Before lumbering out the door, Paco pats the top of my head. “I’m right next door if you need me. Just pound on the wall.”
“Pound on the wall?” I repeat.
“Yeah,” he says. “I rented Number Eleven. Indefinitely.”
I feel my mouth drop open in surprise. I look over at Billy who winks and inclines his head toward the bed. I get the picture. Number Eleven is the mirror image of Number Ten, which means Paco’s headboard and mine are just inches apart. Heat rises in my cheeks. I manage to mutter, “Okay, Unc, thanks.”
“And, don’t forget to fill me in on this Steve guy.”
Just as the door closes behind Paco, my phone chirps. I pounce on it, hoping it’s Aida. It’s Kendra and she’s pissed off. “Is Billy with you?”
“Yes. Why?”
“He blew off this morning’s session. The Vet Center’s been trying to call him but it goes straight to voice mail. That’s why they called me.”
I hand my phone to Billy without saying a word.
“Yeah,” he growls into the phone.
I hear Kendra’s voice, shrill with emotion, but can’t make out her words.
“Yeah, yeah,” Billy says. “No biggie. I’ll take care of it.”
Another outburst from Kendra follows.
“I said, I’ll take care of it. Jesus, Kendra, give me a break.”
He listens a moment longer, then turns his back to me and lowers his voice. I hear him say, “I’m sorry, too.”
He clicks off, sets my phone on the table and strides by me. “Gotta go.”
“Why did you lie to me?”
He flushes and bristles up. His eyes are bright with anger. “Don’t you start. I already took a load of crap from Kendra.”
“Hey,” I yell as he dashes through the door. “I’m not the problem here. You are.”
He climbs on his bike, punches it and peels out without looking back.
Paco emerges from Number Eleven, helmet in his hand. “Remember what I told you, little girl. Heebie jeebies. He’s still got ’em.”
I go back into my room, fighting tears. My first real relationship is turning into a shit storm of gigantic proportions. I feel like I’m starring in a daytime drama. Will Billy come to his senses? Can Melanie overlook Billy’s lies? Will Billy get over his heebie jeebies? Tune in tomorrow.
I hear the purr of Paco’s Harley as I fire up my computer and Google PTSD, something I should have done ages ago. Symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder could just as easily been labeled: Personality Profile of Billy the Kid. Trouble sleeping—check. Angry outbursts—check. Aggressive behavior—check. Easily startled—check. Distancing himself from loved ones—oh, yeah. The article goes on to say it’s important for the person suffering from PTSD to have support from people close to him. How can I support Billy if he pushes me away?
I shut down my computer and try to figure out what to do next. I need to talk to Kendra but decide to wait until she cools off. I need the list of names from Steve, but will have to wait for them, too. Since I’m in limbo, I opt for a mindless chore and scrub the bathroom until the chrome fixtures shine and the toilet is gurgling with happiness.
Fifteen minutes later, Aida calls. Her voice is hushed. I hear Destiny babbling in the background. “Mel?”
“I’m here, Aida. What’s happening?”
“Missus tell me I need to see doctor man. Make sure baby is okay.”
“Is this your first check-up?”
“Yes.”
I remember Aida telling me she was due in August which would make her about seven months pregnant. And this is her first check-up? The cynic in me believes the concern is not for Aida but for the infant they can sell for big bucks. After Larissa’s problem, the Rockwells are suddenly concerned about Aida’s ability to deliver a healthy baby. I say none of this, of course.
“Is the doctor coming to the house, or are you going to the clinic?”
“I go to clinic. They use machine to tell me boy or girl.”
No doubt the Rockwells need the information for marketing purposes.
“When is your appointment?”
“Missus say we go early Monday morning. Eight o’clock.”
“What about Destiny? Will she be with you?”
“Yes, baby will be with us.”
“Will the clinic be open at eight?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Okay,” I tell her. “I’ll be in the clinic if it’s open. Otherwise, I’ll be outside, watching for you.”
“So,” Aida says, “If I see you, will you look like Mel or blond lady?”
I think about it. “I’ll look like Mel. Don’t worry. Nina Rockwell knows we’ve met. There are a lot of reasons I could be at the clinic. I want to make sure I see you walk out of there.”
Aida gasps. “What you mean?”
“It’s not safe for you at the Rockwells. You need to get out of their house before your baby is due. I’ll find a safe place for you.”
“But I can’t, Mel. What about baby Addison? Who would take care of her? The Missus is terrible mother. I can’t leave baby.”
This had all started with Dani and Destiny. Now, it included Aida and her unborn child, among others. If this thing goes down the way I hope it will, Destiny would no longer be with the Rockwells. Whatever it takes, I’ll make sure Destiny is in a good place.
“Yes,” I say. “You can. Missus will find a new nanny. If you want to save your own baby, think about what I said.”
I hear the hitch in her breath and know she’s crying. “But, it’s my job, Mel. I must take care of baby.”
Frustrated, I tell her I’ll see her Monday and hit the off button. I search for Jared Breen’s card and find it crumpled up in the pocket of my black pants. I listen to all the options and press two for an appointment. When I tell the scheduler what I want—I have no intention of letting Dr. Feel Good peer into my private parts—she’s says, “Oh, certainly. If you’re interested in donating eggs, all you have to do is drop by and fill out some paper work. If Doctor wants to see you, we’ll call.”
Before I call Kendra, she calls me. No small talk. She snaps, “What did Billy tell you this morning. About why he wasn’t at the vet center?”
I overlook her attitude because I know she’s worried sick. “He said his counselor wouldn’t be in until later.”
She blows an enormous sigh. “Damn it. I can’t believe he’s already skipping out on his sessions.”
“And lying about it,” I added.
A long silence follows. I sense Kendra’s trying to calm down. Finally, she says, “I guess we should cut him some slack. His counselor says it’s fairly normal for people with PTSD to do the avoidance thing at first because they’re afraid to face the emotional pain. How did he seem to you?”
“Okay, until I asked why he lied to me. Then, he blew up. Bad scene.”
I hear her sniff and wonder if she’s crying. “Look, it doesn’t matter how much we want him to succeed, it’s entirely up to him. He’ll either get it together or he won’t. We both need to back off and stop getting pissed at him. He’s acting obnoxious because he’s scared to death.”
Kendra manages a chuckle. “Sounds like one of my kids.”
“So, let’s try to chill out and let him do it his way.”
She sighs again. “Okay, I’ll try.”
I tell her about my father breaking into the flash drive and what we found. “He should be here soon with the list and phone numbers. I’ll figure out a cover story and start calling.”
“Keep me posted.”
Excitement bubbles up inside me. “This could be a breakthrough, Kendra, the proof we need to take to the FBI or Homeland Security. They’ll know what to do. But first, we need to get Aida out of that house and stashed someplace the Rockwells or the feds can’t find her. If I go to the authorities, Aida will be put into a detention center and probably sent back to Kazakhstan. She says she can’t go back home. It would bring shame to her family. Is
your extra room still available?”
“Yes, but what about Destiny?”
“Aida will have to leave her, but hopefully the Rockwells will be busted and then we can figure out what’s best for Destiny.”
Kendra sounds dubious. “I hope you’re right.”
“Me too.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
An hour later, with the list clutched in my hand, I begin calling the phone numbers Steve provided. The first three calls go directly to voice mail.
Undeterred, I punch in the fourth. Gregory and Marcia Haywood of Lake Oswego, Oregon. A woman answers on the second ring. My mouth goes dry. Don’t blow this, Mel.
“Is this Marcia Haywood?”
“Yes,” comes the hesitant reply.
“My name is Desiree Wishkoski and I’m calling from the 3 Peaks, Oregon Fertility Clinic. Dr. Breen asked me to check up on you and your new baby. Little…”
I shuffle papers together as if I’m searching for the baby’s name.
“Brady,” she offers. “He’s not exactly new anymore. Six months old yesterday.”
“How is Brady doing? Any problems?”
“No, except for the sleep thing, but that’s to be expected. He’s doing better lately.”
“Anything you’d like me to report to Dr. Breen?”
She says, “Yes. Tell him we might want another baby in a couple of years. Brady needs a little brother or sister.”
“I’ll certainly let him know.”
“We’ll have to save up first. Forty thousand dollars is a lot of money. We didn’t realize it was so expensive to adopt. Don’t get me wrong, though. He’s totally worth it.”
My finger is poised over the off button. “Thank you, Mrs. Hayworth. Hugs to little Brady.”
Before I can click off, she says, “Hold on. Are you calling everybody who adopted from Dr. Breen? Or just us?”
I scramble for a logical answer. “Oh, I should have told you earlier. We like to check when the baby is six months old to, you know, make sure everything is okay.”
“Oh? Seems like a long time to wait.” She sounds dubious.
Sweat pops out on my brow. “Doctor feels you would have let him know if there were issues early on.”
“But, we signed the form.”
Oops, now what? I shuffle papers some more. “Forgive me, but we have so many forms. Which one are you referring to?”
“The one about Dr. Breen not being responsible for after care. Before we took the baby, we had to provide the name of our pediatrician.”
“Oh, that one,” I babble. “Yes, it’s true. Doctor is not a pediatrician. But recently, he decided it would be a good idea to do some follow-up on the babies. It’s a brand new program. So, to answer your question, you’re not the only one receiving this call. Thank you so much, Mrs. Haywood. And, continued good luck with Brady. Bye, now.”
My hands are shaking when I set my cell phone on the table. I’d bungled the call. No doubt about it. At this very moment, Marcia Haywood is probably calling the clinic to ask about the legitimacy of Desiree with the weird last name.
Because of my blunder, I decide not to make any more phony calls. I’m in over my head and I know it. It’s time to turn the list over to someone with the ability and manpower to investigate and hopefully shut down the Rockwells and Company. But then, there’s Aida. I have to get her in a safe place before I go to the authorities. Feeling helpless, I pace back and forth across my tiny home. Eight steps from the door to the wall. About face. Eight steps back.
The frustration boiling inside me is tempered with sadness for the adoptive couples, the unknowing victims of such a heartless scheme, all in the name of greed. What will happen to their babies? Once again, I wonder if I’m doing the right thing. But I can’t turn back now. Not with Aida due to give birth soon and Destiny in the cold clutches of Nina Rockwell.
I hear the rumble of Paco’s bike and fling the door open and wave him inside. Before I can fill him in, he says, “Yesterday, I got Myron’s address from Nick. Told him we were going to hang out. So, I’ve been checking his place. He got home this morning. He offloaded his stuff and got back in his car. I followed him. He pulled into a strip mall out on the highway where there’s a Laundromat facing the street and a self-service car wash out back. No attendant in either one. Both open twenty-four hours. Just put money in and do your thing. Myron used a key to unlock the meters and took the cash out of both places. Then, I followed him to three different banks.”
I have a sudden visual of my enormous uncle clomping around, spying on Myron. “You sure he didn’t see you?”
Paco glares. “You think I don’t know how to tail somebody?”
“Sorry, sorry. Just asking.”
“So,” he continues, “looks like Myron’s got a couple of businesses that deal in cash and don’t require employees. What does that tell you?”
I shrug and lift my hands.
“It’s not just clothes and cars getting washed in those establishments.”
I still don’t get it. “Like what?”
“Money laundering,” he says. “If he’s the one who trashed your room—and I think he is—he’s connected to the baby-selling people. If they are pimping the girls out after they give birth, there’s cash money coming in, too. You have to be careful to spread the money out and filter it through a legit business. If you deposit ten thousand or more into your bank account, a report goes to the feds.”
I don’t ask how he knows this.
My head is swimming with information overload, so I tell him about my screwed up call to Marcia Haywood. He frowns, but says, “It’s probably not as bad as you think. She’ll get involved with her kid and forget all about it. Look at it this way, Mel. We now know for sure what’s going down. The pieces are starting to come together. Probably wouldn’t have happened without the flash drive.”
I know he’s trying to make me feel better, but I can’t shake the feeling I’ve set something in motion that will come back to bite me in the butt.
Connie’s cleaning cart rattles by and Paco perks up. “See you tonight,” he says and charges through the door like a lion pursuing a three-legged wildebeest. I lock the door, flop face-down on the bed and try to turn my brain off. Apparently it works because I don’t wake up until it’s time to go to work.
Eddie’s Russian friend, Mick shows up at seven thirty. He takes a small booth in my section. I offer him a menu. “Eating or drinking?”
He takes the menu and nails me with his intense gaze. “Both.”
I look away, trying not to get sucked in. “Want your vodka now?”
“Yes. Grey Goose. But you already know that, Annabelle from Fargo.”
My heart leaps in my chest and I stammer, “Wha-what did you call me?”
“You heard me. By the way, blond hair doesn’t suit you.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I whirl away and head for the bar to place his order. Don’t panic, Mel.
Nick looks me over. “You okay? You’re looking a little pale.”
I remember what Nick told me about my reluctance in asking for help. Maybe now is the time. “Don’t look now, but there’s a guy sitting by himself in a booth. Blond hair. He’s a little scary. Just keep an eye out. Okay?”
Nick pours the vodka over ice. “Want me to ask him to leave?”
I wave a hand. “No, no, just be aware.”
“Did he threaten you?”
I definitely feel threatened, but the back-story is convoluted. Nick knows I worked a private party at the Rockwells. He does not know I was in disguise. “Not really,” I say. “He was at the Rockwell party. He’s probably just hitting on me and doesn’t realize he’s coming on too strong.”
Nick nods. “Too bad Billy’s not around.”
I grab the drink and deliver it to Mick. Without meeting his gaze, I pull out my order pad and pencil. “What would you like to eat?”
“Look at me, Mel.”
Reluctantly, I look i
nto his eyes. His soul is still unblemished. This confuses me. How can he hang out with Eddie and not have the telltale signs of evil stamped on his soul? I make a mental note to look for an answer in the notebook given to me by my father.
I snap, “Are you ready to order or not? I have other customers to wait on.”
He smiles and a dimple appears in his left cheek. “Sassy,” he says. “I’ll have the meatloaf special with mashed potatoes.”
I write down his order and turn to leave. His hand closes around my wrist. “Take care, Mel. Sometimes it’s wise not to be too curious about things you can do nothing about.”
I jerk free. “Being wise is not my strong suit.”
“What is your strong suit?”
I lean close and stare into his eyes. “Helping people who can’t help themselves.”
Nick appears in my peripheral vision. “Everything all right here?”
I step away from the table. “Yes, I was just clarifying this gentleman’s order.”
As I walk away, I hear Nick say, “You’re welcome to stay, but please, keep your hands off my waitress.”
Truth-O-Meter time. I walk into the kitchen to deliver Mick’s order. Myron looks up as I enter.
“Hey, Myron,” I say. “You know that guy?” I point through the serving window toward Mick’s booth.
Myron steps to the window. “Which guy?”
“He’s sitting by himself. Blond hair.”
Myron glances at Mick. His hooded gaze swings over to me. “Nah. I don’t know him. Why?”
I stare into Myron’ grimy soul and know he’s lying. I shrug. “Just wondering.”
Another dot connected.
Ten minutes later, Paco bangs through the door. He stops by the bar. I see Nick’s head tilt toward Mick who is devouring his meatloaf, one arm wrapped around his plate as if protecting it from hungry hordes. I deliver a loaded tray to the Corral and see Paco standing over Mick, one giant hand gripping his shoulder. He points at me and leans close. I see Paco’s lips moving and Mick nodding. He finishes his meat loaf, leaves me a $10 tip and exits the restaurant without looking back. With any luck, I won’t be seeing Mick again.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Affliction Page 19
