Dangerous Passage

by Lisa Harris

  The voices replayed over and over in her mind. If you try to escape, we will kill you. And do you know what the police do to undocumented workers?

  “Are you all right, Malaya?”

  Malaya managed a smile for Teo. “Let’s not tell your mother about the police, okay? You know how they’ve told you never to answer the door. She might get angry with you. And neither of us want your mother angry.”

  The boy’s eyes widened. She hated scaring him, but what choice did she have?

  “Are you hungry? I think it’s time for a snack.”

  Teo nodded, his smile back. She’d learned quickly that a few sugary treats went a long way in getting him to do what she wanted.

  “I think there are some cookies left. Why don’t you grab a couple and color for a while.”

  Malaya wanted to learn English, but no English was spoken to her in this house except for what Teo said to her when they were alone. She’d convinced him that it would be their secret game, her trying to pick up words and phrases. One day they would surprise his parents.

  Except she knew their reaction wouldn’t be one of surprise. It would be one of anger. But she didn’t plan to end up like Tala.

  Malaya held the card the police had given her. She should throw it away. If Teo’s mother found it, she would want to know where it came from. She could burn it, but if Teo found out, he was bound to ask questions and tell his mother.

  She peeked through the window. She couldn’t see the man and woman with their badges anymore, but she couldn’t help but wonder, why this neighborhood? Had they somehow linked Tala back to this neighborhood and Malaya? Could Tala have lived in this neighborhood and Malaya hadn’t known it? But how could she know? She’d been kept isolated and the rules had been clear. Clean and cook during the day, and keep Teo occupied. She wasn’t allowed to go out or use the phone or answer the door. The beatings she’d received had been enough to remind her they were serious.

  Not that it mattered. Who would she talk to if she did run away? If the police were after her, and she couldn’t communicate with the outside world, there was nowhere to run.

  “Malaya?”

  She spun around, sliding the card into her pocket. Mrs. Chu stood in the middle of the kitchen, her face etched with a scowl. Malaya’s heart pounded. How had she missed the sound of the garage door opening?

  “Why are you just standing there? I’m going upstairs to rest. I expect dinner on the table by six.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Fatigue swept over her. Sixteen-plus hours of work a day, sleeping on a mat in a corner of the garage. Two days ago, Mr. Chu had beaten her for breaking a dish and left a bruise on her rib cage where Teo wouldn’t see it. Most of the time they left her alone, because they knew that threats were just as effective as physical abuse. She knew what they could do.

  Malaya began chopping vegetables. Teo sat quietly at the end of the bar, eating his snack and coloring. She scooted the cutting board closer so she could see what he was doing.

  “What are you coloring, Teo?”

  He held up a picture of a racecar and started describing it in Vietnamese.

  “In English, Teo.” She lowered her voice. “Tell me the words in English.”

  “This is a car. This car goes very fast. Very far.”

  “Car. A fast car.”

  A car that could travel very far. Back to another world? Longing swept over her as she cut the rest of the carrots and tossed them into the salad bowl. She wished she were home, watching her mother fix dinner in their small kitchen while their father entertained them with stories of what had happened at work that day. Laughter around the dinner table had been as abundant as the rice growing in the surrounding fields. They had thought they were giving her a chance to better her life. Instead, she’d become a prisoner.

  But what if there were a way out?

  Malaya started chopping harder and dismissed the thought.

  Her gaze shifted briefly to the front door. She slid her hand inside her pocket and felt for the card again. There had been a hint of kindness in the woman’s eyes. Malaya might not have understood anything the woman had said, but the card she’d given her held a phone number. What if she heard her story? That she’d been told she would have all the necessary papers. That her family had paid the required fee to bring her here. What if she told her what they had done to her? How she didn’t want to be here. Wasn’t America supposed to be the land of freedom and opportunity?

  What if the woman understood?

  Tala’s face surfaced, and for a moment, Malaya thought she was going to be physically ill. She stepped back from the counter, her hands shaking.

  “Are you okay, Malaya?”

  She nodded, eyes closed until the nausea passed.

  Her thoughts were foolish. The police were not an option. Running was not an option. Praying for a miracle hadn’t worked.

  But she would find a way out. Somehow.

  19

  Hearing the words “Mama just fired the caterer” couldn’t have come at a worse time. This morning the DA had dropped charges against Philips and released him. The rest of Avery’s day had been a string of long, unproductive dead ends and frustration, and now the high hopes she’d had that everything was running smoothly for tonight’s party were effectively dashed.

  Avery hurried into the large rectangular reception hall that could hold two hundred guests comfortably and forced herself to take a deep, calming breath. It didn’t work. With barely an hour until the party started, she’d spent the entire twenty-minute drive wondering how in the world she was going to have time to save the party, run home and change, and be ready for Jackson to pick her up at six.

  The rivalry between Doris Lincoln and Claire Hunt was legendary. Or at least it had been. Aunt Doris had left behind petty rivalries to become one of Atlanta’s top caterers. It was Mama who had changed into someone Avery hardly knew anymore. And for all of Avery’s experience in fixing things, she’d discovered that sometimes even her best efforts weren’t enough.

  She glanced at her watch. Fifty-eight minutes and counting. She’d never make it.

  Inside the hall, she wove her way past round tables covered with white cloths and gold trim. They matched the black-and-gold shimmering centerpieces that were just masculine enough that her father wouldn’t raise his eyebrow when he saw them. The head table held pictures of Thomas Hunt throughout his career, from rookie cop to captain of the precinct. Despite her father’s avoidance of cameras, they’d been able to gather a glowing testimony of forty years of service.

  Leave it to her mother. Everything was perfect.

  Or so she’d thought until her sister’s frantic phone call.

  Emily entered the hall from one of the side doors. “Avery, I’m so glad you came.”

  Avery drew in another breath. “I managed to get away, but honestly, Em, I don’t have time to deal with a family emergency right now.”

  Avery took in her sister’s very vogue, very vintage party dress she’d probably picked up at some suburban thrift shop. On her, the deep purple fabric with its fitted waist and flared skirt looked fabulous. So classic. So Emily.

  She, on the other hand, was still wearing her semi-stylish gray slacks with a matching jacket that covered her Glock, and a pair of very functional shoes. Sensible maybe, but not exactly party attire. And it certainly wasn’t what she intended to wear on her third date with Jackson. Yet, somehow, she was supposed to work on leads in order to track down a killer, solve a family crisis, and still manage to find time to go home and change into the party dress she’d bought last month on a rare shopping trip.

  The way things were going, she had no idea how that was going to happen.

  She tugged on the open front of her jacket. “As you can see, I’m still officially on duty with a murder investigation going on and certainly not ready for the party. So please tell me that I misunderstood what you said and that Mama didn’t fire Aunt Doris.”

  Emily grabbed Avery
’s arm and headed for the kitchen. “Oh, you heard correctly.”

  “How did this happen? No one in their right mind fires the caterer an hour before the party starts.”

  “I tried to talk sense into her, Avery, but Mama won’t listen to me. Guests are going to start arriving soon, and if we don’t negotiate some sort of truce between the two of them, there will be no party for Daddy. Or at least nothing for our guests to eat, and somehow I don’t think that’s going to go over very well.”

  “What do you want me to do, Emily? This isn’t a murder investigation—not yet anyway—it’s more like a hostage situation, with tonight’s menu on the line.”

  “The biggest question is, how are we going to explain the situation to the guests if things aren’t worked out in the next hour?”

  Avery hesitated in front of the swinging door leading into the kitchen. “If this party is so important to Mama, how did it ever get to this point?”

  “They got in a heated argument, and before I could calm either of them down, Aunt Doris started loading the food back into her van. She’s in there right now, sending her workers home and taking back the food they brought.”

  Avery should have known it would end in disaster. Only her mother would have the gall to fire the caterer—family or not—minutes before her father’s retirement party. Putting her mother and Aunt Doris in the same room had clearly been a recipe for calamity.

  “Tell me exactly what happened.”

  “All I know is that Daddy showed up and started talking to Aunt Doris. Mama accused Aunt Doris of flirting—which, in Mama’s defense, she was.” Emily lowered her voice. “After three divorces, I think Aunt Doris is as jealous over Mama’s ability to keep her man as Mama is over the fact that Aunt Doris is a successful businesswoman. Needless to say, in the end, they both said a few things they shouldn’t have.”

  A crash sounded in the kitchen.

  There was no use denying the inevitable. Avery took a deep breath and strode into the industrial-sized kitchen, quickly assessing the situation. Both women looked at the door and froze.

  Mama stood in the middle of the room, balancing a three-tiered cake in front of her. Aunt Doris stood over a dropped silver tray of tartlets that had smeared chocolate and peppermint across the tiled floor and her white shoes.

  Trying to compose her thoughts, Avery eyed a serving cart filled with savory tarts, shrimp, and mini quiches, and felt her stomach grumble. Lunch had been hours ago. She found herself debating whether she should pull out her gun for emphasis or simply grab one of the quiches and squelch her appetite.

  She opted for the authoritative voice she used on suspects trying to get away from her. “Mama, please set the cake down on the counter before you drop it.”

  Mama hesitated, then surprisingly, complied. “She’s threatening to take my cake.”

  “Aunt Doris, will you excuse my mother and me for a moment?” Avery held up her hand. “But stay in the kitchen . . . please.”

  Avery led her mama to the other side of the room, out of earshot of Aunt Doris. “The party starts in less than an hour. What is going on?”

  “She made a pass at your father.”

  “I’m sure she was just being friendly.”

  “Trust me, she was being more than just friendly.”

  Avery watched out of the corner of her eye while Aunt Doris began wiping the chocolate from her shoes. At least she wasn’t making a run for it. Not yet, anyway. “Mama, you need to apologize.”

  “Apologize? You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m sorry, but if we’re going to come to some sort of truce in the next few minutes, someone is going to have to swallow her pride. This is Daddy’s retirement party. I know you want it to be special. You’ve put so much work into it, and this is not how you want things to end. Please apologize, and I’ll try to work something out before the entire party is ruined. The two of you used to be friends—”

  “‘Used to’ being the key words here. I’m not going to apologize, Avery.” Her mother looked up at her. Fine lines around her eyes had deepened into dark shadows. Her mother had aged a decade in the past year. “You should have seen the way she looked at your father, putting on her southern charm and airs like she owned him, not just a catering business.”

  “Mother, you’re family. Don’t you think this feud has gone on long enough? I might never know exactly what happened between the two of you, but I do know that you used to be best friends.”

  Her mother’s gaze shifted to the floor. Avery had no doubt that if she had her way, the secret would go with her and Aunt Doris to the grave. “I’d like to see you talk some sense into her, Avery.”

  “Fine. I will.”

  Avery approached the large metal island, avoiding the smeared filling and stopping just long enough to pop a bite-sized quiche into her mouth. She allowed her taste buds to appreciate the cheesy bite, swallowed, then faced her mother’s longtime friend turned adversary.

  Medium frame, slightly plump, too-heavy makeup, perfect upswept hair—thanks to L’Oreal’s Café Noir coloring—with an extra dash of southern charm thrown into the mix. Charm that curdled when you got on her bad side. “Aunt Doris. I understand that there’s been a disagreement between you and my mother, but—”

  “Darling, your mother’s been difficult for as long as I can remember, but lately . . . the woman has become impossible.”

  “I understand that she fired you, but with less than an hour until the dinner, it seems prudent for both of you to come to some sort of truce.”

  “She fired me? She didn’t fire me. I quit. And it all boils down to jealousy.”

  “Jealousy?”

  “I’ve tried to get along with that woman, but it would take Mother Teresa herself to forgive and forget at this point.”

  Avery took in a deep breath. Rule One: find out what the hostage taker wants.

  “Aunt Doris, I know that my mother can be a bit . . . demanding at times, but we need to come to a compromise.” Avery managed to swallow any remaining pride. “Tell me what you need to resolve this situation.”

  “Honey, there is nothing you can do to rectify this situation after what your mama said.”

  Rule Two: establish goodwill. Ask for concession.

  If it worked in hostage negotiation, surely it would work between two grown women.

  “How about this. If I promise that she’ll stay out of the kitchen during tonight’s party and allow you to run the catering side without any interference from her, would you agree to stay?”

  “And why should I?”

  Rule Three: make the hostage taker realize that noncooperation is impracticable.

  “Think of it this way. You don’t want word getting around that you walked off a job . . . or that you were fired, for that matter.”

  Aunt Doris set down the tray of pink shrimp sitting in a ring of ice she’d been holding. “I will need some sort of . . . compensation.”

  Rule Four: never allow a hostage taker to get the upper hand.

  Avery tried to ignore the rhythmic pounding in her temples. She was going to have to scratch that rule for now.

  Rule Five: ask questions.

  “How much?”

  “I will need a 10 percent increase in my bill for . . . for emotional strain.”

  Emotional strain? Really. Aunt Doris always had been somewhat of a drama queen.

  “Fine.”

  “Now listen. I’ve spent the past twenty years building up my business. I won’t have Claire Hunt—family or not—bring it down in one night, especially over a falling-out that has its roots in a college homecoming ceremony.”

  Now there was a clue worth following up on. Southern rivalry might be fine on the football field, but not in the kitchen.

  “I understand. Do we have a deal?”

  “You’re not going to make me regret this, are you?”

  Avery stooped to pick up the fallen tartlet tray and set it on the counter. She was already regretting it. “No ma�
�am.”

  Now to face Mama again.

  “Mama. Aunt Doris has agreed to stay on one condition.” She’d deal with the other condition later, even if it meant the tacked-on fee came out of her own pocket. “I need you to leave the kitchen . . . for the rest of the evening.”

  “Why would I do that? That woman will ruin everything—”

  “Mama, please, I don’t want to hear a word about ‘that woman.’ She used to be your best friend. She’ll stay if you stay out of the kitchen.”

  “I will not—”

  “Mama.” Avery felt her teeth grind. “You need to be out there with the guests anyway, not worrying about whether or not there’s enough shrimp or ice.”

  Mama took a step forward, but Aunt Doris had already slipped out the back door, presumably to bring in the rest of the food she’d whisked away earlier. “So on top of trying to steal my husband, she’s skimped on the shrimp as well?”

  “No, Mama, of course not. It was just an example.”

  Avery’s phone went off, saving her from further explanations. She glanced at the caller ID before taking the call.

  Jackson.

  The way things were going, their third date was liable to turn into another disaster. Her simple black dress was still hanging in her closet. She’d never make it.

  It rang a fourth time and she answered the call, hoping she didn’t sound out of breath.

  “Jackson . . . hi.”

  “I had to stop by the precinct to drop some things off, and they told me you left in a hurry. Some family emergency. Is everything okay?”

  Avery decided to play it down. “A few last-minute issues regarding tonight’s party have come up, but I think we’ve been able to sort them out.”

  “You’re not going to have to cancel on me again, are you?”

  She didn’t miss the hint of concern in his voice.

  “No, of course not, it’s just that . . .”

  She could have him meet her at the party.

  No. She could still make this work.

  “Listen, I am running late, but I’m on my way home now to change.”

  “Great, I’ll pick you up at six then.”