Deadly Games - Cate Noble [23]
“I’ve thought of nothing but that.” Gena swiped away tears. “And I’m not leaving. Not as long as Lupe’s still alive.”
Helen took a deep breath. “Here’s something else to consider then. This incident, as horrible as it is, is generating negative press for the shelter. I received two calls this morning, from press agencies seeking comment on accusations that we not only support illegal immigration, but that we also are a way station on some type of underground railroad.”
“That’s preposterous! Did you tell them where to stick their accusations?”
“I started to. Until someone mentioned you were keeping vigil here. I assured them you weren’t acting on the shelter’s behalf.” Helen glanced past Gena, as if uncomfortable with what she was about to say. “Gena, I—”
“I understand. You have to think of the others at the shelter. If it’s any help, I quit as a volunteer. Feel free to publicly announce as much.”
But Helen wasn’t looking at her, was still staring over Gena’s shoulder.
“Well drat,” Helen said. “I knew they’d show up sooner or later.”
Gena twisted around and spotted two men wearing the familiar black windbreakers denoting Border Patrol. One of the men was jotting notes while talking with the fire marshal.
“They came bythe shelter earlier,” Helen continued. “Looking to interview witnesses. They, um, didn’t realize we had two facilities. Or used to.”
The reminder that the new shelter had been destroyed twisted another knife in Gena’s heart. All Vianca’s hard work was gone.
We’ll rebuild.
If Vi were sitting there, she’d have been on her cell phone calling in favors. I need a building razed. I need an updated survey. How fast can I get concrete?
To Vianca, life had been black and white. Yes or no. Now or when? Lead or follow.
We can do this.
No. Without Vi, there was no we. Vi’s cousin, the contractor, had been by earlier and reported that the building was a total loss. While Gena had yet to revisit the site, she remembered the chaotic images from last night.
Thanks to a propane tank blowing, by the time the fire department arrived, flames had engulfed two structures, the shelter and the apartment building next door.
What was left was now considered a crime scene after someone reported watching two men toss a Molotov-type explosive at the shelter.
Fury seethed anew, clawing at Gena’s lungs. Damn the men who’d done this, who’d hurt many innocent people. Like Lupe. And the homeless man sleeping at the back of the apartment complex who had died. The others who suffered less severe burns and whose families were now displaced.
“Here they come,” Helen whispered as the Border Patrol agents strode toward them.
“Ma’am.” The agent nodded to each of them, then offered a leather ID holder to Gena. “I’m Sam Ramirez. This is my partner, Dick Huggins. We’d like to talk to you about last night. I understand that you were at the shelter at the time of the incident. And that you and the burn victim were working together.”
“Lupe,” Gena said. “Her name is Lupe.”
“Guadalupe Del Fuego,” Agent Ramirez said. “That was the name you knew her by? How long have you known Lupe?”
“She showed up at the New Beginnings shelter in late July. Or early August.” Gena noticed Helen nodding in agreement. “I volunteer at the shelter, so I’m not there daily.”
“What do you know about Lupe? About her personal life?” Ramirez asked.
Gena hesitated. The shelter’s privacy policy, while treated seriously in-house, was not legally binding, especially in the face of a criminal investigation.
“Very little,” Gena said. “Look, the police already asked me these same questions.”
“I understand that this is difficult, ma’am, but our questions may be different,” Ramirez said. “What do you know about her friends? Where she worked?”
“She never spoke of any particular friends outside of others staying at the shelter,