City of Saints & Thieves(65)

Then she spits on the ground.

Spits.

“Now get off my farm and don’t ever come back.”

? ? ?

We have no choice but to turn around and leave. Michael had tried to protest but was met only by a hiss, which seemed to be the signal for the dogs to attack. They started barking and leaping at us, and between that and the gun, there wasn’t much more to say. We beat a quick path back down the trail.

“What the hell did your mom do to her?” Boyboy asks, in between glances over his shoulder.

“I don’t know,” I say, swatting at a bush that hangs over the path. “I thought they were friends.”

I was not prepared for Catherine’s response. I thought she would be glad to talk about Mama, and the shock of our violent dismissal stings. I stop, bringing the boys up short behind me.

“We can’t just leave. We have to talk to her,” I say.

Michael looks dubious. I know he’s wondering just what exactly Catherine has to do with my mother’s murder, but I’m not about to try and explain. I feel like I need to talk to her. She might be the only person in the world who can tell me what happened to her and Mama that led to my birth. She was my mother’s friend and they must have suffered through it together. My urge to talk to her goes beyond figuring out who killed Mama. It’s deeper than that, personal.

So why will she not talk to me?

Boyboy puts his hands on his hips. “I’m not going back up there. Lady’s got a Rambo complex. Who has guns like that unless they’re part of a militia?” Just then Boyboy’s phone buzzes. He pulls it out of his pocket and grunts at what he sees. “Voice mail. Finally.”

“What did you have to pay this guy at First Solutions to talk to you?” Michael asks.

“Nothing.” Boyboy puts the phone up to his ear. “But you paid him plenty. Well, technically your trust fund did, but it was for a good cause.”

“What? How did you—”

“What’s he say?” I ask Boyboy, shushing Michael.

Boyboy frowns, concentrating on the message. He puts a finger up to tell us to wait.

While he’s busy, I turn back to Michael. “We have to talk to Catherine. She was Mama’s friend. She knows . . . stuff.”

Michael is still giving Boyboy a disgruntled look, but sighs and says, “Maybe we can get Sister Dorothy to talk to her.” He frowns. “What is it?” he asks Boyboy.

When I turn around, I don’t like the expression on Boyboy’s face. He takes the phone away from his ear. “Bad news,” he says. “Mwika’s dead.”

? ? ?

Boyboy’s contact didn’t leave a lot of details, just that Mwika got knifed in a bar fight about two years ago near a diamond mine in Katanga where he was working.

“But he left me Mwika’s email address. I’ll hack it,” Boyboy says, putting a hand on my arm. “There may be something there.”

Michael nods. “We shouldn’t give up yet.”

“How could you not have known he was dead?” I ask Michael. Two years ago was when Mr. Greyhill made payments to Mwika. There’s got to be some connection to his death. “Did you know?”

“No!” Michael says, stepping toward me. “Of course not!”

I lurch back from him, trying to read the truth in his face. He looks as genuinely shocked as Boyboy, but if I know anything, it’s that the Greyhills are good liars. “I can’t believe I trusted you,” I say. Without waiting for him to respond, I turn around and start walking down the path.

No video.

This whole deal with Michael was to get to Mwika and his supposed video, and now we find out he’s been dead for two years. Did Michael know? Was he just leading me on?

Between Mwika and Catherine, the trip so far has been a disaster. The only thing I’ve learned by coming here is that my mother went through some horrible, unspeakable shit and that I’m the war baby she never wanted. A baby that ruined her life and probably reminded her every single day of what had happened to her. I suddenly want very badly to see my sister. Not to tell her what’s happening, just to see her, to have her tilt her head at me and ask me what’s wrong like she sometimes does. I never tell her, but I like it when she asks. I could really use that about now.

When we get back to the guesthouse I go to my room, lock the door behind me, and stand there. I have no idea what to do next. Do not cry, Tiny Girl. Maybe Boyboy will still find something in Mwika’s emails.

Outside my window I can hear Boyboy telling Michael not to knock on my door, that I just need some time. I listen to the sounds of Boyboy getting set up outside, checking his solar panel, turning on his computer.

Now what? Should we just go home? I want to talk to Catherine, but how? Sitting in here pouting isn’t going to help. I take a deep breath and dig for my phone in my bag. Maybe I can help out and call Boyboy’s contact back myself, get more information. Maybe Mwika had a house, a place where he stashed stuff. I start to go outside, but stop when I see that I’ve missed a dozen calls from Ketchup, three calls from numbers I don’t recognize, and most worrying, one from Bug Eye. A single text from him: where you at call now.

Knots begin to twist in my stomach, one after another. As I’m staring at my phone, trying to decide whether to call Bug Eye back and pretend like everything is cool and I’m still in Sangui, it starts to vibrate with an incoming call. I curse, sure it’s him or Ketchup, but the number isn’t one of theirs. I know I probably shouldn’t answer it—it’s most likely one of them calling from a different line, trying to get me to answer—but some weird urge kicks in. “Hello?”