The Kate Nash Series Boxed Set

by Keene, Susan

  “He didn’t know what to do. We neither one of us, thought she would live. I waited until the middle of the night and met him at the water’s edge and I took the girl.”

  I had been standing. I sat next to the men and completed a triangle. “What did you do with her?”

  “I took her to an old nun who lived in the Convento de Mexico City for years. You can find her at this address.” He handed me a piece of folded paper. “These people risked their lives and prison to protect the girl. You must keep the secret.” The pain he felt when I told him she was dead showed on his face and the way his head hung toward his waist.”

  I took the paper and promised once again to keep the secret.

  He turned and began to climb the hill behind him. “Mamasita Maria lives about a mile past the Mission. Don’t drive your car to her house. Park it in front of the church, take the tour, have lunch, and leisurely take a walk. Go East, behind the church. Don’t be followed.”

  A second later he disappeared into the dark landscape.

  The night had turned black. The only light came from the fires at the camp. We followed the trail we had come down. We didn’t talk. There was no way to tell if a person or persons spied on our meeting. Visibility to the front barely gave us enough light to see where we should step. The closer we came to the camp, the brighter the fire became. Behind me, I couldn’t see anything past my outstretched arm.

  The closer we got to the camp, the louder the voices. They came from people seated in the chairs around a campfire laughing and talking.

  One of the hosts slid two chairs and the circle widened to let us in. I spied Jerry and Anna on the other side and waved to them. Jerry held up a beer he’d been drinking and tipped it toward us in a friendly gesture. Anna waved.

  We sat around the fire with the others for nearly two hours. Ryan talked to the man on his right. By the time we reached our cabin it had been freshened. Three fresh clean buckets of water for each of us sat on the porch. My hopes about if I didn’t use my three gallons of water for my bucket bath the night before, it would be waiting for me, plus the day’s ration turned out to be a false assumption.

  Ryan sat on the bed to check his email and texts. I came in from the bathroom. “Can you help me wash my hair? I can’t waste any water. There won’t be enough to bathe.”

  He stood and walked toward me. “This could be fun. What should I do?”

  “Let’s step outside. You wet it, I’ll wash it, and you rinse it.”

  He went out first with the bucket in his hand. “Any place in particular?”

  I walked around the side of the cottage away from the wind. “This is great.”

  Ryan poured the warm water over my scalp and hair. I worked through the curly mess with my fingertips to get it damp everywhere. “Do you think it is safe to talk here?”

  “I do. What we're doing isn’t conducive to conversation. I believe no one will be listening.”

  He poured another small amount of water on my hair and I put on the shampoo to lather the salt water and dirt out of it. I faced him and stood straight as I sudsed it. “I agree with everything Miguel said. Let’s follow his instructions. I’m excited to meet the lady in question.”

  I bent over at the waist and he poured water over my soapy hair to rinse the shampoo out. “I think if the woman took care of Ivy for all of those years, she should know what happened. We'll have to gain her trust for her to tell us her story.”

  I wrapped my hair in a towel. “I don’t know if it is clean. It feels better. I’m going to take the rest inside and finish a bath.”

  “How do you bathe in a gallon and a half of water, because that is all you have? I’d be more than happy to sell you a gallon of mine,”

  I stifled a laugh. “There is no doubt in my mind the price I would have to pay would be more than I have the energy to deal with tonight. When I was twelve I went to wilderness camp. There was a guide for every four girls. Our bath water came from a freezing stream as it ran by the base camp. She would give us a bucket to fill in the icy water. We would warm it over the fire, and take it to a bath area cordoned off with large tarps. I haven't thought about this for years.

  “We took a Possible Bath.”

  He stood, bucket in one hand and one hand on the cabin as he leaned against it. “A Possible Bath?”

  “Yes, you wash everything possible above your waist, everything possible below your waist, then you wash, Possible.”

  He laughed and shook his head. “Go in and finish up. I’m going to check in with Nathan.”

  “Don’t go too far,” I said, “it may not be safe.”

  He kissed me. “I’ll be fine. I’m going to sit in one of the chairs in the back. I’ll only be a few minutes, then I need a Possible Bath.”

  The day and the excitement of what might happen next wore me out. I laid on the bed and looked at my messages. The first was a picture of Amy holding Chili in one arm and Digger in the other. It made my day. I told myself I would not go to sleep until Ryan came in, but something about wind, water, and good food made it impossible.

  CHAPTER 13

  W e ate breakfast before we left for San Ignacio. We decided it would stir up less attention if we ate breakfast and waited for the first excursion to leave before we went to town. The Donnelsons sat across the table from us. Jerry reached for the butter. “Are you waiting for Captain Ortiz today?”

  Ryan pushed the butter in his direction. “No, we're going out with whoever is available. I want to experience it all. I noticed different panganero go to different places. Maybe we'll see a bigger whale today.”

  Anna looked at her husband. “Do you think we're missing out by going with Miguel all the time?”

  He patted her hand. “We can try someone else tomorrow if you like?”

  I stood. “It was nice seeing you two again.” I looked at Ryan. “We need to get the camera and sunscreen from our room.”

  “Yes, we do. We’ll see you two tonight.”

  Ryan took my hand and off we went. We left the car parked under a tree the day we checked in. Ryan backed it out. Another bumpy, back-breaking ride. It took another four hours to get the eight miles to the paved road.

  The Mission dated back to the late seventeen hundreds. Inside statues from a time long ago stood out against gorgeous stained glass windows. We took our time and explored the entire church before we walked out the back door and headed East. The old village held my interest with its one of a kind buildings and fragrant colorful flowers. The houses were stucco and painted in odd combinations of colors, a mustard yellow, salmon, teal blue and bits of white. It reminded me of pictures I’d seen of movie lots.

  The old woman’s house sat at the back edge of its lot. It was barely visible from the street with its clematis climbing to the roof and azaleas as tall as trees. We strolled up a small cobblestone path with grass poking between each crack in the ancient stone. The house looked alive. Climbing roses covered the entire front with a small clearing for the door.

  The steps we climbed to reach the entrance held flower pots filled with blooming plants we had to move sideways to go from one step to the next. As I looked around to catch all the beauty, I spotted a small woman who sat on a porch swing to my left. Across from her were two chairs with a wicker table between them and a pitcher of liquid, too dark to be tea and too light to be beer, sitting on it along with three glasses. “Buenos Dias,” she said.

  It had never occurred to me she might not to speak English. “Buenos Dias. Yo, no hablo Espanol.”

  “It’s okay. We shall speak Ingles.” She had a faint accent.” Please have a seat. Miguel told me about your visit and your purpose. I cried when I heard the news of Ivy Tucker’s death. She was my constant companion for eight years. My eyes are dry now. No more tears will come.”

  I glanced at Ryan and then back to our hostess. “May I call you Maria?”

  She nodded her head at me.

  “We didn’t have the pleasure of knowing Ivy. A month ago, I o
pened the front door of our house and a body, we later found out was Ivy, laid dead on the porch. She had this in her hand. Do you have any idea why she would have it?”

  “No, I don’t. Are you Kate Nash?”

  “Yes.”

  She looked at Ryan with intense blue eyes. They were so out of place with her Mexican heritage and rugged wrinkled skin. “And who are you, Senor?”

  “I’m Kate’s soon to be husband.”

  She smiled and nodded her head. “The story of Ivy is a long and sad one and I’m not sure why I should or need to share it with you. What is your intent?”

  Ryan leaned forward and spoke to her in the same soothing voice I heard him use when anyone got upset. “When we found Ivy, her age, fake identification, and Kate’s business card in her pocket led us to believe we were to find her killer.”

  Maria turned her attention to me. “And your business is?”

  “I’m a private investigator in St. Louis.”

  “And what do you investigate? You look hardly big enough to do work such as that.”

  Ryan reached over and put his hand on mine. I had a tendency to become angry if someone referred to my size or gender as if it disqualified me from doing my job. I took a second and paused to catch my breath. I told myself, Peace. Be still. There were several mantras I used. They allowed me to take a moment to calm down and not speak in anger. Ruth Bader Ginsberg said, Reacting in anger or annoyance will not advance one’s ability to persuade. I had to admit, in some situations, none of those canticles worked. “Size is not a factor in my job. Before I became an investigator I analyzed and solved murders for the St. Louis Police.”

  “Do you have any ideas as to who this killer might be?”

  “No, not yet. We have several clues. We know whoever is responsible doesn’t want us to find out his identity. He has stopped us at every turn, yet we are determined.”

  “Would you like a glass of green sun tea? It’s rather hot today.”

  We both indicated we did. She made no attempt to move so I stood and served the drinks along with napkins.

  Maria leaned back in her seat, sipped on her tea, and looked off in the distance for a long minute before she began to speak. “Miguel told me you were an author and were writing a book about the sinking of the ship and the death of all aboard.”

  “I used it as a cover. People don’t like to talk to investigators, and we know someone is following us. I thought it might make him back off a bit.”

  “And this has worked?”

  “No, not really. Will you tell us about Ivy?”

  “I shall. Almost eleven years ago, a whaler came to me. A child had washed up on shore next to his boat slip. The child had parched and cracked lips and clothes burnt to her skin. It was beyond the seaman’s ability to help. He brought the half dead child to me. I peeled the material from her body, put aloe on her burns and gave her sips of water.” She looked off again. She appeared to be in her eighties but with the climate and the sea mist hitting her all of her life, I couldn’t be sure.

  “Are you sure the story I tell you will stay with you and only be used to catch this killer?”

  I refilled the glasses from the pitcher. When I handed hers back, I looked her in the eye and said, “I swear.”

  “It took weeks for her sunburn to heal, and years passed before she didn’t run and hide if someone came to the house. She told me she had just turned twelve.”

  I interrupted her. “What happened to the fisherman?”

  “Samuel Garcia. He died of a heart attack three years after he brought the girl here. I am sure he told no one what he had done. He remembered the pretty redheaded girl from the schooner the Americans were in when the three children rowed the narrow straights to whale watch. Only the fishermen from the Sea saw the boat. It would not fit through the channel. None of the men on the big fishing boats saw anyone around the schooner, only the children.

  “He didn’t want to get involved. By the time she washed up on the rocks in the channel, everyone knew some sort of tragedy befell her family.

  “All the information I could get from her was her name. She was terrified of someone or something. She hid in the cellar or the shed until our visitors would leave. One night, about three years into her life here, we had a storm. The lightning flashed and thunder rumbled. She ran into my room, got in bed next to me and began to cry.” Maria stopped talking and stood. She couldn’t have been over four-feet-five. She turned her head left to right and down. She had lost the ability to look up. “I’m an old woman. I must eat at the lunch hour or I won’t have the strength to finish my story. Please join me. There is plenty.”

  She didn’t wait for an answer. She opened the door and disappeared inside.

  We followed. The house opened into the kitchen. A wooden table, well worn with time, was set for four people. The dishes were brightly colored pottery in reds and blues and yellows.

  A young pretty senorita walked across a floor of hand-painted tiles to present us each with a fruit plate. She left and returned with a bowl of meatball soup and tortillas with shrimp, salsa, onions, avocado, and sliced peppers to dress them.

  Ryan had been relatively quiet since our arrival. “Thanks for the lunch. You are a gracious hostess. We didn’t expect the tea, much less this lavish lunch.”

  She looked toward the teen in the room. “This is my niece, Bonita. She spent many days and nights with Ivy over the years. She, like I, was devastated by the news of Ivy’s death. Knowing the entire story, Bonita wanted to fix this nice lunch, and meet the people who will bring the killer of Ivy’s family to justice.” She looked up at the girl, “ Sit dear and eat with us.”

  Once she said the killer of the family, my curiosity peeked until I could hardly eat. Had it not been so delicious, I might have sat silently until Maria began her story again.

  Once lunch ended and the dishes were cleared, Bonita filled our glasses once again. We were asked to move to the living room.

  I sat in a heavily brocaded blue chair across from a rocking chair our hostess chose. Ryan picked a sueded chair with a colored pattern in the same blue as my chair and bright red. Between us sat a table with conchos topped with either powdered sugar, cinnamon and sugar, or drizzled with honey.

  Lunch filled me up and although the dessert looked amazing, we neither one touched it.

  Maria took a fan from a magazine rack beside her and began to wave it slowly near her face. The room temperature was pleasant, She might have wanted to occupy her hands as she talked. “Ivy would not go to school. She didn’t leave this compound even to walk into town. Bonita came after school and they talked. During the first few years, she was obsessed with any written word about her family and the tragedy. My niece bought every paper she could find and gave them to the child.

  “Miguel Ortiz is my son-in-law. When his family traveled to bigger towns, he would bring back everything he could find about the Tuckers.

  “We have saved Ivy’s belongings since the day she arrived. In hopes one day she would come back to us. Bonita will bring them in for you to see.”

  It was as though it had been prearranged because immediately the girl stepped into the room with an arm full of literature. Ryan took it from her. He sat the stack on a table between Maria’s chair and ours.

  Conversation halted as we went over the articles. I asked Maria. “I see these are in Spanish with translations of some parts above the print. Can you explain it?”

  “Si. Ivy was an extremely smart girl. Her mother was from LaPaz. She spoke Spanish as well as I do. She couldn’t write it as well as she spoke and some words she didn't know. I wrote the English above the words.”

  “I see. Did she tell you what happened on the boat?” I asked.

  Maria closed her eyes for a moment and when she opened them, a single tear rolled down her cheek. “What happened to that family would be too much for anyone to bear. For Ivy to live through it made her jumpy and afraid.

  “The family left the lagoon and sai
led toward the entrance to the Sea of Cortez.

  “Ivy said she preferred to sleep on deck and watch the stars. The rest of the family, the captain and his wife slept in the cabins. About three days after they left the whales, she heard a commotion and blood curdling screams.

  “She hid. He came out from below with a bloody knife in his hand. As he roamed the deck, she ran down the stairs to find her family. On her way down she saw a massive amount of blood.

  “She ran up on deck and smelled smoke. The man put one of the lifeboats in the water. He saw her, ran, and grabbed her arm. He dragged her toward the boat. She said she knew he was going to kill her. But he looked over the side and his boat had drifted away. He turned to her and said, not to worry little one. The boat will sink soon and this will all be over. He jumped in, swam to the boat and left. The boat had a small electric motor.

  “Ivy said she was determined to live to tell what happened to her family. The second lifeboat was not in its place. She found a toy float with a mesh bottom and threw it into the water, jumped in and paddled as far as she could away from the schooner. She thought she would sink when the boat went down because her float was so small and the boat so huge. When the wake hit her she held on for dear life. The next thing she remembered was waking up here.”

  Ryan wanted to ask some questions to clarify what he had heard. “Who was He?”

  “She would never say. I always thought it must have been the captain otherwise she would have called him Dad, or Max.”

  “How could Samuel pick her out of the water from his boat slip when she would have floated the other way the entire time she spent in the water?”

  “We never questioned him about it. He leased his boat from the Montego Fishing Company. He was not to take it out when he wasn’t on a job for them. A lot of the men would go south into the deeper water to catch fish for themselves. I knew he did that so I let it go. He saved the girl and needed not to have been punished for it.”

  Ryan stood, stretched and walked to the back window. It seemed odd for the kitchen to be at the entrance and the living room to be in the back. The window looked out over a massive garden of fruit trees, bushes, and tropical plants of all kinds.