can a frustrated single mom and failed big city journalist save her family and salvage her career by returning to a town run by a gang of bungling thugs?


“The Resurrection of Puerto Cielo” is a novella published in serial form, 43 posts.




22


“Jeez!” he cried out, slamming on the brakes.

The pickup slid through the mud, stopping inches from the edge of the brown, rain splattered water.

The wipers couldn’t keep up with the pummeling downpour so Antonio rolled down the window and stuck his head out.

In front of him, the road vanished into a muddy lake. He was still a quarter mile from the base of the dam. No way was he going farther in this beat up, two-wheel drive truck. Besides, he thought, looking fondly at the cowboy boots Carmelita had gifted him, he wasn’t going to trash these tricolor hand tooled beauties for another dam report that nobody read.

Every week this road got worse. Every week he dragged himself out of bed to inspect a pile of dirt that hadn’t changed in years. And every week he put his report on the city engineer’s desk and the man never bothered to look at him, too busy filling out his social calendar.

Antonio’s stomach growled. Hell with it, he thought.

It took a lot of slipping and spinning tires, but he got the truck turned around and headed back to Puerto Cielo. It was still a long way to breakfast.

Atop the dam, the downpour coursed into torrents washing down the face of the sodden mountain of earth.

Deep inside its burrow, warm and snug, the squirrel slept.

***

They were sitting in the editor’s office, drinking coffee, Sam sharing how he’d lost touch with town happenings after Sophia’s death, when Lucy came in.

“We’ve got another one,” she announced, waving a white envelope.

Espy removed the single page inside, a simple message in small, neat script.

“Ask Alvin in Accounting about Angela Morales.”

Espy passed the message to Sam. He read it and handed it to Lucy.

“Who’s Angela Morales?” Espy asked.

Heads shook.

“Then it’s off to city hall,” she said, picking up her notebook and heading for the door.

There was another unanswered question though.

Who was sending these mystery letters?

***

Outside the Star office, Espy watched the garbage truck, with its orange clad workers, grind up Main Street. Was this the same truck she’d watched so many times years ago? Some things never change, she thought.

Looking right, she saw the three Bernies eyeing her. She waved, “Morning boys!”

Three baseball caps raised in response.

She patted Barbara’s faded roof, “We’ve got another story, girl!” Then sprang across the street and bounded up the steps to City Hall..

Inside, wandering down a long corridor, Espy found the door she was searching for. She entered the accounting department.

Back to her, reeking of cologne, helmet tucked under an arm, patrolman Castillo was pleading his case in front of a desk.

Behind the desk, a young woman, more interested in filing her nails than listening to Castillo, finally said, “maybe another time.”

Her tone implied that hell would freeze over long before that time would occur.

“Well,” the nervous cop mumbled, finally adding, “good day,” with a click of heels.

He turned. Stopped, surprised to find Espy staring at him.

His gaze lowered and he bolted from the office.

Espy stepped to the desk. Intent on her manicure, the woman never looked up. The nameplate on the desk read “Sonya Lopez, Account Manager.”

I wonder if Sonya’s skimpy wardrobe has anything to do with her job title, Espy thought, then said, “Excuse me.”

With the long sigh of someone whose idea of work is a cup of coffee, a romance novel, and doing her nails, the “account manager” looked up. “Can I help you?”

Fighting an urge to respond with murderous sarcasm, Espy simply said, “I’d like to speak with Alvin.”

Without bothering to turn her head, Sonya yelled, “Alvin, someone to see you!

A man hunched over at the desk behind her looked up. 

“Yes, Alvin, there really is someone here to see you,” Sonya added sardonically.

Espy regretted not having lambasted the bimbo.

Alvin pushed heavy black framed glasses up his nose and looked at Espy. He had dark circles under his eyes and a harried look on his face. Running a hand through his thinning, combed over hair, he stood, resigned, and shuffled towards her.

“Can I help you?” came the uninspired response.

Espy looked at the middle aged man whose belly hung over his belt. There were smudges of a previous meal on his rumpled white shirt. She handed him the second mystery letter.

Alvin read it and his face flushed.

He looked at her and quietly asked, “Aren’t you Esperanza Diaz from the Star?”

Espy nodded.

He snuck a look at the girl painting  her nails, quite absorbed in her task. He wavered, then softly said, “Yes, I think I can fix this.”

Alvin returned to his desk, sifted through a stack of papers, then came back.

He handed the folded mystery letter to Espy, “That should do it. Sorry for the problem, these things happen.”

Alvin turned abruptly, shambled back to the safety of his desk, and buried himself in bureaucracy.

Espy took a last look at the room’s other occupant.

Admiring her finished nails, Sonya smiled, then picked up the paperback book on her spotless desk.

Restraining herself once more, Espy left.

Outside in the hallway, she opened the folded letter.

Alvin had written, “9 tonight Beach Drive, Tommy’s Tacos.”

***

The kids were doing schoolwork, Lucy was watching her favorite telenovela, Sam had gone for a beer with Mitch, and Main Street traffic was sparse, as Espy exited the Star office. She walked down the darkened sidewalk to Mama G’s, crossed beach Drive, and headed towards a cluster of people huddled around a taco stand bathed in the glow of a streetlight. 

As she approached, there was a low whistle from her left. Turning, she saw a man come out from the shadow of a palm tree. He stopped and Espy walked across the sand to meet him.

Alvin looked around nervously, “Are you alone?”

Espy looked at his anxious face. Of course I’m alone, she thought, but simply answered, “Yes.”

He took her by the arm and pulled her deeper into the shadows, saying, “I can’t be too careful, those people can hurt me.”

“What people?” she asked as they hid behind a beached fishing boat.

Alvin didn’t answer, eyes still searching for watchers. then he released Espy’s arm and said in a hushed voice, “You wanted to know about Angela Morales.”

“Yes, who is she? Where does she work?”

Alvin took a moment to consider his response, then said, “Angela Morales is on the city payroll but she’s never set foot in City Hall.”

“What do you mean?”

“Here, this should make it obvious.” Alvin handed her a folded sheet of paper, looked around once more, then walked quickly away.

***