Desperate Creed

by Alex Kava

  She almost missed the entrance for the restaurant. She’d expected a small diner tucked away in the middle of a busy crossroad intersection. Instead, she saw that Southern Blessings was a large free-standing building with its own parking lot. Across the street, 18-wheelers filled every slot, filling up their tanks at the gas station/mini mart. Some of them were parked off to the side while the truckers walked over to the restaurant.

  She was early and parked in a far corner, pulling under the shade of one of the beautiful magnolia trees that were blooming. She opened the car window and was hit by a blast of hot, humid air that immediately fogged up her sunglasses. She closed the window and started the car again, so she could wait with the A/C.

  The entire trip she had watched the blue skies disappear as clouds gathered. Now they were starting to look more threatening. There wasn’t much blue sky left, but Maggie had been in the South before. Thunderstorms rolled in, dumped rain and rolled out. Certain times of year, it was a daily occurrence. She hadn’t turned on the radio because she didn’t want to miss a call from Russo.

  She checked her phone. No messages from Russo or Agent Alonzo. She pulled up the photo she had downloaded and compared it to a couple of women going into the restaurant. More diners were leaving than entering. Hannah had been smart in choosing one o’clock.

  A few cars left the parking lot. Another trucker parked his rig at the gas station and walked across the street to the restaurant. A black sedan pulled into the lot and drove slowly up and down the aisles like the driver was looking for a place to park. Except there were plenty spots. Maggie raised her photo, so anyone who noticed her might think she was reading her text messages. But as the car came across her aisle, she snapped several photos getting a profile of the driver in one and the license plate in another.

  She watched the car drive the final loop and then just like that, it existed the parking lot. Her eyes followed it all the way to interstate entrance. For what she could tell, it had turned onto the northbound entrance.

  Maybe it was nothing. A lost traveler or someone having second thoughts about the restaurant. She pulled up the photo with the license plate and messaged it to Agent Alonzo. It had taken her a minute at the most and yet, the next time she looked up she saw a small SUV pull in and do almost the exact same thing. Up one aisle and down another, the woman’s head pivoted from side to side as though she were looking for the best spot. She finally settled on a space in the far corner adjacent to Maggie. She backed into the slot, and only then did Maggie see that in doing so, the woman had a direct shot out of the parking lot.

  Maggie sat back, holding up her phone again and blocking her face. It didn’t matter. The woman hadn’t looked her way as she left the vehicle. She had a tangle of dark hair. She wore blue jeans, a T-shirt, running shoes and an oversized sunglasses even though the sun had now disappeared. Her head swiveled back to the street then the gas station across from the restaurant. She definitely had someone else on her mind, but she walked with purpose. So maybe she even knew that she was being tracked.

  Maggie watched her all the way to the restaurant door then whispered to herself, “I am so glad to see you’re still alive, Frankie Russo.”

  36

  SOUTHERN BLESSINGS

  South of Montgomery, Alabama

  Frankie Russo felt like every nerve ending in her body was on high alert. She had been functioning on adrenaline since she’d left Nashville. Her mind wouldn’t shut off. Her eyelids felt like sandpaper. The humidity had turned her thick hair into unruly waves. At one point she had looked in the rearview mirror and didn’t recognize the image staring back at her. But as soon as Frankie walked through the restaurant’s door the scent of fresh baked bread and greasy fryers brought back a wave of good feelings and good memories.

  The entire drive she kept telling herself she just needed to get to Southern Blessings. Just get there! But she quickly reminded herself that this place brought a false sense of security. She couldn’t let her guard down. Not here. Not yet!

  The hostess led Frankie to a table in the center of the restaurant.

  “Would it be possible to have that booth by the window instead?”

  The hostess didn’t look pleased. Frankie could tell they were finishing a busy lunch hour, and the booth she was asking for still had dirty dishes.

  “I’ve been cooped up in the car since sunrise,” Frankie told the woman, slipping into an old familiar southern accent. “It would do my soul some good to be close to the window.”

  “As long as you mind waiting while we clear.”

  “Not at all.”

  It took two minutes at the most before Frankie was able to sit down. A waitress handed her a menu while she set a glass of water in front of Frankie and placed a bowl of fried dill pickles in the center of the table.

  “What can I get for you, Hon?”

  Odd as it seemed, the waitress looked familiar, and Frankie wondered if she had worked here when Hannah and Frankie had come as children. The woman looked to be in her fifties, tall and skinny with deep creases around her mouth and at the corners of her eyes. Painted on eyebrows gave her a look of being eternally anxious for your order. Frankie glanced at her nametag.

  “I’m waiting for a friend, Rita, but I would love a cup of coffee.”

  “You got it, Hon.”

  Frankie picked out one of the fried dill pickles as surveyed the rest of the guests. She had made a good decision choosing this booth. With her back to the wall she could get a good look at everyone inside and anyone who came in the door. Several people waited to pay their bills. There were probably about a dozen guests still eating or waiting to be served. A large man in a ball cap occupied a booth close to the door. Sitting at the counter, a well-dressed older gentleman was eating a slice of pie. Two women were being served their lunches at a table next to where the hostess had originally wanted to seat Frankie.

  She felt a wave of relief when she realized the man with the scar wasn’t here...yet. But her anxiety kicked up a notch when she also realized that the FBI agent wasn’t here either.

  Rita brought her coffee and also set a small covered basket.

  “Something for you snack on,” she said, “until your friend gets here.”

  Frankie lifted the cloth napkin and could smell the buttery, warm biscuits. Her mouth watered. She finished the fried dill pickle and plucked one of the biscuits out from under the cover. In the window she caught a look at her reflection even while she scouted the parking lot.

  She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to smooth down the wild curls. This restaurant and her reflection reminded her of the first summer she’d spent with Hannah and her grandparents. Hannah’s grandmother had tried to tame Frankie’s hair with bows and barrettes. After Frankie pleaded with her, the woman finally did up Frankie’s hair in dreadlocks to match Hannah’s.

  When her father saw her, he’d laughed, so hard...Frankie hadn’t seen him laugh like that before, or since. It made her smile now, just thinking about it.

  Her father loved and respected Hannah’s grandfather so much, he would have been pleased to have him and his wife raise Frankie full time. And it would have been better if they had. Instead, Frankie had to live with her father’s regret and despair, all the while looking forward to the next time she could escape to Hannah’s.

  Now for the first time, she noticed the sun had disappeared completely. She’d watched storm clouds gather in the west the last hour of her trip. But still, the sun had been relentless. The temperatures spiked in the upper eighties but the humidity made it feel like a slow boil. Inside the rental SUV she had hardly noticed until she was forced to stop and refill the gas tank. She’d left Chicago needing a jacket, not realizing she’d be wishing for a pair of shorts twenty-four hours later.

  A man and a woman came in the door. Frankie thought they were together until the man seated himself at the counter and the woman waited. A teenaged boy joined the woman before the hostess came to seat them.

 
; The man wore khakis and a green polo shirt, a designer one with a little logo on the breast pocket. There was something about him that bothered Frankie, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. For some reason, he didn’t look like he belonged. Maybe she was it was the exhaustion, but her gut instinct had saved her ass already several times. Before she could study him further another woman walked in.

  And just with a glimpse Frankie knew. This was the FBI agent.

  Shoulder length auburn hair, taller than average, blue jeans and leather flats. A v-neck T-shirt but with a lightweight collared shirt over it, unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, tails untucked and billowing so it could hide shoulder holster. No one would notice the strap or the weapon unless they were looking for it.

  The woman glanced around the restaurant, taking off her sunglasses and allowing a second for her eyes to adjust. But that’s all it took was a second or two before she found Frankie and headed directly for her booth. She slid into the booth across from Frankie, put her hands on the table and laced her fingers together before she smiled and said, “Hi Frankie. I’m Maggie O’Dell.”

  37

  FLORIDA PANHANDLE

  Ryder had told Brodie that their mother had been at her side in the Omaha hospital. Brodie didn’t remember her at all. Of course, she didn’t remember much from those first couple of weeks. While her body was hooked up to IV fluids and connected to a variety of machines, her mind went into a delirious fever. Ryder said she slept in fits and starts, waking up wild-eyed, fists flying, legs kicking and not recognizing him or where she was. In the midst of all the chaos, one thing seemed certain. Her mother’s presence panicked her, so much so, that after several days the doctors asked she leave.

  Although Brodie didn’t remember any of that, she’d never be able to forget her last days before she was rescued. Like a nightmare looped in her memory, it played over and over again. Instead of her sweat drenched hospital she was still imprisoned in the Christmas house where Iris Malone had left her.

  The old rundown farmhouse, less than a mile from Iris’ house, had been abandoned when Iris and her brother Eli Dunn had committed their mother to a nursing home. The old woman had loved Christmas, and the entire place remained as she had left it, untouched for years, forever decorated and ready for the holiday.

  For Iris Malone, the Christmas house was the last stop for the Charlottes she wished to be rid of. She left them there for her brother, Eli to pick up and do whatever he wanted. Some he sold. Others he murdered and deposed of after he was finished with them.

  Iris Malone claimed she didn’t know what her brother did with the women. Now that the man was dead—along with Iris’ son, Aaron—the woman could say whatever she wanted and no one could contradict her.

  The last years of Brodie’s captivity, and especially the last days, she had been starved. The Omaha doctors said it would take a long time for her to overcome the damage her malnourished body had endured. When they found her she was severely dehydrated, too. Dr. Rockwood had tried to explain to Brodie how the mind tried to compensate, sometimes shutting down for long periods. “Survival mode,” she called it.

  All Brodie knew was that almost five months later she still felt the panic kick in every time she even thought about her mother. Intellectually, she understood it wasn’t really her mother that caused the feeling. It was Iris Malone’s lies that had entrenched themselves firmly and completely inside Brodie’s mind. Without effort and without warning, Brodie could hear them:

  “You’re such a naughty girl your mother and father said they don’t want you anymore.”

  “Your mother told me to keep you. She never wants to see you, again.”

  The woman had been so convincing Brodie never doubted her. Many times she’d tell Brodie these things even as she held a telephone receiver in her hand, as if Brodie’s mother was actually on the other end of the line at that very moment.

  Brodie knew it wasn’t right to keep punishing her mother by keeping her away. She’d been so patient, following the rules of the doctors and then the rules Brodie had put in place. She knew it wasn’t fair, and yet, she still couldn’t keep from feeling nauseated. Her mother was the last link, the last reminder of Iris Malone’s evil manipulation.

  Brodie had watched her mother on television hoping it would trigger good memories. Her show, Life in Style with Olivia James, was on every day, and Hannah rarely missed an episode. But the woman on the TV screen acted and talked so properly that Brodie hardly recognized her. She suggested linens and decorations and delicious recipes while she created a masterpiece right there in front of everyone. Olivia James was a celebrity and looked much taller and younger than the woman now standing in Hannah’s kitchen.

  She was still dressed very nicely in colorful soft fabrics that made Brodie almost want to reach out and touch a sleeve. Almost.

  “Hello, Brodie,” Olivia said, a smile caught at the corners of her mouth. The expression reminded Brodie of her grandmother, and at that moment she realized this older version of her mother looked very much like Gram.

  Brodie couldn’t find her voice and simply nodded.

  Hannah promised that she would stay with them. Both mother and daughter agreed they needed a mediator. Now Hannah turned around from the counter and gestured for them to sit down at the table. Instinctively, they chose seats across from each other.

  A box sat on the edge of table distracted Brodie. Its flaps were pulled back. She gave the contents a half-hearted glance then her eyes darted back. She stood back up to get a better look.

  At first she thought it was an interesting assortment: books, movies, toys. A white dragon captured her attention. Then she realized it wasn’t just any white dragon. It was hers.

  She started looking at the rest...really looking, even coming in closer. Standing above the box, Brodie could see Pokemon trading cards, more Beanie babies, Harry Potter and Lemony Snicket and even a purple plush dog with pink ears. Her fingers touched the dog.

  Without even thinking she said, “Puppy surprise Eliza.”

  The fur was still as soft as cotton candy. She glanced up at Hannah and told her, “Each dog came with puppies inside. You didn’t know how many you’d get until you opened the box and opened their tummy. You might get two, three or four. My Eliza had five.”

  Her hands were hesitant.

  “Go ahead,” Olivia told her.

  Brodie picked up the stuff dog and turned her over. Carefully, she pulled back the Velcro sealed tummy. Gently she plucked out all five little puppies. Kitten rubbed against her legs, anxious to see, and she bent down to show the cat. When she stood up again, her eyes found Olivia’s.

  “You kept all these things?”

  “Of course. There’s lots more, but I brought some of your favorites.”

  Brodie touched the spines of the Harry Potter books, remembering how she and Ryder had read these out loud to each other. But she didn’t remember there being so many volumes.

  As if reading her mind, her mother said, “I kept buying the new ones every time they came out. Ryder didn’t want to read them without you, but I guess I thought...or hoped...”

  “I can’t believe you kept all these things.”

  “They were a piece of you. I simply couldn’t bear to part with anything that reminded me of you.”

  This time when Brodie looked at her mother she saw the tears in her eyes. All those years that Iris Malone had lied to her, Brodie had never once considered the pain and loss her mother had suffered. Instead, she had spent sleepless nights, painful weeks wondering why her parents didn’t come for her. They’d speak to Iris on the phone, but they never asked to speak to Brodie. She was so devastated, so lost, so hurt, so convinced that they had abandoned her.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, eyes down and staring at Kitten, her fingers still clutching the toy dog. She didn’t know what else to say.

  “You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about.”

  Brodie glanced up to see her mother wipe her eyes
with a careful, almost stiff composure that seemed contradictory to the emotion she had just displayed. And Brodie couldn’t help thinking that she was glad her mother didn’t attempt to hug her. Not just yet.

  38

  SOUTH OF MONTGOMERY, Alabama

  Creed and Jason loaded all their gear into Creed’s Jeep and set up Scout’s crate alongside Grace’s. Despite Scout being three times bigger than Grace, he knew she was the boss of him. He wagged and humbled himself to her even as he climbed up into the back. Scout hesitated a couple of times like he was waiting for her permission.

  “Why are you taking me with you?” Jason asked.

  “What? You don’t want to go?”

  “Won’t you two... you know, want to be alone or something?”

  “We’re having coffee before she heads back to Atlanta. What were thinking this was? A booty-call?”

  Creed glanced at the kid. Jason’s head turned to look out the window, but he could see his grin in the reflection of the glass.

  “So this friend of Hannah’s, is she pretty hot?”

  “She’s too old for you.”

  “Isn’t Maggie older than you?”

  Creed shot him a look, and Jason put up his hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m just making conversation.”

  “Anybody ever tell you that you stink at it?”

  “Actually, all the time.”

  It had rained overnight. Just enough to make the streets wet and the air heavy with moisture. Not even noon and it was sweltering. Loading up the gear had left Creed sweaty, his T-shirt sticking to his back before he could blast the A/C. Clouds were rolling in. Already they were ominous and bulging gray, hanging so low they looked like they could snag on the treetops.

  Jason fiddled with the radio while Creed took the ramp to the interstate.