CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
forty-eight hours
My pulse throbs in my temples.
“Hello … Hello?”
An equal pause on the other end. “This does not sound like Ms. Iona.” The voice is heavily accented. “Who am I speaking to?”
“Who is this?”
The gruff baritone laughs. “Ahhh, you sound very much like your mother, but I know this is not Cordelia because she is long-forgotten dust in a faraway jungle.”
My chest aches with the callousness of his words. “Where is Finan? Give him back to me, please. Jacinta is here. She’s ready to come home.”
Len jumps up, fists clenched at his sides.
“If you have Ms. Iona’s phone, that must mean she is unable to answer it.”
I don’t confirm or deny.
“Está muerta?”
I know enough Spanish to understand what muerta means. “She died this morning.”
“That is too bad. I am
