by Ninie Hammon
"She's still in the room?" Bailey asked.
"No, he's done with her." He made an all-encompassing gesture. "She's here somewhere with another john."
"Then we have to find her and—"
"There are thousands of people in this casino and who knows how many more in the hotel."
Brice paused and she knew he was thinking of her futile effort to find the little girl with braids at a carnival — where there were a few hundred people.
"Even if we could find her, then what?"
"We … we get her out of here—"
"How — short of kidnapping her? If she'd believed your note, she'd have gone to the bathroom to talk to you about it. She didn't." He stopped, said the next words individually. "Her. Choice."
Brice took her by the shoulders. "We have done all we can do. We warned her, but we can't protect her if she refuses to believe the warning. It's time to go."
Chapter Twenty
"Ever hear of a five-run home run?" Brice asked Bailey as they stood in the front of the launch, crossing Whispering Mountain Lake to the Shadow Rock side. The breeze in their faces was cool, not cold, which it should have been this late in the evening at the end of October. Indian Summer still clung to this part of West Virginia.
"How could you do that? Three bases, one hit. That's impossible."
"Uh huh, but there are some people who spend their lives trying to hit five-run homers. You know anybody like that?"
Then he held out his hands as if he were holding something. It took her a moment to understand. Tonight, what had happened with the girl, had to go into the garbage bag and stay there. Not just so she could enjoy the rest of the evening. This was a survival skill. She had to learn it or she would never have any peace.
She held up imaginary garbage and dumped it into his bag and he drew the strings tight shut.
They'd arranged in advance for the real "birthday party" to convene at her house after their dinner at the casino. Bailey felt emotionally and physically wrung out, but it was clear the other three were determined to celebrate, whether from a genuine desire to do so or not to let the others down. Injected with truth serum, all four would likely have admitted that they wanted to go home and end the evening, but absent that they partied on.
The first thing she did when she got home was kick off the stiletto-heels. Most uncomfortable shoes she'd ever worn in her life.
While she went into the kitchen for paper plates to use for the cake, she saw the men convene a brief confab, then T.J. went out the front door and it was explained that "he left your present at his house."
That struck her as odd, but she had given up protesting the present thing. They were determined and she knew there was absolutely nothing she could do at this point to dissuade them. And she did appreciate their kindness and thoughtfulness.
As soon as they were seated, Dobbs brought out the cake that he'd asked the waiter at the casino restaurant to box up when they'd lost their appetites. It was only a birthday cake, but as intricate and detailed as any wedding cake Bailey'd ever seen. The frosting was pale blue. Growing up the side of the cake was an amazingly realistic-looking tree trunk, the bark of different kinds and colors of chocolate. The whole top of the cake was covered in the tree's intricate pink cherry blossoms.
What sat amid the blossoms brought a genuine smile to her face. Three figures, the hear-no-evil, see-no-evil, speak-no-evil monkeys, sat on the tree limbs, with hats naming them T.J., Dobbs and Brice. Brice, the speak-no-evil monkey, held a sign in the hand not covering its mouth: Happy Birthday, Bailey.
"We didn't get to pick our own monkey," Brice said. "I wanted to be see-no-evil, but nooooo, Dobbs got first shot because he made special arrangements for this cake."
"I just happen to be on a first-name, close-personal-friend basis with every baker in town, including the one at the Nautilus. The monkeys were extra, but I splurged."
"Thank you so much. It's perfect."
The men exchanged a look.
Brice took a deep breath. "We drew straws and I got the short straw — though T.J. was holding the straws and I'm sure he was cheating. I hope you like the present as much as the cake."
He pulled a small box out of his pocket, gift wrapped in silver paper with a shiny silver bow.
The paper and ribbon came off in one piece and lying on her palm was a flip-top jewelry box. She opened the lid and inside was a set of earrings. Small and delicate, they were striking — an intricate leaf-and-vine design.
"I had help in the selection." Brice was flustered and it showed. "My friend from high school said you would love them. If you don't, blame her."
"They're beautiful, Brice — thank you!" Setting the box down, she took the earrings out one at a time and placed each in an ear.
"Well?" she said, turning her head so the men could get a good look at the earrings.
"I got it right," Brice said, with no discernible emotion that she could detect. "They are the same color as your eyes.
"Goody. The kids in grade school used to tease me, called me 'dill pickle.'"
"At least they aren't Mike-Wazowski green," Dobbs said, and she wondered how it was that he'd had occasion to see a children's movie.
T.J. had not yet returned, but Dobbs didn't wait for him. He produced a box larger than Brice's jewelry box but still small. It was in bright red wrapping paper with a bow of sparkling gold ribbon.
He sat grinning at her as she tore away the ribbon. She knew as soon as she saw the box. Still, she removed the cellophane wrapping slowly and opened the box, certain that she had to be mistaken, that it couldn't be …
But it was.
Lying inside the box was an artisan crafted case. She opened the case with trembling fingers. Inside the case, nestled in white satin, was a majestic, multifaceted bottle, each face catching the light and refracting it into a thousand rainbows. The glass top of the sparkling bottle was hand-sealed. Covering the neck was a fine membrane held in place by a strand of white pearl-cotton thread affixed with a black wax stamp.
A gold sticker on the front of the bottle proclaimed "Coco Mademoiselle. Chanel Paris."
Bailey sat mute. When she finally found her voice, she didn't yet have full command of her words. She was so flabbergasted all she could do was stammer and babble.
"No, I couldn't. Dobbs … Coco! Come on, you know I couldn't possibly accept a gift like that." Then she feared she might have hurt his feelings. "I mean, it's not like I don't want … It's wonderful, thank you, but it's too much. Please tell me you can see that it's too much."
Brice was looking at her quizzically, didn't understand what all the fuss was about. Dobbs had bought her perfume for her birthday and Brice didn't get why that could be a big deal.
"This is Chanel!" she told him, which explained everything in a single word. Except it didn't. She might as well have been speaking Mandarin Chinese. "This sells for … for three or four thousand dollars an ounce!"
His face registered understanding and he pursed his lips in a whistle but didn't make the sound.
"See!" Then she turned to Dobbs and said the same word, but plaintively this time. "See?"
"If I'd thought it was too much, chances are I wouldn't have done it in the first place," Dobbs said, the grin deepening in the folds of his cheeks. "You have no idea how much money I have and how little I have to spend it on. Now, either you're going to accept that perfume, or I'm going to have to figure out something to do with it. Guess I'd just have to give it to the first homeless woman—"
Bam! Bailey felt like she had slammed into a brick wall at a dead run. The words "homeless woman" hit her so hard she couldn't draw another breath.
Standing in the torrential downpour at the bus stop, the homeless woman is huddled against the sign, trying to fit her whole body under the small overhang around it.
"… Bailey?" Dobbs's voice penetrated and she refocused, came back to the here and now, trying to shed the tatters of the nightmare that still hung shredded around her.
" … you alright?" This time it was Brice.
Her face had betrayed her shock and horror.
"I'm sorry," she stammered. She shoved as hard as she could to close the mental door that had come ajar at the mention of a homeless woman. "I … just …"
She was done, couldn't protest anymore. Her eyes filled with tears and she looked at Dobbs through the blur.
"Thank you! I can't tell you how much …" She drew a shaky breath, determined not to cry. She stood, went to where Dobbs was seated on the couch and planted a kiss on his cheek. Her voice was tear-clotted when she spoke. "I've never had a better birthday present in my whole life."
"Oh, yes you have," T.J. said from the door, where he had entered unnoticed. "You ain't seen my present yet."
He turned and stepped back out onto the front porch and returned carrying a cardboard box that was large but didn't look heavy. It was not wrapped in pretty paper, no ribbons or bows. The top wasn't even sealed. It'd been opened, then the flaps folded back together. He crossed the room and set the box at Bailey's feet.
She just looked at him.
"You gonna open it or not?"
When she reached toward it, she thought she heard … sounds coming from the box. She lifted the open flap. And then she gasped and both hands flew to her mouth.
"Yap!"
She could only stare, too shocked to move.
"Yap-yap!"
Pulling her hands away from her face with an effort, she reached into the box and lifted from it a puppy. Then she burst into tears.
Chapter Twenty-One
Brice watched emotions wash across Bailey's face as she reached into the cardboard box and gently lifted out the ball of fur inside. Tears first, that quickly morphed into giggles. Then awe and surprise and a hint of dismay and … a half a dozen other emotions, too. It was, indeed, comical.
"T.J.?"
There was such wonder in her voice.
"Had to do something," T.J. said. "Sparky was beginning to forget what I looked like."
The puppy had fur so soft and curly it looked like a stuffed animal. It was black, but its snout and chest were white, and it had a white tip on its tail and white socks on its front paws.
Bailey gathered the fur ball up into her arms and hugged it to her. It began licking her face as furiously as a little kid going after a melting ice cream cone.
"Oh, T.J.!" Then Bailey was all-out crying.
T.J. was caught off guard by her reaction. Of course, he'd known she'd like it, but none of the three of them would have guessed just how much she'd like it.
Brice cleared his throat. "Thousands of dollars worth of perfume. A dog. Sheesh. If I'd known what I was up against, I wouldn't have wasted my time picking out earrings — just a Starbucks gift card."
"No, no," she cried out through tears, trying unsuccessfully to get control of herself. "They're lovely!" She reached up and pulled her long hair behind her ear to reveal the sparkling green. The same color as her eyes. And the puppy matched her glossy black hair. He wondered if T.J. had done that on purpose, but dismissed the idea as soon as he thought it. Not T.J. "It's all … wonderful."
The dictionary definition of that word. Wonderful. Full of wonder. Brice considered the implications of that because it did matter. What was happening here was way more important than it appeared to be. Bailey Donahue was chained to an awful "gift," as surely as T.J.'s mother had been chained to the same gift fifty years ago. But right this minute, cuddling the puppy, she had managed to set the burden down for a while. That was no small accomplishment. In the long run, he suspected it might prove to be the single most important ability she possessed. As long as she was able to do that, as long as he and her other friends could help her figure out how to keep doing that, day after day … she had a chance to remain whole, her spirit unbroken. She had a chance to survive what had so shattered Eulalie Hamilton that she'd hanged herself from a barn rafter.
Bailey set the puppy down and it proceeded to pee on the floor. There was much puppy-related scurrying around then.
"It's a mini golden doodle like Sparky," T.J. said. "I've had lots of dogs in my life, but I b'lieve this breed is the loving-est, sweetest, smartest …" He stopped himself when he realized he was gushing. "They're hypoallergenic — you ain't allergic to dogs, are you?”
Bailey lifted an eyebrow. "Totally covered in hives every time I'm in the room with Sparky. Itchy red bumps — you didn't notice?"
"Nobody likes a smartass, you know that don't you?" He continued his spiel. "Doodles don't shed, neither, not so much as a hair." He rubbed the mat of close-cropped hair on his head. "I shed more than Sparky does."
T.J. was babbling, too, surprised by the intensity of emotion his gift had produced. He went out to his car and returned with all manner of supplies Bailey would need. There was a crate — a wire cage where he'd put a doggie bed for the puppy's den — accompanied by a lengthy explanation about how to use it and why it was important. He'd brought a dog dish, a leash and collar, a six-pack of "potty sacks," a bag of dry dogwood and a couple of cans of dog food.
"It's a chancy thing, giving somebody a puppy, 'cause you done give them the best present they'll ever get" — he glanced at Dobbs and Brice — "thousand-dollar perfume and sparkly earrings notwithstanding. But puppies is a lot of work! You got to look after 'em and train 'em, clean their poop off the floor, brush 'em and get they shots and—"
"Oh, you'll show me how to do all that," Bailey said with exaggerated dismissal. "I have no idea what I'm getting into — ignorance is absolute bliss."
"It ain't all roses."
"Nothing in life is."
"What are you going to name it?" Dobbs asked.
She lifted the dog up and looked at its underside. "Name him. Any suggestions?"
"'Sparky the Wonder Dog' is already taken. In case you was wonderin'."
Though Bailey seemed reluctant to let the puppy out of her arms, she set it down again and it began to sniff its way around the room, growling with what little menace it could summon at the broom beside the fireplace and the kitchen trash basket.
"We've got birthday cake to eat," Dobbs announced. "I've been looking at this thing all night and I'm about to drown in my own spit." Two candles had been provided with the cake, in the shapes of a three and a one. Dobbs produced a packet of matches that said Grand Opening Nautilus Casino Hotel on the front and lit the candles.
"Make a wish," Brice said.
Emotions washed over her face again. He'd never known anybody who wore powerful emotions like hers as transparently as she did, or who was able to hide what she was feeling so completely at other times — leaving them all to wonder what she had suffered that she hadn't shared with them. He was sure Bailey was in the Witness Protection Program, though he'd never done any sniffing around to find out. And you didn't get in Witness Protection for watching a chili bake-off.
She leaned over to blow out the candles.
"Wishes are for tomorrow. Right here, right now. Life is good."
Then he saw a shadow flit across her face before she resolutely drew in a breath and puffed out the candles. She was thinking about the beautiful girl in the white gown, who might at that very moment be running for her life.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Bailey had been hearing music off and on ever since they got to her house. There had been so much going on while the guys where here — a dog! — that she had ignored it. But the big old house was more than just quiet when there was no activity. Somehow, the Watford House possessed silence as an entity, a thing that was more than just the absence of sound. Profound quiet … like she'd felt as she sat at the kitchen table three months ago with a pistol in her hand — that she had no idea how to reload — a gun that felt as cold as death.
It was quiet like that now. Except it wasn't. She could hear the music, but understood it was not breaking the quiet stillness of the house. The house was silent, the music was playing in her head, the background music at the casin
o, the canvas on which the atmosphere had been painted, the orchestrated Muzak remake of old rock music. Beatles hits. Simon and Garfunkel.
“Bridge Over Troubled Water” brought to mind Jocelyn Farrington, the pathetically psychotic mental patient they'd suspected might be the girl in the painting. Jocelyn, whose life they might accidentally have saved. The rodent-faced little hospital administrator would take great care to ensure she was not harmed.
The real girl from the painting … there was nobody looking after her.
“Yellow Submarine” morphed into Creedence Clearwater Revival. “Heard It Through the Grapevine.”
When she'd first heard the music in her head as she and Brice stood together at the front of the launch crossing the lake after the party, she'd thought she must be hearing the actual music. Sound carries a long way over water.
But it was still playing when she got into Brice's car. Softly, in the back of her head. A haunting melody.
She knew where it was coming from then but she'd resolutely pushed such thoughts out of her mind. The guys had tried to help her come up with a name for the dog — Ace, Casper, Bandit/Buddy/Boomer, Scout, Simba, Yoda and Ziggy and two dozen others. Droolious Caesar had been T.J.'s lone contribution. And as they bandied names back and forth, in the background she distinctly heard the clanging of a bell, the kind that sounded when the lights flashed on top of the slot machines for a winner. She hadn't mentioned it. Or that she had gotten a strong whiff of a woman's perfume at the same time.
Both faded.
Now that she was alone in the house … No, not alone. BUND was here. That was the acronym Dobbs had come up with to use as a space holder until she found a name she liked. Bailey's Un-Named Dog. She wasn't going to call the little fluff ball that for long, of course, but Baby Dog, which had been her first gushing response, would have to be replaced by an acceptable moniker as soon as possible. The poor little thing had to have a name!
