Penny Legend

by Lucy English

  Penny Legend

  Lucy English

  Copyright © 2016 Lucy English

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-1523481484

  ISBN-10: 152348148X

  For Social Workers

  Thank You

  Penny Wade Mysteries

  Ruby Milk

  Penny Legend

  Acknowledgements

  I’m surrounded by brilliance. Thank you to the amazing social service professionals who inspire the character of Penny. Thank you to my talented editors, Adam Krause and Christine LePorte. I’m indebted to friends who support my work, most of all Howard Lerner, who buoys me through every low, is always ready to listen to crazy ideas, and is the creative and technical force behind my beautiful website. Thank you to my sons, Sam and Arlo, who are patient and loving and who inspire me every day.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Which is worse, to be named after a worthless coin or to be saddled with a name like Legend?

  Legend was escorted to my office by a young Boston cop on a Tuesday afternoon. I’d been alerted that he had a bullet graze wound on his leg, but I barely detected a limp when he walked in. The school principal had told the police that Legend was eight years old and he wasn’t talking today.

  His first stop after his teacher discovered the wound had been the Mass General ER; second stop, me.

  “Legend, my name is Penny Wade,” I said. “You can call me Penny. I’m a social worker, which means I help people like you when they have difficult stuff happen.” Legend looked down at his shoes.

  The cop, a petite, copper-haired woman around my age—mid-thirties—kneeled to say goodbye. Legend didn’t make eye contact with her. She gave me a smile and left.

  “Come sit?” I said.

  When I’d gotten the call that he was coming, I’d culled the fidget toys on my table and added more play therapy toys. I had snow globes, rubber and wire animals for twisting, a cluster of magnet balls, tiny worry dolls, a couple of squishy stress balls, a mini Slinky, some toy cars, and a few natural things with nice textures—seashells, stones, and driftwood.

  Legend eyed the toys as he sidestepped slowly to my worn couch. His shoulders were drawn up practically to his ears.

  “They’re for you to play with.”

  No answer. He sat on the edge of the sofa, eyes cast down showing long curly dark eyelashes. I sat on the chair across from him.

  Before I could say anything more, there was a knock at my office door. I rose to answer and found another police officer—a skinny Latin-looking guy with his thumbs in his belt.

  “Hang on,” I said to the officer.

  I went to my desk and grabbed a stack of coloring sheets and a big box of crayons. I cleared a spot on the table and set them down for Legend.

  “I’ll be back in a minute. If you like, you can choose something to color, okay?”

  Legend nodded and I considered it my first victory.

  In the hallway, the cop and I stepped away from my door.

  “Officers paid a visit to Legend’s guardian—his aunt—to try to find out how he was wounded. They found her in possession of drugs. She’s been taken into custody.” He was shifting his weight from side to side as he spoke. I thought he’d rather be elsewhere.

  “Where’s his mom?”

  “Dead.”

  “Where’s his dad?”

  “Unknown. Aunt says the kid’s never known him.”

  “Is there other family? Grandma? Anyone?”

  “All we can determine is an uncle—the brother to mom and aunt—but he’s only twenty and probably not a custodial candidate.”

  “Where’s the Department of Children and Families in this?”

  “We’ve contacted them. They’re looking for an emergency foster placement.”

  I thanked the officer and paused for a minute in the hallway. If I didn’t tell Legend what had happened I wasn’t sure who would, or how well they’d handle the task.

  When I stepped back into my office Legend was sitting on the floor by the coffee table coloring. I sat on the floor across from him and watched. He had chosen a picture of a mom and baby zebra. He colored only the grass and flowers around the zebras, then set down his crayon and pushed the paper toward me.

  He had a point.

  I picked up the picture. “Nice job. What do you think the zebras are gonna do today?”

  Legend’s eyes flicked to mine for just an instant.

  He didn’t answer.

  “You might be wondering about the police officer at my door,” I said. “He came to tell me that when the police went to talk to your aunt about your wound, well, they realized they needed to talk with her some more—they need her help— so they asked her to go to the police station. They’re trying to make sure everyone is safe after the shooting last night.”

  I was watching him closely but there wasn’t much to see. He was listening but not reacting.

  “After you and I talk, you get to go back to school and these really nice people at a place called the Department of Children and Families are going to find a good place for you to stay tonight—kind of like a sleepover.”

  He kept his eyes down. He was remarkably still, holding a throw pillow in front of him.

  “So here’s the thing,” I said. “I’m going to be your friend and help you with whatever you need.”

  His eyes met mine. I could see his pain and also something brave. He looked down again and set the pillow aside.

  When the female officer returned to take Legend back to school I’d gotten one nod and a few seconds of eye contact. It wasn’t exactly the information on who held the gun that Boston PD would be hoping for, but they were going to have to wait or figure it out some other way. There was a lot going on under those curly eyelashes and Legend was going to need time.

  That afternoon a boy-next-door-handsome detective came to my office. Tall, sandy hair, bluish eyes, superhero-square jaw. He was wearing faded jeans that didn’t hide the muscular lines of his thighs, and a dark T-shirt. He smelled faintly of aftershave—forest and grapefruit.

  “Ms. Wade, I’m Detective Conner. I’m here about Legend Harris.”

  I showed him into my office, where he sat in the straight chair, casting a suspicious eye at my table full of toys.

  “An officer was here earlier and told me Legend’s aunt has been taken into custody. He explained that Mom is dead, Dad is unknown, and there’s only a young uncle somewhere. That’s all I know. I’ll help however I can.”

  Detective Conner set one ankle onto the other knee. When he met my eyes he held them. “There was a murder on the street outside their apartment last night. A drug dealer. Naturally when we learned of the boy’s wound we wondered if there was a connection. The victim was his aunt’s boyfriend. Name of James Booker.”

  “What did his aunt say?”

  “Desiree Walker. Not much. We had a warrant ready given the likelihood of a connection. We found twenty-five grams of OxyContin and some other pharmaceuticals. She claims she had nothing to do with it, but it’s her apartment.”

  “But what did she say about Legend?”

  “She said they were on the street with Mr. Booker and ran inside as fast as possible when the violence broke out. Legend was nicked by a stray bullet. She claims not to have seen the perp.”

  “Do you know what happened to Legend’s mom?”

  “Trinity Harris. Overdose. Two years ago.”

  I picked up a little doll from my table and fixed her hair while I let that sink in. “They took him back to school, right? Has DCF found a foster home?”

  “He’s at the school office until we find a placement.” He uncrossed his legs and leaned toward me.

  “Ms. Wade, we’re going to need your cooperation on
this investigation. Mr. Booker wasn’t big-time, but we want to find his connections and the method of diversion.”

  “Diversion?”

  “How pharmaceuticals go from legal to illegal channels of distribution.”

  “What can I do?”

  “There’s a good chance the boy saw who shot Mr. Booker. We want to know.”

  “But this is a narcotics investigation? Not murder? You’re a narcotics detective?”

  “I’m in the Narcotics division, but that doesn’t preclude me from investigating the entirety of the case. There’s a homicide detective assigned to the case as well, Detective Polk.”

  “If you weren’t worried about the drug crime would there even be a murder investigation?”

  “Of course there would,” he said. “I can’t tell you how Homicide is handling their end of the investigation. Drugs are involved, so the Narcotics division is front and center.”

  I wondered if Homicide was doing anything at all.

  “My priority is Legend,” I said. “He isn’t talking right now, at all. I may not be able to help you.”

  He rose and extended his hand. “I trust that you’ll try.”

  Gloria, my roomie, was sprawled out on the couch in a tank top and underwear when I got home. Her big hair was bigger and kinkier than ever, spread over the arm of the couch above her head. Ranger, our one-eyed almost-black cat, was curled up at the other end of the couch—the dot at the bottom of Gloria’s exclamation mark. The windows were open. It was only May and we couldn’t afford to start running the A/C already despite the heat wave. It felt like the heat was bouncing right off the building four feet from ours and in through the open window. It smelled like hot bricks.

  My walk from the office didn’t clear my irritation and I hoped a beer would help. I grabbed two from the fridge, opened them, and handed one to Gloria.

  “How was work?” I asked. I’d been trying to do a better job remembering to ask about her day instead of dumping mine on her. Managing a chi-chi spa in the Back Bay had its own set of intrigues.

  “Pretty typical. There was a big hen party of regulars so the staff is beat, but nothing went too wrong.”

  “Did something go a little wrong?”

  “Mrs. Hampton’s hair turned out a bit, well, coral, but we kept the lighting dim for relaxation so she hadn’t noticed yet when she left. What happened with you? Why the beer?”

  I’d stripped down to my T-shirt and capris and was considering going down to underwear like Gloria. “Is anyone coming over?”

  “Yeah, Justin will later. He won’t care if you’re in underwear if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “I thought I drove men wild.”

  “Mostly when I’m not in the room.” She smiled.

  I swigged my beer, took a deep breath, and told Gloria about Legend.

  “Anyway, I’ll sort out a therapy plan for him tomorrow, but I have narcs crawling down my back trying to get me to drag it out of him who shot him.” I took another drink and noticed the beer was half gone. “Sorry to lay it on you. I’m just frustrated.”

  “You’re a good therapist for him. I’m sure you’ll help. Besides, I read that like ninety-five percent of communication is nonverbal.”

  “Hey, can I borrow your mini trampoline for my office for a little while? Kid that size has a lot of jumpiness, you know? Maybe it will help him to bounce.”

  “Yep, and we’ll make that purple-dyed rice and scent it with lavender for him to play with too. Cute kid?”

  “Real cute.”

  Justin buzzed up from downstairs and I headed to my room to make some notes on the ideas I had for working with Legend. I’d taken some play therapy classes in college and was excited to put them to use. Legend had a traumatic experience. I could deal with that. I just needed to block out the noise and focus on the kid.

  Will, my long-time on/off boyfriend, called as I was getting ready for bed that night. I told him about my day. He didn’t want to talk about his work—he was a frustrated artist working in graphic design—but we talked about his garden and the great sailing weather in Madison.

  “I’d like to come out if you want me to. I have some time off banked,” he said.

  I’d seen him a few weeks before when I went to Madison for a long weekend. We were doing well together, but that made me kind of nervous because I’m not the greatest with relationships. “Great!” It sounded a little forced. I hoped he didn’t notice because I really was happy he was coming. “When?”

  We hatched a plan for him to come to Boston and said goodnight. I lay in bed worrying about whether I could be the girlfriend he wanted. I pictured us in his storybook house on the outskirts of Madison. I imagined us in the kitchen with harvest from the huge garden. Sounds of the children laughing and playing in the yard would drift in the open window. We would can tomatoes and pickle okra and green beans. We’d talk and laugh while we shelled peas and shucked corn with our yellow Lab curled at our feet snoozing. It would be a good life, solid and healthy for kids. Surely I could learn to pickle, and tolerate a rural home, and like dogs.

  I’d have to figure that out later. First I needed to focus on Legend. Something told me this could get complicated and he was going to need someone firmly on his side.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Wednesday afternoon I made time to visit the foster placement where Legend had landed the previous evening.

  The apartment was in Tai Tung Village, a large Section 8 complex in a corner of Chinatown next to a tangle of freeways. The number nine bus ran every twenty minutes from South Boston and got within about a ten-minute walk from Chinatown. The number eleven got closer on the Chinatown end, but required a longer walk on the Southie end. Either way was close to a half hour. It took about that long to walk, so I did, but checking the bus schedule had helped me understand Legend’s options for getting to and from school.

  The building was a mid-rise sprawl full of humming, dripping window unit air conditioners. I took the elevator to the sixth floor.

  Maggie Lowry answered quickly when I knocked, and when I saw the size of the apartment I understood why. Gloria and I shared about eight hundred square feet. This was considerably smaller than that. The apartment was very warm despite the noisy efforts of the window unit.

  Maggie was heavyset and had an air of efficiency about her. I knew from talking to DCF that she fostered three other children, that she was single, and that she didn’t work a regular job outside the home.

  She was Caucasian (Irish, I thought, but maybe it was just her name) and from what I understood, the other foster children were Caucasian as well. I didn’t know how long this arrangement would last given that it was made on an emergency basis. DCF tried not to move kids around too much, but wouldn’t he need a family that understood the challenges he would face as an African-American kid in a racist society? Wouldn’t he need someone watching whether teachers evaluated him fairly? Someone who would teach him how to stay safe if he got into a situation with authorities? My evaluation revolved primarily around whether the home was safe and clean and the family could meet his basic needs. I would be sure to add some commentary on the suitability of the placement, but I had to think it through. The last thing I wanted was for Legend to leave the frying pan for the fire.

  Maggie was well practiced at social welfare visits. She invited me to sit in the small living room. The apartment was bursting with toys, knickknacks, raincoats, and boots. There was a free-standing shelf crowded with cups and plates, cereal boxes and cans of food—overflow from the tiny kitchen. But overall it looked relatively organized and clean.

  “Let me tell you about the arrangements I’ve made for Legend,” Maggie said. She proceeded to answer all of the questions on my checklist without me having to ask. “However,” she added, “with four children now, I’m not able to do some of the extra things Legend may need. For example, I don’t know how I would get away to take him to visit his aunt, or to see his uncle, or things like that. I think he can
get to your office on his own, but I’ll take him for now until I’m sure he’s learned the way.”

  Maggie showed me the room where the children slept. It smelled sweaty. I always think kid sweat smells like puppies. Legend’s bed was a bottom bunk, which had been draped with a blanket from the top bunk, creating a private fort. “We try to give Legend a little privacy. He likes to hide.”

  I peeked behind the blanket and saw two books on his bed. I picked them up. They were both from the school library and both on weather. Not little kid books either.

  “Does he read a lot?”

  “Oh heavens yes. The other kids all watch TV or play video games, but he comes in and reads. The only time he showed much interest in TV was when the kids left it on and he got ahold of the remote. He sat watching the Weather Channel until dinner.”

  Two older children burst in the front door with backpacks. “I’ve only got two at the same school,” Maggie commented. “It makes things complicated.” The children were smiling as they put their things away. They said hello to Maggie on their way to the kitchen, where they set about making snacks for themselves as I said goodbye to Maggie.

  Despite my bigger picture concerns about the placement, I decided to give a positive report. Maggie seemed to have things well in hand and was sensitive to what Legend needed. I knew he could land someplace much worse.

  When I got back to the office, Vivian, Nathan, and I met in Vivian’s office. In social services, even the boss has a crappy office. In fact, mine had a better window than hers, but I was closer to the street so I also had a lot of noise from outside.

  Nathan, my official mentor at the agency, smiled encouragingly at me when we met at Vivian’s door. He was wearing jeans and his requisite wildlife scene shirt. An elephant today.

  I’d joined Community Counseling Services the previous winter, and due to some complications, I’d quit. Vivian wasn’t entirely pleased with me, so when I got two months behind on rent and returned to beg for my job back it was painful. But I needed to eat and they needed a social worker so she hired me back on sixty days’ probation. I still had six weeks to go, but things were fine and I was sure it would work out.