The Witches of El Paso

Chapter 7

7

At the office, Cristina is standing in the corner of the conference room, her hair pulled into a tight, long ponytail, her arms crossed in front of her, watching as Linda takes food out of a cooler: containers of beans and rice, tubs of salsa, an aluminum tray of enchiladas, pan dulce from the Bowie Bakery. The big percolator bubbles, sitting on the credenza in the conference room, filling the room with the smell of sweet coffee and cinnamon. Linda hands Marta a foil-wrapped package. Marta rips into it, pulling out one of Linda’s homemade flour tortillas, tearing the soft stuff in two and cramming the folded tortilla into her mouth.

“How did you know I needed this?” Marta asks, the tortilla calming the shaky, queasy feeling she’s had since she left home. She still doesn’t understand why Nena turned so cold when she offered to help find Rosa. Marta will have to try another approach, lay out a plan for the ways they can search for records about Rosa.

“The food’s not for you,” Cristina says to Marta.

“Ay, don’t pay attention to her. You eat as much as you want,” Linda replies. “After you left yesterday, Jerome and I talked, and we hatched a plan to have the women from the Soto case come in to have some breakfast. It’s always easier to talk if there’s food. People need to feel taken care of. If everyone else is strong in their commitment to the case, then maybe they can convince Sofia to come back.”

“Linda, you must have spent all night cooking,” Marta says.

“I told Linda she should have asked you first before arranging the meeting,” Cristina says.

“I didn’t mind doing it, Mamá helped me cook,” Linda replies serenely, setting out paper plates and cutlery in neat piles on either end of the credenza.

Cristina reaches for a tortilla. “Good thing today’s a cheat day,” she says. “I try not to eat things like that. Refined flour and all that lard.”

“I don’t use lard, I use Crisco,” Linda retorts.

“Marta, I have to talk to you about something personal,” Cristina says.

“Yes?” Marta asks, sure that nothing good can come of an opening like this.

Linda makes her way to the conference room exit, locking eyes with Marta, who shrugs back at her, like I have no idea, honey .

As soon as Linda is gone, Cristina turns to Marta, a hard expression on her face. “I think it’s wrong to send Nena to Los Pi?ones. My mother-in-law lives with me. I have to listen to her talk about the news. Fox. And worse, online junk. And she criticizes. But that’s what Hugo wants, he wants his mamá at home with family, not strangers, and it’s the right thing to do, to let her live with us.”

“Nena’s at my house, not Los Pi?ones,” Marta says, trying to be patient. “And nothing has been decided. Anyway, what’s wrong with Los Pi?ones? She might like being with other people instead of being stuck at home by herself all day.”

“That’s what I’m saying, you can’t just leave her alone. You’ve taken her away from the neighborhood she’s lived in her whole life. She has friends there. She can’t live up by the mountain, where there’s nothing but rattlesnakes.”

“We don’t have rattlesnakes.”

“Yes, you do. You just haven’t seen them,” Cristina says. Marta can’t help but think that it isn’t altruism driving Cristina to insist Nena stay in her own house. Years ago, Marta knew Cristina as the raggedy kid who lived next door to Nena. Cristina’s mom treated Nena like a free babysitter, and she hopes Cristina hasn’t been doing the same thing. Nena’s far too old for that.

“Have you ever heard of Nena having a daughter?” Marta asks, and saying this, she sees the dark-haired baby again, her chubby weight in Marta’s arms, smelling of soap and milk.

“She’s never mentioned that,” Cristina says, sounding intrigued.

“Right. Except this morning she told me she did.”

“The old have lots of secrets,” Cristina intones.

It’s clear Cristina knows nothing, and whatever advice she has about Nena isn’t helpful.

Linda ushers five women from the Soto case into the room. Two of the women are in their early twenties. They’re small, young, wearing tight shirts, dark jeans, boots, dangly earrings. The remaining three are older, closer to Marta’s age. They’ve put on makeup, dressed up like they’re going to church, in scarves and pins and ironed dresses. Linda’s handing paper plates to the women, pouring out horchata, chatting about the food, asking about kids, parents. Marta’s grateful that Linda is there to maintain the flow.

“We don’t agree with Sofia,” Belén Florez says. “We think you’re doing a good job.”

Marta hears a “but” in this.

“We know she can be pesada. But it’s been very hard on all of us.”

“I’ve been visited by ICE agents. More than once,” one of the older women says.

“Me too,” says one of the younger ones, nodding her head so that her dangly earrings tinkle.

“And you think it’s because of Soto? Do you have any proof?” Linda asks.

The women shake their heads no.

“Look, ICE knows that you’re part of an important investigation. We’ve filed paperwork with them so that you can stay in the country legally while the investigation is being conducted.”

“That’s not what they said. They said that we could be deported. They showed us their badges and everything,” the older woman says.

“Next time, get a card from the agent. If he says he doesn’t have one, write down his name and badge number,” Marta says.

“That’s right, you always have to write everything down, even if you think it’s not important, and even if you think you’ll remember it without writing it down,” Linda says. “I was a client here once, and that’s why we won our case. Because we had so much evidence.”

The women nod. She’s told them this many times before.

Belén raises her hand like she wants to be called on in class. Marta nods at her.

“I was having a birthday party for my granddaughter at a park, and there was a man standing by a tree. He had a gun in a holster. He kept his hand on his gun, and he wouldn’t stop looking at us. My husband went to tell him to go away, and the man said that he was in a public place, and that he could have a gun if he wanted, it was his right.”

Texas , Marta thinks. El Paso may think it’s different, but it’s still part of this state.

“The same thing happened to me, but it was outside of church. I was leaving mass with my daughter and son, and there was a man right there, same thing, with his hand on the gun in his holster.”

“What did he look like?” Belén asks.

“He was tall, with a cowboy hat.”

“Mine was fat. Wearing a tracksuit.”

“How about at work? Anything disturbing going on there?” Marta asks. The women are still all on the line at the Soto packing shed. “Any new harassment there, sexual or otherwise?”

The women shake their heads no. So, Soto’s not that dumb. But sending out people to torment the women seems not just cruel, but desperate. Marta’s going to find out who these men are, and she’ll tie them to Soto. He’s not the only one who can hire private investigators.

“If he’s pulling this kind of stuff, then he’s scared. We’ll get him to settle within the year. Maybe even within six months,” Marta says, and she feels the women relax in the room, their shoulders dropping. Marta kicks herself. She shouldn’t have made that promise. The firm needs the money in that time, and the women need relief, but wanting it doesn’t make it so. Still, Marta likes a deadline. Six months to nail that bastard and get her clients their money, tick tock, tick tock.

Marta’s phone dings, and she looks down at it.

Alejandro:

didn’t think you’d have time to focus on the Nena situation

had a friend from the hospital call over to Los Pi?ones. there’s a casita opening up at the end of the month

take her tonight to see it

I’ll watch the boys

Marta’s heart thumps as she taps out a quick response.

I’ll take Nena tonight, but I demand payment.

Like what???

I want a date tomorrow morning.

Shower?

meet you there

Marta’s ravenous, and she’s glad there’s plenty of Linda’s food left.