I wrote the number. Years ago … maybe they didn’t even remember it was there.
The only way she’d find answers was to find the girls.
The guard came in. Siobhan jumped. There was only one other person in the four-cell jail, and he was sleeping off a night of heavy drinking.
The guard unlocked her cell. “Please come with me, Ms. Walsh.”
Siobhan was suspicious.
Thank you, Kane Rogan, for making me always think the worst of everyone.
She shook it off and complied with the guard.
“Isn’t it too early for the arraignment?” she asked. “They told me ten a.m. I haven’t spoken to my lawyer since last night. Don’t I—”
“You’re being released, Ms. Walsh. We need to return your belongings and log you out.”
“Released?”
“The charges have been dropped.”
“Dropped?”
The guard almost smiled. “Did you want to stay with us?”
“No, no, but—” She bit her lip and stopped talking. Something weird was going on … Rick! Father Sebastian must have talked to Rick. That man could move heaven and earth if he wanted. She owed him big.
The guard didn’t cuff her, which was a relief. They went down a short hallway to a locked room. The guard walked around to the other side of the desk, unlocked the bottom drawer, and took out an envelope with her things. There wasn’t much because she’d only had her wallet on her. Everything else was in the trunk of the rental car, and she hoped that it hadn’t been towed. Everything seemed in order—her US passport, her Virginia driver’s license, her international driver’s license, a little over one hundred dollars in cash, her credit card, her hotel card key in Laredo, the key ring with the rental car key.
And her locket. The same locket that Mari and Ana had.
Siobhan put the locket on, though she hadn’t worn it in years. She’d bought three matching lockets, each with a Celtic cross, nearly ten years ago when she was visiting her grandmother in Galway. She’d given them to Mari and Ana as presents, and given the third to their mother, Tilda. Tilda had been young when she had the girls, marrying at the age of fifteen. Siobhan was two years younger. She’d helped deliver Ana, the younger sister.
Tilda and Jesus had died in a mudslide. Siobhan hadn’t gone on the last annual pilgrimage to their village with the Sisters of Mercy … she’d been busy, too busy she’d convinced herself, even though these were the same people who had cared for her mother when she was ill. Siobhan had loved Tilda like a sister, but she’d been so excited about new assignments—taking jobs from others rather than going where she wanted.
And then the mudslide. The population of the village—unnamed on any map—went from 110 to 67 after that horrific tragedy. The villagers called their home Vala Vida, which loosely translated to “Valley of Life” because it was located between two rivers, one of which flowed year-round. It was near nothing; the closest town—of less than five hundred—was Ayotuxtla, which was half a day’s walk because of the rough terrain.
Siobhan hadn’t visited, always thinking there would be more time. And then they were gone.
“If everything is in order, please sign here … and here.” He pointed on the form attached to a clipboard.
She signed and put all her things back into her wallet and her wallet into her back pocket. “Thank you,” she said. Why was she thanking the guard? Well, he had been kind to her. Unlike the deputy who’d arrested her.
“Come with me, Ms. Walsh.”
“Can’t I just leave?”
“There are two federal agents who want to speak with you.”
That was the last thing she expected. Sure, Rick could make calls and get things done, but send two agents for her? Her heart skipped a beat. What if he’d called Andie and these agents were assigned to take her back to Virginia? Andie had told her the last time she was arrested—again, not her fault—that if it happened again, she was grounded.
As if Andie could ground a thirty-four-year-old woman.
Siobhan never wanted her sister to worry. Andie already had a difficult job, and she had been heartbroken when their brother was killed in action ten years ago. Then losing their dad … Andie’s mother had died when Andie was five, and she’d been twelve when Siobhan was born. Now they were all they had left by way of family. Siobhan had her elderly grandmother in Galway whom she visited at least once a year, but she was all Andie had.
But … Siobhan wasn’t going back to Virginia. She had to find Ana and Mari; she was so close! Closer than she’d been since they disappeared. Andie had to understand. She would. Andie might complain and worry, but she would understand better than anyone.