Vargas had no doubt they’d done it.
But why, then, call the local police and report their discovery? That part didn’t make sense.
“If she really was an American,” he said, “then why is this the first time I’m hearing about it?”
Ainsworth shrugged. “Try looking at it from Chihuahua’s point of view. You find a bunch of dead wetbacks, it’s nothing really new. It makes the papers, maybe a couple of local news shows. They do their Casa de la Muerte bit, but in the end it’s the same old, same old. A run for the border gone wrong.”
“Except these were nuns.”
Another shrug. “So that adds a juicy little twist to the story, maybe gets a little traction north of the border, gets the Jesus huggers all in a bind. But in the end, it’s something you can contain because, let’s face it, a dead wetback’s a dead wetback.”
He paused, scratching his chin.
“But think about it. You throw a nice, creamy white American gal into the soup, and all of a sudden you’ve gone international. You’ve got the U.S. embassy involved, the family, maybe the FBI, a shitload of press, and a lot of angry goddamn Texans coming down into Juarez and Tolentino and shootin’ at citizens. It’s a national fuckin’ nightmare.”
“So you’re saying the police covered it up?”
“You’re a bona fide genius, you know that?”
“I’m just trying to get it all straight,” Vargas said. “You have any idea who this American was?”
“Why would I?”
“Angie,” Junior blurted out. “Her name was Angie.”
Ainsworth turned sharply, eyes blazing. “Didn’t I just tell you to shut the fuck up?”
“But I heard her say it, Pa.”
Vargas felt another chill slice through him.
He glanced at the blood on the mattress, then looked at Ainsworth. “She was alive?”
Ainsworth shook his head.
“He’s just imagining things. He does that sometimes. Engine’s runnin’, but nobody’s drivin’.”
“But I heard her, Pa. She said it when-”
“Goddammit, Junior!” Ainsworth shot past Vargas, grabbing the front of Junior’s shirt, and shoved him through the doorway, into the hall. “Get back outside. Go see if Sergio’s here yet.”
Vargas felt something tighten inside his chest.
“Who’s Sergio?”
Ainsworth turned. “Friend of ours. Wants to meet you.”
“Me?” Vargas said. “Why?”
“I don’t ask questions, Pancho. I just do what I’m told.”
And before Vargas could say anything more, Ainsworth put a fist in his face.
10
Beth stood at the ship’s bow, looking out at the moon-dappled Pacific, and at that moment she could think of no sight more beautiful.
They were rolling along at a fairly good clip, the sound of the roaring ocean rising toward her. The cool, damp wind felt wonderful against her skin. Made her feel alive.
She was alone out here, Jen fast asleep in their stateroom, the rest of the passengers inside at the casino, the variety shows, the late-night buffets, the dance club-no doubt still buzzing about the crazy girl who had flashed her boobs in the middle of the dining room. And despite her initial disappointment that she and Jen wouldn’t be partying along with them, Beth now realized that she was, in some small way, relieved that Jen had passed out.
Life was safer that way. Easier.
Beth loved her sister. She really did. But sometimes she could be so…taxing. Twenty-nine years old and still a child.
Peter Pan on an endless spring break.
Beth herself had matured fairly quickly. A matter of necessity, really, after their parents died in a plane crash in Brazil. They had moved in with their grandmother at the time, but Gramma Jean hadn’t been in the best of health, so it was up to Beth to take charge of the wild one.
It was a familiar story, and not a particularly earth-shattering one at that, and Beth did her best with the meager skills she had. But it had never been enough to tame the girl.
Jen hadn’t always been such a handful. In fact, in her younger years, long before the crash, she’d been considered the “quiet” one. She was so shy that she couldn’t muster up the courage to buy a candy bar in a convenience store and big sister Beth was always forced to come to the rescue. Even as they got into their teen years, Jen kept mostly to herself, spending her time with books and schoolwork.
But the crash had changed that.
They got the news from their school headmistress, Mrs. Llewellyn. A chartered jet had gone down in the Brazilian jungle, no survivors found. At first, Beth and Jen had grabbed onto the hope that there’d been a mistake, a mix-up of some kind, but that hope was shattered when their parents’ bodies were shipped back to Santa Barbara.
After the funeral, it seemed as if some foreign entity had invaded Jen’s soul. Her shyness gene receded and died. And back at school, she began sneaking away with the older girls to smoke cigarettes in the woods. And God knows what else. She openly flirted with the school gardener, a part-timer from the local college, who was a good six years older than her.
Jen was possessed, Beth often thought, by some crazed demon who looked and sounded a lot like the old Jennifer but was most certainly an impostor.
When Mrs. Llewellyn told them that they’d be leaving the Academy at the end of the school year to live with their grandmother up in San Luis Obispo, Jen screamed and went running from the room, and kept on running, only to be found, hours later, sitting in the Academy clock tower, threatening to do a swan dive into the shallow waters of the school fountain.
A crowd gathered, their classmates snickering, Mrs. Llewellyn shouting for Jen to come down, but Jen refused, and it was up to Beth to climb into the tower and talk her out of this silliness. This hadn’t been Mrs. Llewellyn’s idea, of course, but Beth the Dutiful had known what she needed to do, so she did it, despite the headmistress’s commands for her to stop.
By the time she climbed out onto the ledge and sat next to Jen, Beth could hear sirens approaching.
“What are you doing?” she asked softly. “Why are you up here?”
“It’s all their fault,” Jen said. She was fifteen at the time, just two years younger than Beth. Tears in her eyes.
“Mom and Dad?”
Jen nodded. “If they loved us, they wouldn’t have gone. Or they would’ve taken us with them and we could all be in Heaven together.”
“It was a business trip. They couldn’t take us.”
Jen looked at her, defiance in her gaze.
“And what about the week in Paris? The cruise around the Greek islands? Where those business trips, too?”
Beth didn’t respond.
“Face it, Sis: They didn’t want us around. This school is more of a family to us than they ever were.”
“They had a business to run.”
“And kids to raise. But what did we ever get out of them besides holidays and summer vacation? I’m almost glad they’re dead.”
