Scratchgravel Road A Mystery - By Tricia Fields Page 0,57
bridge would be open again that soon.
“What if we can’t cross in the morning?” she asked.
Marta’s expression froze at the question and Josie regretted it instantly. She reached out and squeezed her shoulder.
“You can’t imagine how much I appreciate you,” Marta said. Her eyes carried worry for her boss, but Josie could see the deeper fear of a mother desperate for her daughter’s safe return. “I don’t know how I will ever repay you for this.”
“Marta, friends don’t require payment. I’m helping you because I care about you and Teresa.”
Marta hugged Josie tightly, tears streaming down her face. She pulled her cross from under her blouse and clutched it in her fist. “I will pray nonstop for your safe return.”
Several minutes later a small dark blue car with the words POLICIA FEDERAL painted in large white letters across its side pulled to a stop across the river and a stocky gray-haired man got out. He was wearing street clothes, a white T-shirt tucked into jeans and running shoes. He waved and the three did likewise. Josie agreed to call Marta as soon as they’d found Teresa and then stepped back onto the bridge.
Two-inch-thick rope handrails ran down either side of the bridge, and Josie had to bend awkwardly to reach them. She wondered if Ellis had helped construct the bridge—if so, he had seriously miscalculated the design. Her five-foot-seven-inch frame felt off balance on the narrow boards.
About three feet in, she stopped and stood still, focusing on the slats under her feet, not the churning brown water below her. Once she steadied herself, and accustomed her eyes to the rushing water under the bridge, she gained some confidence. She took slow six-inch steps, rubbing the skin off her palms as she slid her hands down the rope rails.
By the middle of the bridge, the feeling that it was ready to flip, dropping her into the churning water below, was almost unbearable. Not daring to let go of the railing, she forced her muscles to relax slightly and took smaller steps, carefully sliding each foot across the slippery wet slats. She kept her focus on the wood so she wouldn’t trip. After a five-minute walk that seemed to take hours, she made it onto the other side to the applause of Sergio, who’d just allowed her access into his country illegally, now smiling as if Josie were the prodigal daughter come home to stay.
ELEVEN
“Well done, my friend. Well done!” Sergio hugged Josie and patted her back, laughing into her ear. Josie stood about six inches taller, but Sergio was powerfully built. He had the kind eyes and smile of an old-world gentleman, and a demeanor that put everyone around him at ease.
Marta had grown up with Sergio in Mexico and had been gently pushing away his advances for many years. Josie thought the two loved each other, or at least deeply cared for one another, and couldn’t understand why Marta accepted only his friendship.
The landscape was rocky, with mountainous desert sprawling south into Mexico. The hour-and-a-half-long drive back to Ojinaga took them along a canyon road high enough to avoid most of the flooding. One small detour took them around a tributary that flowed into the flooded Conchos River. Sergio said that at least twenty residents had drowned in the Conchos after they refused to evacuate their homes along the river. Sergio said the International Bridge wasn’t flooded, it was the street in Ojinaga that the bridge fed into that was currently underwater. He expected the water to recede within the next several hours, and for the bridge to reopen by daybreak.
Sergio spoke fluent English, occasionally mixing the two languages, but Josie had no trouble understanding him as he filled her in on the local feuds and battles that sounded identical to stories she heard about Presidio, the city across the border from Ojinaga and just to the south of Artemis. Mostly though, Sergio talked about Marta, and their childhood growing up together.
“As small children we lived in Barrio Montoyam, along the canyon. We spent our childhood in the river, scrabbling up and down the rocks and valleys. Thirteen kids between our two families. It was a good life. Then both our fathers took jobs in Ojinaga at the new maquiladora. That’s when Marta met Javier.” Sergio looked at Josie and smiled, shrugged, giving a look that said, What can you do?
“Was Javier always trouble?”
Sergio hesitated. “Marta was always spiritual, even as a child. She looked to the angels and the