I stop at the entrance to the main road, debating what to do. “Does you sister want out? Really?”
She nods. “He was sweet when they met. He brought her fancy gifts and treats, told her she was the most beautiful girl in town. She was. But when I saw her after they married, it was like the light was sucked out of her. He wasn’t so sweet afterwards. My abuela thinks it’s the devil in him, but Mama and Papa just want her safe and away from him. Only he’s got money, and a huge fence around his house and guard dogs and guns. She could only leave last time because she got to go to church. But now, she isn’t allowed to do that.”
It takes me a minute to absorb her monologue, but once I do, I know there’s no way I can just go home and not worry about this. “Paula, if I got your sister back to you, do you think your mama and papa could keep her safe? Would she stay?”
“Not if there are guns. She wouldn’t want any of us to get hurt.”
“What’s Guillermo’s last name? Where does he live?”
“Afaro-Grande. And he lives about an hour’s drive up the mountain.” She points and I try to calculate where that would be.
“Paula, I can’t make any promises, but you’ve been a good friend while we’ve been here. I’ll do what I can to help your sister.”
“Why do you sound like you’re leaving?” Her dark eyes lock onto mine, and I’m reminded why I chose this girl to be our ear to the ground. Intelligence, curiosity, and an innate strength I pray she gets to keep as she becomes an adult.
“Because we are. We’ve been planning to for a while, but that man your Tía lied to about us? That means it’s time we go. But first, I’m going to try to help your sister.”
“Is Benny going to punch him? I hope Benny punches him so hard he cries.”
The image of Trips knocking out some unknown abuser has a grin sneaking across my face. “I’ll see what I can do.”
She nods.
“And Paula, we might need your help with this, too. So your sister knows we’re safe.”
“You know I’m good at helping you,” she says, before skipping down the main thoroughfare.
A plan forms in my mind as I switch directions, heading towards the tourist side of town. With the information Paula just shared, it’s clear I’m going to have to cut into Walker and Jansen’s work time.
Chapter 38
Clara
I’m dry by the time I make it to the old city center, a fountain tinkling in a patch of green, different songs fighting for notice on each corner, knickknacks and art scattered on blankets between them. I nod at old man Matteo surrounded by his carvings on a threadbare blue blanket, works of art that belong in a museum rather than in tourist’s luggage, before I slide onto the purple and orange monstrosity next to him.
Walker opens his arms for me, pulling me close, his nose pressed to my head, his straw hat knocked back by the move. “To what do I owe this surprise?” he asks.
“How’s business?” I ask, motioning at the landscapes spread around us, some just sketched, some done with oil pastels, and some painted in acrylics and oils.
“The cruise ship leaves in thirty minutes, so I’m probably done for the day. But I sold two of my big pieces, and seven sketches, so we can eat for half the week.”
I laugh, happy that he’s happy. It was a struggle at first until he targeted tourists. Then the money started dripping from their pockets to ours. He’s not totally convinced his originals are worth something, but every sale pushes him in that direction. They aren’t tricky, fifty-foot metal installations, but people like his art. Because he is good. Really good.
Even if he misses the tricky stuff.
“In that case, want to pack up? I’ll collect Murray and we’ll head back and feast.” Murray being Jansen.
Matteo chuckles, his English flawless after a lifetime of catering to rich Americans. “You kids make no sense to an old man like me,” he says. “I’d keep a girl like you all to myself, Marcy, if I were half the age I am now.”
“Then it’s a good thing you’re too old, Matteo. No way you’d be able to keep up with me, and I’d hate to have you questioning your manhood,” I tease.
Walker flushes, helping me up. “I’m still not used to this side of you, princess,” he whispers in my ear.
I shrug, kissing the corner of his jaw before I reply. “There was no hiding what we were. Might as well enjoy the freedom of being the crazy gringos while it lasts.”
That kills the light mood we’ve been carrying. Because it’s not going to last. It’s ending. So soon I don’t want to think about it. Instead, I squeeze his hand. “I’ll be back.”
Across the square, Jansen has his cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes, his hair so long now that it hangs in a braid over one shoulder, the tail of it falling over his pecs and almost to his belly button. He’d considered cutting it to be less recognizable, but looking like a hippy kid from the US helped with our cover, so in the end, he kept it.
