09.The.Sands.Of.Time.1988 by Sheldon Sidney

Author:Sheldon, Sidney [Sheldon, Sidney]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0100-12-31T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Alan Tucker arrived in Ávila the day after his conversation with Ellen Scott. It had been a long flight, and Tucker should have been exhausted, but instead he was exhilarated. Ellen Scott was not a woman given to whims.

There’s something strange going on behind all this, Alan Tucker thought, and if I play my cards right, I have a hunch it could be very profitable for me.

He checked into the Cuatro Postes hotel and said to the clerk behind the desk,”Is there a newspaper office around here?”

“Down the street, senor. To your left, two blocks. You can’t miss it.”

“Thank you.”

“De nada.”

Walking down the main street, watching the town come alive after its afternoon siesta, Tucker thought about the mysterious girl he had been sent to bring back. This had to be something important. But important why! He could hear Ellen Scott’s voice.

If she’s alive, bring her back to me. You are not to discuss this with anyone.

No, ma’am. What shall I tell her?

Simply tell her that a friend of her father’s wishes to meet her. She’ll come.

Tucker found the newspaper office. Inside, he approached one of the half dozen people working behind desks. “Perdone, I would like to see the managing editor.”

The man pointed to an office. “In there, senor.”

“Gracias.”

Tucker walked over to the open door and looked inside. A man in his mid-thirties was seated behind a desk, busily editing copy.

“Excuse me,” Tucker said. “Could I speak to you for a moment?”

The man looked up. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for a senorita.”

The editor smiled. “Aren’t we all, senor?”

“She was left at a farmhouse around here when she was an infant.”

The smile faded. “Oh. She was abandoned?”

“Yes.”

“And you are trying to find her?”

“Yes.”

“How many years ago would that be, senor?”

“Twenty-eight.”

The young man shrugged. “It was before my time.”

Perhaps it’s not going to be so easy. “Could you suggest someone who might be able to help me?”

The editor leaned back in his chair, thinking. “As a matter of fact, I can. I would suggest you speak with Father Berrendo.”

Father Berrendo sat in his study, a lap robe over his thin legs, listening to the stranger.

When Alan Tucker was finished explaining why he was there, Father Berrendo said, “Why do you wish to know about this matter, senor? It happened so long ago. What is your interest in it?”

Tucker hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “I am not at liberty to say. I can only assure you that I mean the woman no harm. If you could just tell me where the farmhouse is where she was left—?”

The farmhouse. Memories came flooding back of the day the Morases had come to him after they had taken the little girl to the hospital.

“I think she’s dying, Father. What shall we do?”

Father Berrendo telephoned his friend Don Morago, the chief of police.

“I think the baby was abandoned by tourists visiting Ávila. Could you check the hotels and inns and see if anyone arrived with a baby and left without one?”

The police

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