In the afternoon, Sam and Remi approached Santa Maria de los Montañas in the only way possible, from the road that rose drastically upward from the valley below. The Jeep climbed back and forth up the hairpin curves, unprotected by guardrails, followed by a long, straight rise through thick forest to the crest. The trees on the forested upper altitudes kept drivers from seeing much of the road ahead.

When they were nearly to the last stretch of road before the rise, Remi pointed at a spot that was bare except for bushes and brush. “I think that was the place where you landed when we jumped off the marijuana truck. Want to do it again in daylight so I can get a picture for my scrapbook?”

“Thanks for offering, but I think I won’t have trouble remembering.”

“Suit yourself,” said Remi. “Can we stop at the church and see Father Gomez?”

“I think we have to,” Sam said. “We said we’d let him know how our meeting with Sarah Allersby went.”

When they reached the top of the hill, they parked on the plaza near the old church, then walked to the small house behind it that served as the priest’s home and office and knocked.

In a moment, Father Gomez appeared at the door. He smiled. “Señor and Señora Fargo. I’m delighted to see you again.”

“Thank you, Father,” said Sam. “We thought we’d stop by for a talk.”

Father Gomez said, “I can tell from your serious expression that the news will not bring me joy. But we must talk. Do you have time to have tea with me?”

“Of course,” said Remi. “We’d be delighted.”

“Come in, come in,” he said, and ushered them into his simple office with its dark wooden furniture. If it weren’t for the open laptop computer, the room could have been from the sixteenth century. He led them into a small, old-fashioned dining room, with a long table in the same dark, heavy wood. An elderly lady, with brown skin, pronounced Mayan features, and her gray hair tied in a tight bun, entered the room.

Father Gomez said, “Señora Velasquez, this is Señor Fargo and Señora Fargo. They’ll be joining us for tea.”

Señora Velasquez brought out plain white china and utensils, which Father Gomez and the Fargos arranged on the table. After Señora Velasquez brought the tea and cookies, she returned to the kitchen.

“Won’t Señora Velasquez join us?” asked Remi.

“It’s not her custom,” Father Gomez said. “In a small town parish, when people meet with the priest, they like privacy. Please, Señora Fargo, will you pour for us?”

“I’m happy to,” Remi said. She took over the ceremonial role, pouring the tea and distributing the cups on saucers.

“Now,” said Father Gomez, “are you ready to tell me what happened when you went to visit Miss Allersby?”