I stayed a little longer at the town hall to talk to Narciso about Joaquín’s last day at work. The mayor was polite and answered all my questions without pressing too much on why I insisted on asking them. However, aside from obtaining a name and permission to visit a part of the riverside where construction was scheduled to begin before Christmas, I didn’t get anything particularly relevant out of him.

Apparently, Narciso had barely shown up at the town hall past eleven in the morning the day before Joaquín was found dead. He had greeted him briefly, and that was almost the entirety of their interaction for the day, as Narciso didn’t stay in his office for more than a couple of hours. Later in the afternoon, he left for other official matters that took him away from the municipal building.

What official matters, exactly? Well, Narciso mentioned overseeing agricultural work, verifying that everything was in order in the fields and that the locals didn’t need official assistance to continue their tasks with the resources they had.

Translated into plain terms, that meant the illustrious mayor left the town hall to take a stroll and have a leisurely chat with the first person who flattered him and offered him a drink. Speaking of which, I was fairly certain that if I went back to the tavern where I had been earlier and asked the owner, they’d likely tell me if the mayor had been spotted that day.

Regardless, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t unusual for Narciso to spend little time at the town hall on a day without scheduled meetings or pressing matters; the entire town knew it.

“Don’t you get the impression that he’s been quite distant, despite everyone saying—and him confirming—that he was a good friend of Joaquín?” Leandro had asked when we met that afternoon in a quiet corner of the same village. “I mean, sure, he answered all your questions without protest. But he didn’t show much emotion over the loss, other than expressing regret about losing one of his employees.”

“I noticed that too,” I admitted, “but I didn’t press him on it when he seemed eager to talk about other matters that also interested me for the case. Besides,” I added, “it’s not reliable to judge how someone feels based solely on how they behave after a loss. We’re all different.”

Leandro nodded, agreeing with that last statement. Maybe the mayor had something to do with what happened to Joaquín, whether he actively participated in his murder or not, but it was clear it wasn’t worth alienating him just yet when he could still be useful for gathering more information.

If future leads pointed back to him, I didn’t plan to let things slide so easily. The same applied to others I suspected—not necessarily of being murderers, but of harboring secrets that could be crucial for my investigation.

“Another thing I find curious is Fermín Irago,” Leandro said, deciding to set aside the topic of Narciso for the moment. “He’s one of my bosses on this project, you know? The construction hasn’t officially started yet; they’re still clearing the land and finalizing the construction plans on paper. Of course, I’ve visited the area where the mayor said the bridge is supposed to be built, and I’ve met Cipriano. I’m aware of that issue, actually. But I had no idea it had been resolved.”

“Your boss didn’t mention anything?”

“I know he had occasional meetings with Joaquín about it, but I don’t know the specifics of their conversations. As I said, I know the discussions revolved around whether to move the bridge a few meters away or expropriate a neighbor’s land, but since I don’t have any decision-making power, they didn’t share too many details with me. What I can tell you is that Irago never seemed worried—neither when the conflict arose nor afterward. In the office, he always told us there might be some delay in the project, but it would be resolved without major issues.”

“Quite confident of him. Some of us would love to have that kind of assurance,” I said, with a hint of irony. “But tell me, do you think he had reason to believe it would be resolved quickly? Or was he just fooling himself?”

“If we’re talking about facts, I have no idea. If we’re talking about assumptions, based on my boss’s personality, I genuinely think he wasn’t worried at all. Whether he sorted things out with Joaquín or not is something only he can confirm, but Irago is the type of person who doesn’t consider anything a lost cause unless the funding is cut. And in this case, that didn’t happen.”

“The town hall seems quite interested in building that bridge. Narciso told me they even offered Cipriano a substantial sum in exchange for his land.”

“Did they?”

“I’ve seen the offer in writing. It wasn’t exorbitant, but it seemed like a fair price for a plot of that size and location.”

“I see. Although it doesn’t surprise me; that’s usually how these things are handled, isn’t it?”

Since Leandro had visited the area several times to familiarize himself with the construction site, I decided to ask, “Did you meet Cipriano?”

“Briefly. I spoke with him a couple of times during my breaks while we were inspecting the land. He’s a humble and extremely kind man. He didn’t explicitly tell me why he didn’t want to leave, but I can imagine. He’s lived there for almost a decade, has no close family, and owns nothing beyond a small vegetable garden and the little house he built on that specific plot. I don’t think it’s easy to convince him to move, even by offering more money.”

“No, I suppose not. And it’s understandable; it must be hard to accept that one day you’re told you need to move elsewhere because they plan to tear down your home.”

“To be fair, he was given plenty of notice. The bridge project had been planned for years, and the announcement that it would be built at that exact spot on the road was made over six months ago. Honestly, the mayor or the project manager should have reconsidered when it became clear Cipriano wasn’t willing to leave. But if they’ve continued as they have, it’s probably because they still hoped he’d leave without causing a fuss.”

Who would care, after all, about someone living like a vagabond, halfway to nowhere? The residents of the Ribera were fond of Cipriano since most knew him from seeing him around the villages, but they were also aware that he didn’t belong to that region.

And in towns like these, you were either part of the social circle or a complete outsider. There was no middle ground.

“And what do you think about what happened with Cipriano?” I asked again. “Setting aside the fact that it’s a shame, an injustice even, if we look closely at the deadlines and actions taken by those leading the project, what do you think would be best? To leave him be or...?”

“Do you want my personal opinion or my professional one?” Without letting me choose, Leandro continued: “Professionally, the spot where they plan to build the bridge now is ideal. It would require less work since just a few meters farther there are too many rocks and vegetation, which would take time to clear. Not to mention the slope is steeper, which would mean adjusting the plans and making additional modifications once construction begins. Now, my personal opinion... The idea of removing Cipriano from his land amuses me as much as it does you. But it’s not like I have the authority to do anything about it.”

“No, we’ve established that.”

“Now, with that clarified, and if you don’t have any more questions...” Leandro continued, and before I could interrupt, he added, “Or if you do, save them for later. Because I also have something of interest to tell you, and it’s a priority.”

It was about the meiga (witch) Leandro had promised to find. After spending an entire morning talking to people in the neighboring villages and gathering information for his own cause, he had finally located her.

The woman in question was named Lúa Silva—a fairly common name, one that could belong as easily to a self-declared witch as to a neighbor who lived three streets over and sold vegetables at the Tuesday market.

I didn’t know her at all. And although I was skeptical about magic and witchcraft, I wasn’t about to turn down the opportunity to meet her, especially after all the effort my friend had put into tracking her down. Besides, if I wanted to save my life, I didn’t have many options to choose from—any help was welcome, no matter how strange it seemed.

I would have preferred to go to Leandro’s office first, to meet Irago—and perhaps discuss another matter that had been troubling me and that I had recently discovered—but I suspected Leandro would flatly refuse to go anywhere else before visiting the meiga. So I didn’t protest. I didn’t even suggest it. I simply let him lead me through the streets to the outskirts of the village, where a solitary little house stood at the end of a path that led nowhere else.

The house was very close to the woods, next to a field used for livestock. Although it looked old enough to have been built a century ago, the abundant vegetation adorning its walls and the small vegetable garden beside it showed that its owner kept it well cared for.

I’d passed that house more than once during my patrols, but since it was about thirty or forty meters from the main road and there never seemed to be anyone inside, I hadn’t paid much attention to it.

“My grandmother told me about Lúa years ago. It seems they went to school together,” Leandro explained as we approached the meiga’s home. “Even back then, Lúa claimed to have certain... special sensitivities. I wouldn’t call them powers.”

“What kind of sensitivities?”

“Mostly related to spirits. She says it’s a family thing, although she typically sells amulets and ointments to those with ailments. And you don’t need to be skeptical here—let me tell you, they work. I don’t know if she can really see and feel the dead, but she has extensive knowledge of natural medicine, and for that alone, it’s worth consulting her.”

“Do you think she has a cure for insomnia?” I joked. “No, don’t scold me—I get it. I’ll keep quiet and let her talk. Honestly, I don’t even know why I’m so defensive about these supernatural matters when I was the first to see the Santa...” I caught myself, “a procession whose existence I can’t rationally explain, wandering through the woods.”

“It’s common sense,” Leandro replied, brushing it off. “I wouldn’t have believed in any of this either. In fact, I hadn’t thought about meigas until this problem of ours came up.”

How could he say the problem was ours? I wondered. Sure, Leandro had agreed to help me, but the entire investigation into Joaquín’s death and the Santa was, initially, my issue. If things didn’t turn out well, I’d be the only one to face the consequences—or so I thought.

I was about to ask him what he meant or why he had made my problem his own, but by then he was already knocking on Lúa’s door, leaving no room for further questions.

Fifteen minutes later, we found ourselves sitting inside her home, with two steaming cups of tea that the supposed meiga had offered us shortly after inviting us in. Perhaps it was meant to make us feel comfortable and encourage us to fully share the reason for our visit without holding anything back.

And that’s exactly what we did because, to be honest, the woman exuded calm and trust.

I don’t know what I expected from the home of someone who claimed to have powers, whatever they might be. Perhaps I thought the interior would be decorated in a special way, filled with artifacts from another era or shelves lined with potions even Dr. Ballejo couldn’t identify. Maybe I imagined Lúa would sit us at a table, lay out some cards, or see something in a crystal ball after hearing the gist of why we’d come.

I didn’t know. But after those first few minutes in her company, one thing became clear: I’d read too much fiction and listened to too many legends.

The meiga’s headquarters, while small, wasn’t much different from any other home. Perhaps the only thing that stood out was a couple of shelves full of hermetically sealed jars, each neatly labeled. But instead of mysterious potions, these turned out to be containers with finished ointments or simple jars used to store herbs and fruits from the forest.