“What happens to Carmen now?” I ask, nodding toward vehicles.
David turns and looks. “It’s complicated.”
I know that. She’s an undocumented immigrant and the head of a major drug cartel. Or was. I’m sure her hold over the organization has disappeared by now. Whatever leverage she had for making a deal with the DEA is all but gone. Any chance of going straight is dead.
“Are you going to arrest her?”
“She’s not a good woman, Darcy. She’s a drug dealer. Don’t think she hasn’t done terrible things just ’cause she’s a mom.”
I’ll be the first to admit I put blinders on because she was a mom—because there was a missing daughter out there. There are some things in this world I don’t wish upon anyone. Losing a child is one of them. I think about my mom and how Bennet’s death affected her. Then she pushed me away and lost a second child.
“Are you going to arrest her?” I ask again.
He shakes his head. “Not today. They’ll keep an eye on her until the various attorneys can decide who has jurisdiction and who gets to proceed.”
Paige finally emerges from the grounds. Along with Father Ramon, they escort Carmen down the stairs from the church grounds, heading toward David and me. There is no hiding the bad news, and I’m sure whatever neutral tone Paige tried to strike when she woke Carmen and Father Ramon did little to calm the woman’s nerves. Across the street from where I stand with just David—no Elizabeth—Carmen collapses on the steps to the Cathedral and wails in anguish. Father Ramon and Paige do their best to hold her up, but she’s deadweight.
She continues to cry and scream as David and I sprint toward her and Father Ramon. Halfway across the street, I slide to a stop, remembering where I am. David slows down when he realizes I’m not by his side. He looks back at me, bewildered.
I stand in the middle of the deserted street, unwilling to move any closer. I can’t console Carmen in her moment of agony or even try to help—not as long as she stays on the side of the boundary that separates the faithful from the unholy.
David turns away from me and rushes to Carmen’s side. She leans into his chest and sobs uncontrollably. Two weeks ago I told her I would find her daughter. I failed. And now I can’t even comfort her.
Chapter 36
____◊____
IT’S BEEN A WEEK since the incident at Sterling Terrace. Since then, any hope of finding Elizabeth has dried up. Hugo’s dead. Melchora’s dead. Yury Yury might as well be dead for as quiet as he is. Carmen remains confined to the Cathedral with LAPD on surveillance—they even put an ankle monitor on her to make sure she wouldn’t slip away.
With no leads and no more clues, the case of Elizabeth Viramontes is officially closed. Whenever I’m done with a case, I think things will get back to normal. They never do. My life isn’t normal.
* * *
“Can we talk?”
I look up from my laptop to find Paige standing before me. For most of the day, she’s been locked in her room, leaving me to program my new smartwatch on my own. That’s not too difficult, though I was only able to set one heart-rate alert instead of the two she had done.
Now Paige has finally emerged from her rabbit hole, looking very serious. There was no reason for her to retreat, so I can only imagine what she was doing in there all day and what finally brought her out this evening. I close my laptop and push it aside.
“Do you know what I’m going to ask?” she says.
I cringe inside. I’ve been waiting for Paige to ask a favor of me ever since the case ended. I guess tonight is the night. “Yes. When do you want to go?”
“Now?”
“Let me change.”
* * *
Paige and I sit in my Mini Cooper in the driveway of our apartment building. It’s a warm spring night—well, warm for everyone else. Tolerable for me.
I cast a glance at Paige. She nods.
Okay, then.
“Finna…” I hesitate, not sure what to say next. “Paige’s mom?”
The pendulum around my neck begins to sway. Then it rises and points west. I hand the crystal to Paige. It continues to point us west. I press my foot down on the gas, and my Mini Cooper pulls onto the street.
* * *
My car meanders up the winding roads of the Pacific Palisades, high above Sunset Boulevard. The Palisades are an affluent suburb deep in the Santa Monica Mountains, perched above the coastline. This is where many celebrities live, insulated from the noise and crowds of Los Angeles.
It’s dark, with no streetlights anywhere. Large mansions sit behind tall hedges and iron gates. Some loom large and encroach on the edge of the street. I glance sideways at Paige, who looks at the surrounding neighborhood. I can only imagine what’s going on her in mind as she compares these rich surroundings with the areas where she was raised.
The pendulum continues to dangle from her hand, pointing us deeper and deeper into the neighborhood, higher and higher into the mountains. Eventually, we come to a line of cars funneling onto one particularly popular street. We sit in a queue for twenty minutes, watching cars drive back down the street then park in our vicinity. Valet drivers hop out of the parked cars and hustle back up the street.
Instead of waiting for our turn, I park the Mini in the first spot I can find. Once again, I have to move my car a bit when I realize I can’t open the British-side door because of the high curb. Paige and I stand together and look at the crystal. It points due north, to the house at the top of the hill, where the partygoers are headed.
“Stöðva,” I say.
The pendulum falls and dangles from Paige’s fist. I take the crystal from her and stuff it
