Die Before Your Time (Elia Christie / Luis Echevarria medical mysteries)

by Polonus Mucha, Susan

  “I don't know.” Elia shook her head. “I just don't know.” She glanced at Vicente's luggage. “Could we open his suitcase? Maybe there's something there to help us.”

  Without answering, Señor Pereda pulled the suitcase toward him and tried to open it. “It's locked. Didn't you have to open this in security?”

  “No. I went through with no problem.”

  Señor Pereda left the room and returned with a screwdriver and hammer. He pried the bag open and looked at the contents. His face crumpled. Vicente's mother reached over and touched her son's clothes and wept some more.

  Elia stroked her arm. “I'm sorry. I know this is hard. May I look?”

  Señora Pereda nodded and Elia carefully looked through the bag. Under the clothes she found a manila folder. “Do you mind if I open this?” This time both Peredas nodded.

  Elia scanned the papers, then looked at the parents. “I'd like to take this home with me to show Luis. These are some kind of medical reports. Vicente was anxious to talk with Luis about a problem at the hospital, but never got a chance. This might have something to do with that problem.”

  “If this will help us understand why our son died, please, take it,” Señor Pereda said.

  “As soon as I get home, Luis and I'll go to Kiawah and take care of Vicente's house. My grandmother gave me the address, but how can we get in?”

  “We have a key.” Señora Pereda stood and walked over to a clock hanging on a wall. She looked sheepish. “We've always put items in the banjo clock. We don't lose them that way.” She opened the front of the clock and pulled an envelope from a stack of papers. “Here it is. He wanted us to have a key in case we…” She stopped speaking, took a breath.

  “We'll take care of everything.” Elia stood to leave. “I'm so sorry.” She gave the bereaved parents hugs and left them to their grief.

  She walked home with Vicente's key clutched in one hand and the manila folder in the other. One more job. The funeral.

  Chapter 18

  Elia stood on the periphery of the group surrounded by centuries-old tombstones. Some were chipped and stained, others, just as old, showed evidence of loving care. Most were over five feet in height.

  Her grandparents were nearby; Raf was saying final prayers over the casket. Elia detected movement to her right and saw a cemetery worker in white coveralls hovering nearby. She turned her attention back to the service. She frowned and turned to look at the worker. He was staring at her with hatred in his eyes. She immediately looked away. Then she gasped. “Oh, my god!” she said under her breath. She turned back. But he was gone.

  “Raf, you'll think I'm crazy, but I saw someone at the cemetery who looked — I don't know — familiar — frightening.” They were riding in a taxi to the airport. Elia was booked on the 12:20 a.m. flight to Atlanta, and then on to Charleston. She told her brother about her experience in the cemetery.

  “What'dyou mean?”

  “I saw hate in his eyes.”

  “You shouldn't have come. Perú is dredging up memories.”

  “You think I'm crazy.” It wasn't a question.

  “No. I just don't think a cemetery worker would even know you, let alone give you threatening looks.”

  “Threatening. Good word. He looked like he wanted to kill me.” She crossed her arms over her chest in a defensive mode. “Do you think it's him?”

  He shook his head and put his arm around her. “No. But I'm glad you're leaving. Do you want me to call Mario and Carlos?” They were the police officers on the case of the person responsible for murdering three men and attempting to murder Luis and Elia in Lima the year before. He was never found.

  “They'll think I'm crazy for sure.” She put her head in her hands, then looked over at her brother. “Maybe I am crazy.”

  “You're not crazy. This place just brings up a lot of sad memories.” He was silent a moment. “For me, too.”

  She punched his arm. “Don't talk like that. You're a priest. I can't have you sad. You have to buck me up.”

  He opened his mouth, then pressed his lips together.

  “Raf? You wanted to say something?”

  He shook his head. He reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “You help out the Peredas at Vicente's, then go home to Augusta and start your new life. You deserve it.”

  Elia looked at her brother, at his drawn face. “What is it, Raf? You look so…” She waved her hands in a circle as she tried to come up with words. “Distressed. Sad.” She touched his face. “Not peaceful.”

  The taxi stopped at the entrance to the airport. “Let's get you checked in, then we'll talk.”

  Thirty minutes later they sat at a small table and sipped strong coffee. “I'm coming to the States.”

  “For a visit?”

  “Longer.”

  “But what about your work in Colombia? Who's going to take care of your people?”

  “That's just it, Elia. I'm tired. I'm tired of taking care of people.” He held up his fingers and put quotation marks around “taking care of.”

  “I'm tired of being the calm reassuring one when bad things happen to people.”

  Elia reached across the table and took her brother's hands. She had tears in her eyes. “Oh, Raf. I'm partly to blame. I lean on you.”

  “It's not you. I'm your brother. We lean on each other.” He squeezed her hand. “I wasn't going to say anything, but I need you.”

  “What can I do? Anything.”

  “Pray for me. Pray that I work this out.”

  “Work this out?”

  “My vocation. I've been talking with my spiritual director the last few months and I'm going to see my bishop when I get home.” He shook his head. “I don't know if I can live as a priest anymore, Elia. I'm tired. So tired.”

  “Is there something else?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you see how happy I am with Luis.”

  “If you're asking me if there's a woman involved, the answer is no. This is about me. About if I'm doing what God wants me to do.” He looked down at his hands encased in Elia's. “And if it is, I pray He helps me.”

  “Are you lonely, Raf?”

  “What priest isn't lonely? We have no family, no home.” He nodded.

  “You've been in Colombia a long time.”

  “It's not Colombia. That's just the way it is. Priests are alone.” He held up his hands. “Wait. You have to understand. We make our family with brother priests. It's a special bond we have. Like ours, Elia. We really consider each other brothers.”

  “Tell me, what's going on?”

  He looked around the coffee shop. “I don't know.” He paused. “I had so many expectations when I was ordained.” He pointed to himself. “Expectations of me. But of others too.”

  “Disappointed?”

  “In myself.”

  “You re a good priest, Raf. Don't think you're not.” Before he could answer, she trudged on. “Everyone expects you to be the strong one. The one people go to with their troubles. You're a mediator, a counselor.” She again reached for his hands. “You have to comfort them when they have deaths in their families. It was you I leaned on when Mom and Dad died. And now you're taking care of everyone with Vicente.” She gave his hands a squeeze. “You're always the rock.”

  “I've been thinking a lot, Elia. It's not only that. It's the scandals in the priesthood, it's the negativity. It's the war between the liberals in the church and the conservatives. Sometimes there's just no peace.” He shook his head slowly. “Just no peace.”

  “Raf, you talk about expectations. I've known young, newly ordained priests. Some of them are haughty; they think they are so important.” She waved in the air as if to erase her statement. “They are important, but they aren't humble, and priests should be humble. But that's the point. Priests are human. They aren't perfect. They have their idiosyncrasies, their histories.”

  She took his chin in her hand so that he had to look in her eyes. “You're not God, and d
on't think you are. You aren't perfect, so everything can't be perfect.”

  She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms in front of her. “Humility. Be humble enough to realize that the problems in the church aren't yours to fix. And pray for wisdom. Wisdom to show you how you can meet this challenge.” She sat up straight to emphasize her points. “We all have challenges. Be humble, Raf. You're human.” She sat back, nodded, and said, “Pray for humility and wisdom.”

  Raf smiled. “That I am praying for, and in my wisdom I confided in my little sister. I miss Mom and Dad, Elia. I want to talk with them.” He paused, then said, “But you know what? You have a lot of both them in you.”

  He looked at his watch and sighed. “You have to get through security.”

  She gathered up her belongings. “I'm sad for you. For your unhappiness.”

  “I'm all right.”

  “She hugged him. You know what would Mom say?”

  He smiled. “Give it to Jesus.”

  She put her hands on his shoulders and smiled back.

  “And?”

  “And don't take it back. Let Jesus take care of it.”

  “Pretty smart Mom we had. Heed her advice.”

  They hugged one last time. “I'll call you when I'm in the States, Sis.”

  “Not just call. You come to us.” She turned and walked through security.

  As soon as she was out of sight, Raf dropped his bravado. He whipped off his Roman collar and stuffed it in his pocket and wiped the perspiration from his forehead and neck.

  Elia arrived at her gate at the first boarding call. She whispered a prayer for Father Rafael as tears flowed down her cheeks.

  Chapter 19

  Luis pulled into the Charleston airport as Elia's flight landed.

  He parked and reached the waiting area before passengers deplaned. Elia was one of the first off the plane and she rushed into Luis's arms, bursting into tears.

  Luis held her, then stepped back and looked at her. “What is it? Why the tears?”

  She shook her head. “I don't know. I'm just glad to see you.” She paused. “I had a talk with Raf.”

  Luis held her at arms’ length and looked at her. “And?”

  “He has some questions.”

  “Questions?”

  “His vocation.”

  “What's the problem?”

  “I'm not sure. I don't think he knows. But he's working on it. He's coming home to see his spiritual director and his bishop.”

  “It's a hard life. But rewarding, I'd think.”

  “Just keep him in your prayers.”

  “Will do.” Luis gave her a hug. “Come on. I've got a surprise for you.”

  When they drove out of the airport, instead of heading to Charleston, they went in the opposite direction.

  “We're not staying in Charleston?” Elia asked.

  “No, Mrs. Echevarria. Vicente's place is on Kiawah Island, so I thought, why not; that's where we'll stay. Have you ever been there?”

  “No. I've never even been to Charleston. I'd say this is a treat for me but that's too heartless.” She grimaced. “

  “You can't keep thinking that way. So — be a little heartless.” He took his eyes off the road and grinned at her. “For me?”

  Elia nodded. “You're right. From now on, it's all about us.”

  They crossed over Highway 17 onto Main Road, crossed the Intracoastal Waterway, and soon were traveling on Bohicket Road beneath a canopy of majestic oaks decorated with Spanish moss.

  It was high tide when they crossed over one more bridge — this one separating Kiawah and Seabrook Island.

  “Look.” Elia pointed to three dolphins frolicking in water brought in by the tide. “I've never seen a dolphin out of the ocean.”

  “This is ocean. The sea is filling the marsh.” He slowed down. “What a sight.”

  They neared the security gate with three cars in front of them. To their right, a car went through a separate gate for property owners only.

  They pulled up to the window. “Echevarria,” Luis said.

  The guard checked the computer. “Don't see you. Another name, maybe?”

  “We have reservations at The Sanctuary.”

  “Oh, no problem.” The guard handed Luis a day pass and a map of the island. “Put this in your windshield. When you check in, you'll get a pass from the hotel.” He pointed to a dot on the map. “The Sanctuary's down this road two miles on your right. You'll see the sign.”

  As they drove off, Elia looked behind her. Several cars were waiting to go through the gate. “They seem to be very careful about who gets on the island.”

  “They are. You have to have a purpose to come on the island. Homeowners have to call in passes for friends who visit, if even for an hour or two.”

  They drove down the road toward The Sanctuary. Sea grass, native to the island, lined the road and swayed in the soft breeze like pink feathers on two-foot stalks.

  They turned onto a tree-lined driveway speckled with oleander. At the end of the drive stood the yellow stucco and red brick resort, its five-star rating elegantly evident from afar. They parked in front of the hotel and relinquished their car and bags to the valet.

  They rode the elevator to their floor and ten minutes later Luis had Elia in his arms and carried her over the threshold into their suite. Wall-to-wall windows overlooked a grassy courtyard and the Atlantic Ocean beyond.

  Elia slept the afternoon away. When she awoke, Luis was in the sitting room reading the papers Elia had found in Vicente s suitcase. He was frowning.

  “What is it?” Elia sat beside her husband.

  “I'm trying to remember something from several years ago. When I was doing my residency in New Orleans — something's familiar here.”

  “Is that Vicente's speech?”

  “His notes. And he was about to open a can of worms.”

  Chapter 20

  By midmorning the following day Luis and Elia had hopped on bicycles and were following directions from the concierge at The Sanctuary to Vicente's home. They followed the bicycle path that cut through thick vegetation. If they used their imaginations, they might have thought they were on a deserted island. They passed lagoons and spied alligators sunning on banks. A small fox ran across their path into the woods, and an owl hooted nearby. Before they turned onto Vicente's street, they passed another lagoon that in the evening would be home to a couple dozen snowy white egrets that would fly there to sleep in the trees.

  Vicente's home was on a cul-de-sac. Many homeowners on Kiawah rented out their homes, but not on this street. With few exceptions, most of these owners lived here full-time, or came to the island on weekends. Vicente was the only renter on the street.

  It was quiet. They rode into the driveway, parked their bikes, and looked at the house, then at each other.

  “Let's go.” Luis took his wife's hand. In her other hand, she held the key given to her by Señora Pereda.

  They climbed the steps to the front door and Elia

  put the key in the lock. But before she turned the key the door drifted open.

  Luis flung open the door. “What the…”

  Elia gasped. They stood anchored to the floor. The place had been trashed.

  Chapter 21

  “What the hell were they looking for?” Luis stepped over lamps and sofa cushions strewn on the floor. “And who the hell are they?”

  Elia walked into the living room and slowly surveyed the clutter. “Maybe they didn't find it.”

  She stepped gingerly over Vicente's possessions then stood still and shook her head, as if in slow motion. “How sad. All his earthly belongings — violated.”

  The entire back wall of the house was glass. From the dining room, sliding glass doors opened onto an open deck. Elia walked out onto the deck and stood there looking out on the marsh. The tide was coming in and small whitecaps danced over the water. She smiled. And then remembered where she was — and why.

  She returned to t
he house and stood in the middle of the living room and scanned the mess. It looked to her as though whoever did it was haphazard in his search. Lamps and pillows were on the floor, some pictures and accessories, but as sloppy as the place looked, she had a strange feeling. “They didn't find it.”

  “It being what?” Luis had stooped and was looking through papers strewn on the floor. “And what makes you think they didn't find whatever ‘it’ is?”

  “I don't know. Maybe because it's time for things to go our way. For Vicente.”

  She pulled out her notebook and a handkerchief from her bag and poked around. “Ah, here it is.” She retrieved the phone from the floor and picked it up with her handkerchief. She tapped in 911 and gave the dispatcher the information. “They're on their way. And they're calling Kiawah security.”

  A Charleston County police officer arrived on the tail of a Kiawah security guard. They stepped through the door and almost at the same time let out soft whistles.

  Luis told the officers who they were and why they were there. He explained about Vicente's death, presumed to be murder.

  “Notice anything missing?” Charleston had a notebook and pen in his hand.

  “We've never been here before.” Elia shrugged her shoulders. “How would we know? And Dr. Pereda rented this house furnished; we wouldn't know what was missing.”

  While they were speaking the Kiawah guard made a phone call and ordered the front gate closed to exiting traffic. He directed his attention to Elia and Luis. “We don't know when this happened, but maybe they're still on the island.”

  “Don't you have a record of who comes and goes?” Elia asked. “I noticed the scrutiny at the front gate when we drove in.”

  “We'll check our records, but it could be anyone.”

  “Oh, so it's not difficult to get admitted to the island after all? Elia asked.

  “I didn't say that. But we can't know everyone who's in a car.”