Her mother would have disapproved of giving false hope, but what good was any hope if you didn’t share it when it was most needed? Anna squeezed Megan’s fingers tight. “Thank you.”
Megan took them through what little she knew, trying to downplay the gory details. “They said there was a safe that was empty, so I guess it was a robbery.”
Mateo’s aunt leaned forward. She was obviously the talker of the two sisters. “Pastor Fleming was robbed? And Mateo was there?” She exchanged a glance with Anna. “He must have been trying to save our money.”
“Your money?”
“Yes, the whole town’s. Pastor Fleming, he ran a financial service, providing micro-loans to ministries in third world countries. We help them and they pay us back with interest. Our money was going to fund a mission in Rwanda.”
“You were sending money to Rwanda and Pastor Fleming was helping?”
Both women beamed and nodded. “He’s such a good man, has friends all over the world. Of course we couldn’t do much, but we gave what we could—all our savings, ten thousand dollars. That was a year ago and tomorrow he was going to pay us and the others back. We made eighteen percent interest!”
“Who could have robbed Pastor Fleming?” Anna asked. “It must have been an outsider.”
How would a tourist have known the money was in the safe? Megan thought. But instead she asked, “How many people were going to be paid tomorrow?”
They shrugged. “Everyone. Practically the entire island contributed.”
“Pastor Fleming was going to pay you all in cash?”
“Yes. The churches are so tiny and in small countries, plus the banking laws—the government taxes and regulations are so complicated. This way we kept it simple for everyone.”
Megan thought about the offering plate passed at Mass each week. Churches and cash, it did kind of make sense.
“Most of us were going to put it all right back in,” Hildy continued. “Let our money keep doing the Lord’s work. But Pastor Fleming said the bookkeeping was taking too much time and energy and he wanted to enjoy his retirement.” She shook her head. “Poor man.”
Anna squeezed Megan’s hand again. “If the thieves got the money, then where are Pastor Fleming and Mateo?”
Chapter 9
Lucy liked Mateo’s Uncle Jorge. He was a man of few words, but answered her questions easily and gave her permission to track the company-owned cell phones, including Mateo’s.
First, he showed her the room Mateo shared with two of his younger cousins. A set of bunk beds, a twin bed, two bookcases—one overflowing with children’s picture books and toys, the other filled with a stack of used paperbacks, mainly action-adventure and sports figures’ biographies—and a single dresser were crammed into the small space. The walls on Mateo’s side of the room were filled with surfing posters, Ansel Adams’ prints, and photos of interesting-appearing buildings and houses.
After showing her Mateo’s room, Jorge led her to the rear of the house, past a carport sheltering two more landscaping trucks and a mountain of pine straw stacked in bales. They entered a toolshed that also served as an office with a laptop and phone perched on a workbench across from racks of carefully arranged gardening tools.
“Mateo must be all right.” Jorge sounded like he was trying to convince himself of the fact as he leaned over the computer—there were no chairs. Lucy had the feeling the Romeros were the type of family who rarely sat while they worked.
“The police are doing everything they can to find him. Did Mateo have his own computer?”
“No. When he needed one, he used this one.”
“How’s he been acting lately? Anything strange?” She reached past him to pull up the computer’s browsing history. Nothing exciting there.
“No. He gets good grades and is a hard worker. He’s a good boy.” Jorge’s jaw clenched and Lucy intuited that he rarely gave anyone such praise in person. He turned away, typed for a few moments, then the screen filled with a map. “There. He’s there. At the marina.”
Not far from them—a mile and a half, on the Intracoastal Waterway. Across from their hotel and the shopping center at the southern tip of the island. “I’ll call the police, let them know,” she told Jorge.
“We’re closer. I’m going over there myself.” They left the office and went back through the house. Megan was talking to Mateo’s mother and aunt on the porch but looked up as they passed.
“Where are you going? Did you find Mateo?” she asked.
“We found his phone. At the marina.”
Jorge took his sister’s hands and gripped them as if making a solemn vow. Then he broke away and headed toward his truck. Lucy followed. “Megan, wait here.”
“No. I’m coming with you.”
Lucy didn’t have time to argue. The marina was a public spot on a Sunday afternoon, about as low risk as you could get. Still, she didn’t like the idea of Megan being more involved.
Too late. They took off, following Jorge’s truck as it spun out from the gravel drive and onto the street.