“No, I’m not concerned. You sought treatment for your student in the context of his ethnicity and religion. A viable decision. And this curandera you brought him to sounds fascinating, by the way. You win points for finding a new local resource.” Dr. Lassiter typed an entry, then closed the program. “Your trio has chosen an intriguing topic for their paper, Dr. Wrenn. Don’t neglect Cordova’s Guide to Mexican Folklore.”
“It’s on their reading list.”
“Hmm. Care to explain that scowl?”
“Am I scowling?” Grady sighed. “Okay. You’re right, ma’am. Llorona is fascinating. Everything I’m reading, everyone I talk to, hooks me more on this legend. But I think I…”
She what? Did she really want to tell the dean of the School of Anthropology that she’d been spooked by the wailing of a ghost? Spooked twice? Grady recognized the genuine interest and concern in Dr. Lassiter’s eyes, but she couldn’t ask her to go there. Not if she couldn’t believe it herself. “I think I need to put a priority on keeping my students out of trouble.”
“Ah. I recall thinking the same about you, during our field study of the Klickitat tribes.”
“Oh. You mean the study where I asked the tribal chief about their oral marriage rituals?”
“The study where you voiced the phrase that effectively married you to the tribal chief, yes.” Dr. Lassiter’s gaze was still measuring. She knew Grady’s recent history, at least its bleak outline. “You’re looking a bit better rested these days. Are you managing to get some decent sleep?”
It occurred to Grady that she hadn’t wandered the Mesilla Valley late at night in over a week. Elena’s mild tea worked miracles. “I’ll sleep like a baby once this summer project is over. I’m still holding out hope that after our river visit, my trio will opt for some other fascinating topic for their paper.”
*
“We want to go on with our paper,” Janice said. “‘The Mystery of La Llorona.’”
Grady raised her legs slowly and crossed her boots on her office desk. “Really.”
Seated in front of her, Cesar and Sylvia were looking at Grady as if Janice had just spoken rationally.
“All three of us still want to write it, Grady.” Sylvia cradled Cesar’s big hand on her knee. “We believe what Elena told us. Cesar isn’t in danger from the River Walker. We want to know more about her.”
“Three nights ago,” Grady said evenly, “Cesar about took a header into a campfire because of this witch. Today she’s no longer a danger?”
“Oh, Cesar’s not going back to the river.” Sylvia spoke with a vehemence that defied dissent. “Neither of us are going anywhere near Llorona herself again, thank you. But maybe we can help find an answer to these suicides, Grady.”
“And this could be a dynamite paper,” Janice said. “It’s got everything. Didn’t you say there was a possibility we could get it published in a professional journal, if our research is good enough? That would be such a coup, for undergrads.”
“I said that before I realized you decided to write about an undead murderess.” Grady eyed Cesar. There were no physical aftereffects to his trauma that Grady could see. His coloring was good, his eyes clear. “You’re really considering this, Cesar?”
“Yeah. I do want us to go ahead, Dr. Wr—Grady. We’ve decided to focus on the suicides. If we can learn more about the men who died, maybe we can help Elena stop them.”
“Elena?” Grady unwound her legs and sat up. “Elena asked you to help her with this?”
“She didn’t ask us.” Sylvia sounded protective of Elena. “Cesar’s been to see her a couple of times in the last few days, since it happened. You knew that, right?”
“Yes, it makes sense that Cesar would see Elena.” Grady was struggling to tamp down a flare of anger.
“She told us her theory, that Llorona is innocent of killing her children,” Cesar said. “And that all of the men who have died were violent men. She said she knows of a way to stop the killings. We both want to help her.” He nodded at Janice. “All of us do.”
“I see.” Grady stood and stretched. She needed to get out of this office before she snatched up the phone and screamed at a certain curandera. “I need to think about all this. It’s a pretty day out there. Why don’t we take a stroll and chew this over?”
“Hey, that would be nice.” Sylvia got up eagerly, apparently relieved that Grady was open to discussion. “A stroll to the doughnut store on Solano?”
*
The doughnut store was not what Grady had in mind.
Over two hours and more than three miles later, she led her straggling students into the sunny Mesilla Plaza. Grady’s nocturnal wanderings had accustomed her to lengthy hikes, but her three charges started flagging long before they stumbled up the steps of San Albino Church.
“There’s a reason I majored in anthropology and not phys ed.” Sylva propped a friendly elbow on Grady’s shoulder, fanning herself and sweating profusely. “This is the reason! Death marches. Are you mad at us or what?”
“Nope, I’m not angry with you.” Grady looked up at the dreaming marble face of the statue of the Virgin that stood in front of the church. “I just thought we should place this conversation in its proper context, as it were.”
Grady opened her pack and lifted out a tall bottle of water. She took a swig, then passed the bottle to the others. She had needed the time afforded by this long hike to gather her thoughts. As they left the campus behind, Grady had forced herself to put Elena’s role in encouraging this project out of her mind. She had to decide whether she could allow her students to face what might be real danger, supernatural or otherwise.
And Grady had to admit, in her heart, that she might be overreacting to this danger. She did not have a good record for protecting the people who looked up to her, for keeping them safe. But then, no one here was four years old. “Let’s go in.”
She was banking on the church being open to the public this afternoon, and she was right. They followed her into the tall vestibule, shadowed and blessedly cool. Grady nodded at a smiling older man who held the door to the sanctuary open for them on his way out.
A church’s interior tends to loom larger when there are no worshippers present. San Albino wasn’t immense or particularly grand, but there was dignity in the cushioned hardwood pews in the nave and classic beauty in the arched apse over the high altar. Grady felt again that surreal slippage in time southern New Mexico seemed to inspire in her. She could imagine standing inside this very church a hundred years in the past and finding it much the same.
She let Sylvia, Janice, and Cesar precede her down the crimson-carpeted aisle, their steps all but silent in the echoing space. Cesar and Sylvia genuflected briefly before entering the pew—Sylvia bobbed, Cesar sank fully to one knee. When all three were settled, Grady rested her hips against the pew in front of them and folded her arms.
“It’s a little different, isn’t it? Discussing Llorona in my scholarly, multicultural office, and talking about her here.”
They were feeling it, she could tell by their faces—the hushed solemnity of any house of worship, especially one as old as this. The grandeur of ritual infused this place—weddings, baptisms, funerals, the milestone moments of entire generations, beneath one roof.
“It does feel different, saying her name in here.” Like Grady, Janice spoke softly. “Llorona feels more real here, just like at the river. It kind of reminds me what’s at stake.”
“But I still think we need to do this, Grady,” Sylvia said. “People in Mesilla are dying, and we should help if we can.”
“And Cesar.” Grady studied him. “You agree? You want to finish this project because it’s important to the people of Mesilla?”
Cesar nodded. “And because I don’t want to let my fear control me. My parents taught me that part of being a man is learning to face your fears.”
Grady frowned. She hadn’t really expected this personal sentiment, expressed so openly by this quiet kid, and i
t moved her in spite of herself. She heard Elena’s voice whisper in her mind, asking if she was powerful enough to protect anyone from their destiny.
“Look, it’s important you three understand this.” Grady made sure she had their attention. “A lot of heavy emotion is brewing around these suicides. Real bullets are being fired, from real guns. Are you aware of that?”
Sylvia nodded. “Yes, Elena told us some men in Mesilla were pestering her. She warned us to be careful.”
Pestering her. Good of Elena.
“Maybe we can ask some questions in town that Elena can’t, right now,” Cesar said. “She wants to stop the killings, but some people in Mesilla won’t talk to her. If we can give Elena more information about the suicides, it will help her plan.”
“And what is her plan, exactly?”
Cesar shrugged. “She said she’d tell us when she was sure.”
And you let her get away with that? Grady rubbed her eyes. She couldn’t blame Cesar; she had allowed Elena Montalvo to get away with entire speeches filled with cryptic statements.
“All right. We’re doing this paper.” Grady blew out a slow breath. “And we’re all going to be very careful. Being careful means none of you makes a move until you discuss it with me first. And none of you works alone—ever. If I give you a field assignment, all three of you go together. That’s non-negotiable.”
“How do we start, Grady?” Janice sat up, smiling.
Grady shook her head and repeated herself. “Clearing things with me, working together, are non-negotiable, folks. Do we have an understanding?”
“Sí, Mamá.” The respect in Sylvia’s warm smile took the sass out of her words. “Yes, Grady, we understand.”
Grady waited until Cesar and Janice acknowledged her aloud. Then she tapped her thighs, thinking. “Cesar, you don’t attend this church, right?”
“No. We go to Immaculate Heart, in Cruces.”
“Do you know anyone who works here at San Albino?”
Cesar looked at Sylvia. “Doesn’t your mother know the pastor here? They went to school together.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Sylvia said.
“Good. This is where we start using that hometown advantage.” Grady felt that stirring of the old excitement again, the thrill of the hunt for answers. “Here’s your first assignment. Sylvia, ask your mom to call this pastor for us. See if you can arrange to meet with him. All three of you.” She paused, and they nodded staunchly. “Tell the pastor the truth about this project. Tell him we’re trying to find connections between the four suicides, and answer any questions he has honestly. Ask him if he’ll help you set up interviews with the widows.”
“Excellent. I’ll start writing out some questions.” Janice slapped her pockets, apparently looking for a pen. “Wait, Grady. We can find the widows’ names through back copies of the Sun News. Why don’t we just call them ourselves? It’d be faster.”
“No, Grady’s way is better.” Cesar waited for Sylvia’s nudge of agreement before he went on. “We don’t know any of the wives, but I bet they all know the pastor here. We’d be more likely to get interviews, and also, it’s just more respectful this way.”
“If the pastor declines, then that’s a firm no.” Grady ticked the points off on her fingers. “If any of the widows decline interviews, that’s firm, too. You’ll be talking to grieving families, and in any culture, that requires sensitivity and respect. Are we clear?”
They were clear.
“Then that’s where we start.” Grady pushed off the pew and stood. “Janice, get busy on those interview questions, which I will pore over with a fine-tooth comb. Sylvia, you and Cesar get back to me tomorrow about seeing this pastor. I’m sorry to leave you guys with a long walk home, but I’ve got an urgent medical appointment.”
Grady started up the aisle, ignoring the aghast silence behind her. She heard a cell phone flip open.
“As if,” she heard Sylvia whisper. “Don’t worry. I’ll call my cousin for a ride.”
*
Grady had a temper, but not a vicious one. She wasn’t feeling especially vicious now, but the small bell over the front door of Elena’s shop clanged rather loudly as she pushed it open.
Elena was behind her counter, wrapping a package in brown paper, laughing with a large young woman who must be a customer. They both turned in surprise at Grady’s abrupt entrance.
“Drug deliveries in the back, gringa.” Elena waved at her airily, and the woman giggled.
“Don’t let me interrupt.” Grady’s voice was tight.
Elena looked at her, then reached across the counter to pat the woman’s hand. “All right, Rita, vámanos. Tell your father I’ll come by and see him tomorrow if his dreams are bad today.”
“Thanks, Elena.” Rita waved at Grady on her way out. “She’s muy linda, amiga,” she called over her shoulder.
“Sí, very cute and very loca.” Elena smiled at Grady, but then her face sobered, and she came out from behind the counter. “Hey. Has something happened? You look grim.”
“I had a meeting with my students this morning.” Grady tried not to sound accusing, but she couldn’t help it; she was ticked. “It sounds like you’ve been doing a little recruiting.”
“Recruiting?”
“You’ve been talking to Cesar and Sylvia and Janice about these suicides.”
“Of course I have.” Elena’s shoulders were gaining a little stiffness of their own. “They had many questions about Maria. I answered them honestly. Why are you so angry, Grady?”
“I need to know what you have in mind for my students, Elena. They seem to think they’re going to help you stop these killings.”
“And why wouldn’t they want to help stop Maria?” Elena looked puzzled. “This tragedy is happening in their community. They care about—”
“Elena, people are shooting at your home. Men are dying. I’ve heard that damn wail twice now, and whatever it is, it’s dangerous. You have no business drawing these kids into this mess.”
“Why do you insist on thinking of your students as children?” Elena’s dark eyes snapped. “Their grandparents were working and raising families at their age. What’s happened to you, Grady, that makes it so hard for you to—”
“This is not about me.” Grady controlled her voice. “This is about making sure my students are safe. I’m not going to allow them to do anything that might put them at risk, Elena.”
“Yes, right, and I would feed them to the fire.” Elena stalked away from her, then turned back and set her hands on her hips. “Do you seriously believe I would ask those young people to do anything that would endanger them, Grady? Do you think so little of me?”
Grady almost faltered, but went on. “I think you might be obsessed with Llorona, Elena. I haven’t known you long enough to know how far you’ll go to vindicate her.”
Sorrow flickered across Elena’s features. “Then let me be perfectly clear.” She walked to Grady. “I did not ask Cesar or Sylvia or Janice to help me. They have reasons of their own for offering to do so. Their safety is as important to me as it is to you. And yes, what they learn about these killings might help stop them.”
Grady clenched her teeth in frustration. “And what do you think my students can learn that could possibly help stop these suicides?”
“Nada that I don’t already know!” Elena jabbed Grady’s chest with one finger. “But perhaps you will believe what your students tell you about Llorona, Grady! You don’t believe me, not yet. You’re thinking here.” She rapped Grady’s forehead with her knuckles, rather hard. “And I need you here.” Elena rested her hand against Grady’s heart.
Grady felt her blood pound against Elena’s palm.
Elena hesitated, and the fire in her eyes faded. Her touch grew lighter on Grady’s breast. “I must face the fact that we live on two entirely different planets, Professor Gringa. You’re older than me, and you come from good schools, and you’ve traveled to so many wonderful places. I’ve lived in
Mesilla all my life. I believe in a loving Mother, and you believe in nothing but your textbooks. I don’t know how to convince you I’m telling the truth, Grady. I’m hoping your students, who live on your planet, too, will be able to persuade you.”
Grady’s hand rose of its own accord and covered Elena’s. “Why is it so important that I believe you about Maria, Elena?”
“Because I’m starting to care for you. And because you’re the only woman I know who can help me stop her.”
“Me? Personally?”
“Yes. If you believe me, Grady, you can talk to Maria for me.”
Grady swallowed. “How do you figure that?”
“If you can hear La Llorona, then she can hear you.”
“Elenita?” a voice called lightly from upstairs. “Ven aquí, por favor.”
“Un momento, Mamá.” Elena kept her hand in place after Grady lowered hers. “Listen, I can’t ask you to face Maria with me unless you believe she is real, and she’s innocent of those first crimes.” She patted Grady’s breast. “I just want you to start thinking here more. Can you do that?”
Grady searched Elena’s face, and found no slyness there, no guile—only a wistful hope. “I can try, Elena.”
“Aiiyeee, gringa, help me!” The cry from upstairs was a frightened shout, and Grady started. “My crazy daughter is insane! She holds me prisoner up here against my will! Come save me, gringa!”
“Madre de Dios.” Elena sighed. She dropped her hand and stepped back, then looked at Grady apologetically. “You might as well go see her. She can keep this up all day.”
Grady looked from Elena to the staircase.
“She has chained me to the wall,” the distant voice sobbed. “Ay, Dios mío, save me, stupid gringa!”
“Go on, I’ll lock up.” Elena made a weary flapping motion with her hand. Grady went to the back of the store and climbed the stairs obediently.
As soon as she turned the corner, out of sight of the lower level, the portraits began. Dozens of framed drawings of women, all Hispanic, were tastefully arranged on either side of the hallway. Some were in pencil and some in ink, but each was in a homemade frame, and each featured a different solitary woman. Black-and-white photographs replaced the drawings at the end of the short hall. Grady did one of those leaning-backward walks, studying the portraits as she went. The faces of these women fascinated her.
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