Cry Mercy

EPILOGUE

Maria Clemente stood at the gate and waited for the children to come out of Our Lady of Angels for morning recess. She was glad Father Kevin had installed the new fence around the entire playground. The old one really hadn't been very secure. Anyone could get through at the far corner if they'd wanted to badly enough.

This new fence was just fine, with only one gate, facing the church office. Well, that was just fine, too. You never knew who might be about these days. When it came to the children, you could never be too careful. Besides, Maria liked to wave to Mary Corcoran, whose desk faced the playground, when she finished fixing the altar flowers. This morning she'd picked red dahlias the size of dinner plates, white gladiolas, and blue delphinium from her garden and arranged them in tall white vases in honor of the upcoming holiday. Father Kevin always got such a kick when she tied the altar flowers to some special day.

From the corner of her eye, she saw a woman approach, and she tilted her head to watch. Not that she was by nature a nosy person-God forbid-but she was very observant. Very little got past her, even now, when the arthritis made cutting the flowers so much harder than it used to be, and that cataract was starting to cloud the vision of her right eye.

The newcomer appeared to be in her late fifties, and wore a linen sundress, pretty leather sandals, and dark glasses. She carried a handbag that looked expensive, and when she came closer to the gate, Maria could see that the woman's nails-fingers and toes-were manicured and painted with a sunny coral color.

“Hello,” Maria greeted her pleasantly, and the woman nodded as she reached to unlatch the gate.

“I'm sorry,” Maria said, as she reached out and caught the woman's hand. “They don't permit anyone in the play yard during school hours. If you want to speak with someone, you have to go through the church office.” Maria pointed to the window where Mary Corcoran sat.

The woman stared at Maria for a moment.

“I'm sorry,” Maria repeated. “I just thought perhaps you were new here and didn't know.”

When the woman spoke, it was with a deep accent. “I am new. I thank you. I didn't know.”

“You are from Mexico, too, I see,” Maria said, switching to Spanish. “Where are you from?”

The woman named a city over the Arizona border.

“I have not been there myself,” Maria told her,“but I know people who have been. I heard it was nice.”

“Nice enough,” the woman agreed.

“Are you visiting here in Conroy?” Maria asked.

“Just for a while.” The woman appeared to relax just a bit, and seemed more comfortable conversing in Spanish than in English.

“You have come to visit the school?” Maria asked, wondering if perhaps this was the one Father Kevin had spoken of. He hadn't said the threat would come as a woman, but still…

The woman nodded.

“It's a fine school. Mrs. McHugh is a fine teacher.”

The door opened and children spilled out. The woman's eyes skimmed the twenty or so faces as if looking for someone. Her eyes lingered on Chloe Caldwell, narrowing as the child ran to the fence waving a piece of paper, and Maria knew for certain this was the danger he'd warned her about.

Maria's heart all but froze with fear. She could see Father Kevin near the church door but had no way of alerting him that the one he watched for was now here, and so close to the girl. Her fingers closed tightly on the rosary beads in her pocket.

Holy Mother, shield this child from the evil that threatens her…

“Mamacita!” Chloe called out as she raced toward the fence. Maria held her breath. “I drew a picture for you.”

“Chloe? Chloe?” the woman called to her, a broad smile on her face. She reached out to the girl.

If Chloe heard, she gave no sign. In her hand, she held a drawing.

“See, mamacita? It's the flag. We talked all about the flag today because Saturday is the flag's birthday. Mrs. McHugh read us the story about it and told us all about the lady who made it.”

“Is your name Chloe?” the woman asked, and Maria's insides twisted.

“My name is Betsy.” Chloe held up the picture and pointed to where she'd signed her name, Betsy Ross, in red, white, and blue letters.

It was all Maria could do not to cry in gratitude. Her prayer had been heard.

“Are there more children inside? Some who have not come out for play?”

Chloe shook her head.

“Then perhaps there is another girl in this school with dark skin like yours?” the stranger asked. “This girl's name would be Chloe.”

Chloe shook her head again.

“Betsy, that is the best flag I have ever seen,” Maria said, to divert Chloe's attention away from the stranger.

“It's for you, mam-acita.” Chloe handed the picture over the fence.

“Thank you. I will put it right on my refrigerator door the minute I get home. Betsy, it looks like Father Kevin is waving to you.” Maria pointed at the priest who'd just come into the playground, a look of concern on his face. “Go see what he wants.”

“Bye, mam-acita.” Chloe ran off, then turned and waved to the woman who stood next to her friend. “Bye.”

The woman continued to stare at Chloe. Finally, she said, “She is your granddaughter?”

“Yes. She is a lively one.” It was all Maria could do not to raise her eyes toward the heavens to see if storm clouds were gathering, clouds that would bring lightning to strike her down dead for the lie she just told.

“You are certain of this?” Her eyes never left the child.

Maria injected as much indignation as she could into her reply. “Are you thinking perhaps I do not know my own flesh and blood? I carried this child home from the hospital in my own arms. How could I not be certain?”

“Of course, of course.” The woman appeared flustered. “I apologize. It's just that, that little girl looks so much like my Elena did at that age. The resemblance is uncanny. My son… his daughter was taken from us when she was a baby.” The woman shook her head. “I'm sorry. We were given bad information. He thought she might be… Well, when I saw her… and she looks so much like my daughter…”

“I've raised Betsy since she was born right here in Conroy.” Maria could not stop yet another lie from rolling off her tongue. “You know how it is sometimes with your children. They don't always make the wisest decisions. My daughter was too young when she had this baby, and it fell to me to care for her. Not that I am complaining, of course. I love her dearly.” That part was true. As for the rest, well, she would have to be first in line for confession before the next Mass. She patted the woman on the arm and added, “Perhaps someday you will find the child you are looking for. This child, however, she is ours.”

The woman nodded, and turned to walk away. “May God be with you and your family.”

“And with you and yours.” Maria returned the blessing and watched the stranger walk past the church. When she reached the corner, Maria whispered, “Except for your murdering, drug dealing son.”

The woman walked briskly around the block to the waiting car and got into the backseat. She waved a crisp “get moving” gesture at the driver and immediately opened her bag and took out her phone. She speed-dialed a number and sat back against the leather, which was icy cold thanks to the air conditioning that ran the entire time she was out of the car.

She did not bother with a greeting when the call was answered.

“You have idiots working for you,” she snapped in Spanish.

“What are you-,” her son began but she cut him off.

“Whoever told you this child is yours is a moron.”

“You found her?”

“I found a child, not your child.”

“I had it checked out. The daughter of this Emme Caldwell is-”

“I'm telling you this is a different child. I met this child's grandmother, Anthony. I spoke with the child herself. I asked her. Her name is not Chloe.”

“Maybe she was lying.”

“Her name was written on her school paper. I saw it. Anthony, it isn't her.”

“Perhaps you were looking at the wrong child,” he persisted.

“I was looking in the wrong place” she snapped at him again. “This is not the one you're looking for.”

“My people-”

“Are fools. I'm coming home, Anthony, and I'm not happy about having spent the last twenty-four hours in this nowhere town on this wild bird chase.”

“Wild goose.”

“What?”

“The English expression is ‘wild goose chase.’”

“Whatever. The bottom line is, someone gave you bad information. I hope you did not pay the reward money to this man.”

“Fool me once,” he muttered under his breath.

“What did you say?”

“I said, I'm sorry for having wasted your time, mi madre. It won't happen again. As for the informant, you can rest assured he will get exactly what's coming to him…”