her: not only was she the daughter of a criminal, but also the wife—correction, widow—of one. To Mitch’s way of thinking, Mary probably enjoyed the roles and money that came with being Yano’s daughter and Eddie’s wife.
“I know what you’re thinking, but I think you are wrong about my sister. I’m asking you as a friend, since your cabin is right next door to where she’ll be staying, to keep an eye on her.” Eric’s eyes bore holes into Mitch. “This might be her only chance to make good. Maybe she turned a blind eye to some things that she shouldn’t have, but remember, she was trained from birth. And even with that type of upraising, she never acted as a messenger or go-between. Not for our father, not for her husband. I think we can prove that she can’t be charged with mafia association or as an accomplice to any of Eddie’s dealings. That will leave just the child-endangerment issue and aggravated assault for the way she clocked Eddie after Justin ended up in the hospital. I think that I’ll be able to get her probation or even a suspended sentence. What do you think?”
“You don’t want to know what I think.”
“You’re too hard, Mitch. Not everyone is like you. Will you come with me to meet her, maybe give her a hand with a few boxes so you two get off on the right foot?”
Mitch nodded, then laughed and shook his head. “She’s going to hate living next door to me.”
Eric laughed. “Got that right. You couldn’t possibly be any more establishment.”
“And proud of it.”
He was proud of it and always had been, ever since the first time he’d read about Eliot Ness and then later watched all the cop shows his mother would allow. And that was before his sister disappeared. After that, he’d known exactly what he wanted to do with his life—find missing people. He’d started as a beat cop, finally worked his way to detective, and segued into Internal Affairs. He found lots of missing people; most of them didn’t want to be found.
He turned his attention back to his friend. “Where’s your wife? She’s a much better-looking officer to hang around with than me.”
Eric sobered. “Ruth would have come, but she’s working on a missing baby.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from his back pocket. “You remember José Santos?”
“Sure, great guy, good cop. He died last year after pulling over a kid who’d stolen a car. Kid had a gun.”
“His family is still having a hard time dealing with it. His sixteen-year-old daughter, Angelina, has a little boy now.”
“So young,” Mitch murmured.
“It’s her baby that’s missing. Sunday she took her son to a festival in town. Somebody snatched him.”
Sunday. Mitch felt prickles up and down his spine. On Sunday, while he was busy shooting a fellow police officer, here in small-town America somebody was stealing a baby. “What do you have there?” Mitch sat down next to Eric and reached for the piece of paper.
“It’s a drawing. Right now we’re calling her a person of interest. She’d approached Angelina at the festival and touched the baby. Angelina thought she was just admiring little José. When José was taken, Angelina thought again.”
The sketch was of a young Hispanic woman, probably no more than eighteen. Her dark hair spilled past her shoulders. Her cheekbones and the lines of her chin were too thin. Her eyes radiated sadness. There was nothing special about her except…
Suddenly, he remembered. Six months ago, an illegal crossing gone wrong near Yuma cost a young man his life. He was shot while trying to cross the border by a crooked border patrol officer.
Mitch had seen a photo of a girl that the dead man carried in his pocket.
Same girl.
Mary Graham winced as the U-Haul bounced over the uneven pavement of the Santellis Used Car Lot. It was all hers now: every broken window, every cracked sidewalk, every shattered dream.
“Justin, we’re here.” She tapped her son’s shoulder and removed one of the earbuds that ran from his ever-present iPod into the sides of his head.
“That’s nice.” Justin shoved the earbud back in. He was still punishing her for picking up their lives and moving yet again.
After three years on the run, she thought it would feel good to come back to Gila City and Broken Bones, Arizona, the place she had grown up—the place she used to call home.
Mary climbed out of the car and looked around.
She should be excited that she and Justin could settle down again in a place with family.
She wasn’t.
Not with her family.
As Mary surveyed the ramshackle car lot, she pictured herself standing in that same spot three years before—the day her estranged husband, Eddie, had been led away in handcuffs and her life in Arizona had ended. From the looks of things, the decades-old family car business had ended that day, too.
The grimace on her son’s face as he joined her broke Mary’s reverie.
“This is it?” Justin, way too discerning for an eleven-year-old, muttered after getting a good look at his mother’s inheritance. “You’re kidding. Dad really used to work here?”
Like something out of a low-budget 1950s horror flick, the one-level main building that rose out of the dusty parking lot was dingy-white, almost gray, with a large bay behind it where cars were once repaired. By the street, an oversized sign still had enough pitiful letters for Mary to make out the words: S-ntel-s Us-d Ca-Lot.
Looking at Justin in this setting from her past made her realize again how much he looked like Eddie, the Eddie she had at one time loved, the Eddie who had broken her trust and her heart. She softly said, “He actually managed the place.”
“When?”
“From the time you were a baby. Your father took over the business two years before you were born and ran it until just a few years ago…”
“You mean until I went in the hospital and he got arrested,” Justin stated quietly as he looked around. “Until we left Phoenix,” he added.
The lot took up a full acre of land in a prime location just off the Interstate. According to the estate executor, the deserted gas station next door was also part of her inheritance.
“Did it look like this when Dad worked here?”
“Oh, no. Your father kept it up.”
And Eddie had. Truthfully, he hadn’t sold many cars, but the place had somehow managed to look like a semisuccessful business, not just a front for her father and brothers’ criminal activities.
Justin tried to look impressed, wanting no doubt to believe he could be proud of something his dad had done. Mary understood; she had felt the same way about her own father once.
As if he could read her mind, Justin asked, “Did Grandpa work here, too?”
The very thought made Mary want to chuckle. Of the great line of Santellises, Yano
