El Viaje de Coquita
El Capítulo Veintinueve

Socorro sat down at the interrogation table with Miguel standing behind her.

The officer across from her started a recorder. "Santa Cecilia Police File 489462, Detective Marcos Luis Jíminez-Santiago interrogating. State your name, por favor."

"Socorro Anjélica Rivera-Quintana."

"Tell me about the incident."

"Bueno, it all started last night. My brother, Miguel, was being confronted over a book he wrote about our tatarabuelo, Papá Héctor. Everyone in Santa Cecilia knows about the Rivera family not allowing music near their home, which was because Papá Héctor was a musician who never came home from a music tour in 1921. The family was scolding him for breaking the family rule about not talking about Papá Héctor, and I was there trying to defend him. Anyway, a fight broke out, and I accidentally knocked my abuelita's walker down the well. So, I ran off to la plaza and tried to figure out how to prove that Papá Héctor didn't abandon his family and would've come home if he could've."

"What were you doing in the mausoleum, then?"

Socorro took the book out of her pocket and laid it on the table. "Papá Héctor had the same guitar that was played by Ernesto de la Cruz when he was alive, and the letters he wrote to his family contained the lyrics to all the songs that were sung by de la Cruz. I thought the guitar would have some sort of clues about why Papá Héctor never came home, so I went to the cemetery to see whether there were any clues to be found."

"The guitar came off its mounts twice during the night before finally being stolen this morning. The first time, witnesses said that a window was broken, but no one was seen leaving the crypt or found inside the crypt. The only ways in or out were the locked gate and the broken window. And the window was repaired before daybreak, and the crypt keeper was sure that the gate was locked all through the night. How did you get out of the crypt last night, and how did you get in the crypt this morning?"

Miguel had his own question. "And what happened to your sombrero? You weren't wearing it when you came back home."

Socorro took a hard swallow. "Would you believe me if I told you I started seeing ghosts after I took the guitar?"

"What kind of ghosts?"

"Walking skeletons that look like people who are now dead."

The detective's skepticism was clear on his face. "You understand this is a very serious matter, stealing a priceless artifact from a town hero's mausoleum."

Socorro nodded. "Especially on Día de los Muertos, when you're supposed to gift to the dead, not steal from the dead."

"All that aside, the guitar case you gave to the authorities contained a replica made of scrap wood, nails, and strands of picture hanging wire. So, where is the real guitar?"

"The guitar is in the hands of its rightful owners, and the proof is right here in this book." Socorro pointed to the book on the table.

The detective looked at the guitar on the cover of the book. "This is from a real foto?"

Socorro nodded and pointed out each of the people in the picture. "That's my Mamá Coco, that's my Mamá Imelda, and that's my Papá Héctor." She opened the book to the table of contents. "This book also has the contents of letters Papá Héctor wrote home to his family."

"I see. Bueno, if you could provide the original foto, and any letters that your Papá Héctor wrote, we can have an expert examine them and see what can be made from them. However, the mausoleum will need the guitar returned at least until analysis of the foto and letters is complete."

Socorro turned to her brother. "Did anyone destroy the letters or the foto, Papá Héctor?"

"Um,... you do realize I'm your brother, right?"

"Uy. Perdóname, Miguel."

"How is it even possible to get the two of us mixed up? Papá Héctor has been dead for... who knows how long."

"More than un cien años?"

"I don't know if I'd go that far, but certainly a long time; before either of us was born, that's for sure."

The detective bounced his pencil on his notepad. "Alright, just find whatever documents you can and we'll call you when the expert arrives. But until they do, the guitar must be returned to de la Cruz's mausoleum."

Socorro nodded. "And do be sure to read this book while we wait. There should be copies in the Santa Cecilia library. And be sure to tell your amigos about it as well."

"I'll look for the book, but you still need to return the guitar."

Miguel took his sister by the shoulder. "I'll make sure she returns the guitar, señor."

"Gracias, Señor Rivera."

Socorro and Miguel walked home from the police station.

"How's Abuelita?"

"She's in the hospital, but she'll live."

"I'm grounded, aren't I?"

"Ah, ¿crees que sí?"

"What can I say, Papá Héctor?"

"Not my name, apparently. Seriously, how could you possibly think we're the same person? Where were you last night?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Are you hiding something?"

"No, I just don't know how to explain the truth without it sounding made up."

"Why would the truth sound made up?"

"Would you believe me if I said that I saw the dead members of our family last night?"

"You mean like seeing their ghosts?"

"And touching them and seeing where dead people go after they die."

"I think you should go to bed when we get home. But first, you need to tell me where the guitar is."

"It's in the attic under Papá Héctor's ofrenda."

"You got there through the trapdoor in our closet, didn't you?"

"Sí." Socorro nodded. "Did any of Papá Héctor's letters get destroyed?"

"No, everyone was too busy looking for you and getting Abuelita to the hospital. Now, when we get home, you're going to bed, and the guitar is going back to de la Cruz's mausoleum. The rest of the family will want answers about what happened last night, so you better be prepared to explain everything."

"I just hope everyone believes me."