“You’re Heather Preston?” Brousseau’s jaw dropped as if preparing to catch a raindrop. It could happen—the hotel lobby was open air.
“I am.” Heather showed a set of sparkling white, perfectly straight teeth and no inclination to apologize for looking young and beautiful. “Tommy texted he’s running late, but he’ll be joining us soon.”
“I’m Agent Spenser and this is Dr. Caitlin Cassidy,” Spense said.
Mrs. Preston’s bag hit the ground with a thunk as she wrestled back her chair and climbed to her feet, arms outstretched like an aunt greeting her favorite nephew at Thanksgiving.
Spense stuck his hand out for a shake and she pulled him in for an awkward hug, a little too familiar, but hard to avoid without appearing rude.
Caitlin decided to rescue Spense by offering Mrs. Preston her hand . . . backfiring into an even more awkward three-person huddle, complete with air kisses. When Heather finally stepped back to view them at arm’s length, Caitlin sighed with relief.
“You saved my son’s life.” Heather collapsed back into her seat. “I would say thank you, but that seems so inadequate.”
To be fair, now that Caitlin thought about it, the woman’s reaction wasn’t out of line. Her son had nearly drowned and she and Spense—mostly Spense—had pulled him out of the ocean.
“Just happened to be in the right place at the right time. No big deal.” Spense pulled up a chair next to her, and Caitlin and Brousseau followed suit. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us. I know this trip hasn’t turned out like you planned.”
“It’s not a problem at all. I’m grateful to you and Dr. Cassidy, and if the police think I can be of help in tracking down . . .” Her voice fell off and her face puckered as if she were fighting off a cry. She took a deep breath. “Rose . . . I’d like to do what I can. Which I’m afraid isn’t much because even though I thought I knew that woman, clearly I don’t have a clue as to what’s going on in her head. But ask me anything you like about her.”
Brousseau cleared his throat. “Actually, we’re more interested in talking to you about Tommy. Shall we wait for him?”
“We can begin. If there’s something I can’t answer he can fill it in once he arrives. I know your time is valuable.” She looked at Caitlin. “I hear you’re getting married.”
“We are.” Caitlin shot the inspector—the obvious source of the leak—a look. Then she turned back to Heather Preston. “But don’t worry about our time.”
It was really quite thoughtful of her to consider it, though. Most people only thought about their own convenience when it came to police interviews.
Nice lady.
“Forgive me asking but how old are you?” Brousseau opened with a bang.
Mrs. Preston’s hand fluttered to her throat as if surprised, but she didn’t look put off. “Fifty-one.”
“So you had Tommy when you were only fifteen?”
“I’m not sure how this is relevant to the case, but no, Inspector. I was not a teen mom. I was twenty-three and happily married when an absolutely precious, eight-year-old boy was placed in my home for foster care. Three years later, we adopted him. I lost my husband in a car accident shortly after, and I cannot tell you what a blessing it was that Tommy and I had each other. He’s been the best son any mother could wish for.” She leaned back in her lounge chair and motioned the waiter over.
A gentleman wearing khaki shorts and a tropical shirt arrived. “Can I get you another mimosa?”
“I’m fine, thank you. But perhaps my guests would like a drink.” When she smiled, her brown eyes warmed you. Tommy had gotten lucky in the mom department—at least as far as his adopted mother went.
Brousseau shook his head. “We’re on duty.”
“Lunch then. Order anything you like.”
The hotel was pricey to say the least.
“That’s generous of you, but no thanks.” The server retreated, but continued to hover around the area. Caitlin wondered about Mrs. Preston’s finances. Everything from her perfect skin to her tastefully highlighted hair to her beautiful resort wear suggested Robin Leach had her in his Rolodex. Did her money come from Tommy or did she have wealth of her own? If the former, it indicated that Tommy Preston took very good care of his mother. Caitlin noted the diamond studs in the woman’s ears, a diamond tennis bracelet on one wrist, and a large emerald on the other hand. Maybe the jewelry Tommy had purchased from Lilly really had been for his mother. “Pardon me for being so direct but are those lovely earrings from Tommy?”
“Yes. The bracelet and ring, too. Everything is from him.” A shadow of an indentation that likely represented a paralyzed frown muscle appeared between her brows. “Tommy is my son. And he loves the fact that he’s able to provide a certain lifestyle for me. Enough to get by has always been plenty for me. But Tommy had a hard time of it in the early days, and now he’s made a success of himself. He takes pride in that. And I take pride in him. So if you’re thinking anything else about my relationship with Tommy, you’re out of line. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal,” Caitlin said. “I apologize if I came across as . . .”
“Judgmental,” Brousseau offered.
“Intrusive,” Caitlin finished her thought in her own words. “I’m simply trying to get an accurate picture of Tommy’s family situation. And Lilly Parker told us when she first met Tommy he was buying gifts for his mother.”
“I get it. You’re trying to verify her story. Sorry if I seemed defensive, it’s just that people can make cruel assumptions, and I don’t allow cruel—especially not when it comes to Tommy. I’ve made it my job to see to it that that part of his life is over. His past doesn’t define him, but neither of us has forgotten it. If you want the whole story, I should tell you before he gets here. The sad parts are difficult for him to hear, and the good parts might embarrass him. Tommy is a very humble man, and he doesn’t like to brag.”
Caitlin had a feeling Tommy didn’t mind his mother gushing over him, but kept that thought to herself. “That would be helpful. Just tell us in your own words.”
“I admire my son for so many reasons.” Mrs. Preston fished around in her Preston Enterprises beach bag for a tissue. “I might need this if I’m going to tell the Tommy saga.”
Brousseau picked up a leather-bound menu and waved the server back. “Maybe I’ll have something after all. What’s your fish and chips?”
“Mahi mahi. An excellent choice.”
“I’ll take that.”
“And for the ladies?”
Mrs. Preston gestured a no thanks, and Caitlin did the same.
“I’ll have the tofu and beet salad and a glass of still water,” Spense said.
The Inspector smiled and added, “I’ll have chocolate milk.”
Okay, then everybody was ordered up. Time to get Mrs. Preston talking before Tommy made his entrance.
“So this is a three hankie kind of a story,” Caitlin paraphrased the woman’s words.
“I’m afraid so. I might need an entire packet of tissue, in fact.”
Spense leaned forward, giving her his full attention. The inspector pulled out his phone. “Mind if I record?”
“Feel free.” Mrs. Preston dabbed a dry eye, perhaps warding off an impending tear. “Tommy’s biological mother, Sadie Packard, was a good woman. To have given birth to a boy like him, she must have been. I believe in my heart she was one of God’s tortured angels—and I’ve always told Tommy the same. We have to look at her with forgiveness in our hearts and understand that she was afflicted with a wrong mind.”
The inspector scratched his head. “My English isn’t perfect. What is a wrong mind, please?”
“I don’t know how to explain it any better than this. She wasn’t exactly delusional, but she didn’t seem to be in touch with reality at all times. I think the drugs had her mind all twisted up. If she’d been able to think clearly, I know she never would’ve hurt Tommy. I’m one hundred percent sure Tommy’s mother loved him.”
>
“Why are you so sure of that?” Spense asked.
“Because what mother wouldn’t love an innocent boy?”
A thoughtful look came over Spense’s face. “I wish all parents were capable of loving their children, innocent or not, but I have to tell you I don’t think that’s the case. You said she never would have hurt him. What did she do to Tommy?”
This time when Mrs. Preston dabbed her eyes the tissue came away wet. She discarded it and grabbed another one. Took a long breath. Checked over her shoulder as if wanting to be sure no one was nearby. “His mother was an addict. She couldn’t work, because of her . . . anyway . . . if Tommy had a father . . . well of course he must have . . . but no one can say who he might be. At times, his mother would clean up, but then, she’d go right back to the H. While she was in . . .” She seemed to have reached a point in the story that was quite difficult to relate.
Caitlin was about to urge her to slow down, take her time.
“Treatment.” Brousseau finished her sentence for her as if he didn’t have patience to allow the story to unfold.
Mrs. Preston looked at him somewhat sharply. “Jail. I was going to say while she was in jail. That’s a poor man’s rehab. The place they go to dry out. The less fortunate among us can’t afford fancy hospitals like the kind the movie stars go to. So you see what an accomplishment it is that Tommy not only survived, he succeeded.”
“I can see why you’re so proud of him,” Caitlin said. “Where was Tommy during these times, while his mother . . . Sadie?”
Mrs. Preston nodded.
“While Sadie was in jail?”
“Whenever she’d get sent away for drugs or parole violations—carrying a firearm, soliciting, and so on, Tommy would be placed in foster care. Then once she came home, she’d be clean. Child services is big on family reunification, and they’d send him back to her. It’s not easy to place little boys, you know. But the last go round, she simply couldn’t pull herself together.”
“She wasn’t sober?” Spense asked.
“I’m not sure. What I do know is that the social worker found her crying every day. The place was filthy—even worse than usual. Tommy was caught stealing food to bring home to his mother. I suppose if he hadn’t taken the initiative, they both would’ve starved to death.”
“Why didn’t they find him someplace else to live? There are orphanages in the United States, I believe.” Brousseau seemed moved, judging by his low, gentle tone.
“They planned to take him away from her again.” Mrs. Preston gulped and waved her hand in the air. “I’ll have another mimosa, please.”
She sat stiff-backed while she waited for her liquid courage. Caitlin, Spense, and Brousseau remained quiet, observing her. Her chest convulsed a time or two and Caitlin knew she was stifling sobs. The waiter came and went quickly, as if he’d already had the drink ready.
Mrs. Preston downed it in a few big swallows and then picked up her story, suddenly all self-control. “After Sadie failed to check in with her parole officer, a social worker went out to the home to take Tommy away.”
A smear of blood appeared at the corner of her mouth.
She must have bitten her cheek or her tongue.
“The social worker found both Tommy and his mother near death. Sadie had shot him up with heroin—a dose so big the doctors called it a miracle when he lived. Sadie didn’t make it. And as awful as it seems to say this out loud, I believe that was for the best all the way around.”
“Perfectly understandable you’d feel that way,” Spense said. “Doesn’t make you a bad person you felt relief, knowing Tommy was out of danger.”
“But he wasn’t. Not then, anyway. They put Tommy in a group home run by the state.” She gestured to Brousseau. “A Texas version of an orphanage. Understand?”
Brousseau nodded.
“But Tommy ran away over and over again—he denies it, but I suspect he may have been . . . assaulted . . . in that place. He’d live on the streets for months, dodging the cops before they’d find him and take him back to the home. You can see why I look up to him. If I’d gone through what he did, I believe I would’ve given up and turned to a life of crime, or I would’ve jumped off a bridge or something. But not Tommy. That little boy took all that suffering and used it to make himself into a great man. There isn’t anyone more generous than him. Just ask the people of Riverbend, Texas, if you don’t believe me.”
Caitlin exchanged a glance with Spense. Something for Dutch and Gretchen to follow up on along with the Pamela Jean question. Riverbend, Texas. A small town where everyone knows each other’s business. No telling what could be dug up with a phone call from Dutch Langhorne, Special Agent in charge of the FBI’s Dallas field office. The townspeople would probably line up to bend his ear. “I’ll take your word for it. After all you know him better than anyone. But you haven’t told us how he made it out of that orphanage and into your loving home.”
“Sorry. I thought I mentioned before that the social worker, the one who found Tommy lying half-dead, curled up in Sadie’s arms, was my college roommate. Of course her work is confidential, and she’s very good about protecting the families’ rights, but she was disturbed by Tommy’s situation. Heartbroken, I’d say. Anyway, we went to lunch one day and she broke down and told me Tommy’s story, even though it was against the rules. How no one wanted an eight-year-old boy with a penchant for stealing and running away. His chance of finding a permanent placement was low, and she was sure that one day, the street life would do him in.”
“So you agreed to take him,” Spense said.
“Not at first. But when I heard what that child had been through, I wanted to meet him. My friend arranged it, and every day for a month I visited him in the orphanage. At first, I went alone, but later I brought my husband along. I needed to be sure we were a good fit. I guess that sounds selfish, but I didn’t want Tommy to be disappointed. I didn’t want to bring him home and then have to turn around and send him back. I needed to be sure there was a real chance of it working out.”
“Seems like it did.”
“Oh, yes. From the very start. I’ve never seen such a good helper around the house. Tommy was respectful to his new father and me. Friendly to the neighbors and everyone at church. And the biggest surprise of all was how smart, smart, smart Tommy turned out to be. Once he got settled in his new school, his grades just kept getting better. Within a year he’d been moved into the gifted program.”
“I think you should give yourself some of the credit for how he’s turned out,” Spense said.
Mrs. Preston’s cheeks colored. “Thank you, but all the credit goes to him.”
No eight-year-old is that good.
Caitlin couldn’t help wondering how much of his exemplary behavior was really Tommy and how much was a show to keep from being sent back to the home. A survival mechanism: keeping his true self hidden and replacing it with the façade of the perfect son.
What would living your life afraid to express disagreement or show any imperfection do to a person? The shrink in her couldn’t help doing some quick math. A child’s sense of right and wrong develops, at least according to Freud, between the ages of three and five. Trust versus mistrust long before that. Yet Tommy had been eight years old before loving parents came into his life. Up until that time he’d been scrapping on the streets to survive.
Even though in Mrs. Preston, Tommy had found someone who, by all appearances, genuinely loved him, Caitlin’s training told her Tommy probably never let that love sink in. It would be difficult for him to believe the authentic Tommy could receive a mother’s love—because he hadn’t gotten it from the one person who ought to have loved him unconditionally—Sadie. Instead, he’d learned to present a false persona to the world. Of course this was all just educated speculation, but her gut told her that a desperate street kid still lurked beneath Tommy’s surface. With enough stress and the right trigger, that kid would come out fighting.
Spense cleared his t
hroat, and the sound snapped Caitlin back to the moment. “I’m sorry. What were you saying, Mrs. Preston?”
“Only that I believe in doing good for others, and that I tried with Tommy. But in the end, Tommy wound up doing more for me. Sometimes I feel guilty about that. I worked at a used car dealership from the time I was eighteen, and when Tommy was in high school I got laid off. It took me six months to find work again, but Tommy went and got an after-school job to help out with the bills.
“At first, I wouldn’t take his money, but he said if I didn’t, it meant we weren’t a real family. So from then on, I didn’t fuss over anything he did for me. I know it makes him feel good inside.”
“And how about now? Bring us up to speed on Tommy Preston today.”
“Guess who owns that used car dealership, the one that laid me off?” Mrs. Preston beamed.
“Tommy,” said the inspector.
“Uh huh.”
“How did that happen?” Spense asked.
“I told you he was smart. He got a full ride to the University of Texas and came home with a master’s degree in marketing. Then he took out a small business loan and started up with one laundromat. That went to two. Now he’s got so many businesses I can hardly keep track. He bought me a house and a car. Pays all my expenses. Like I said before, at first I felt it wasn’t right for him to take care of me. But his heart is big, and it makes him so happy to do for others. He’s the person you turn to if you’re down on your luck. Everyone in town knows if you need a job Tommy will give you one. He’s been Riverbend Man of the Year twice.”
“That’s quite an honor,” Brousseau said. “Is there more he does for the town or is the award mainly due to his success in business?”
“Oh, he does a lot more.” Mrs. Preston ducked her head into her bag, then whipped out what looked to be an oversized pen and handed it to Brousseau. “For instance, he sponsored one hundred of these rescue injectors for the community.”
Brousseau pulled the cap off.
“Careful.” Mrs. Preston touched his arm. “That’s not a training pen. It has real medicine and a needle inside.”
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