laredo?"
I tried not to sound surprised. These days, living in Nuevo Laredo was like sailing on the Titanic. For the past decade, the border town had been tearing itself apart as rival drug lords fought for control. Police, journalists, judges - all were gunned down on a regular basis.
"It was a repriso," Imelda murmured.