"I've been working and wanted to give you an update."
I felt that lovely beach feeling disappear. It didn't seem quite fair since I was still in my bathing suit, covered with sand.
"Wow, working on a Sunday. What did you find out?" I asked.
He sighed. "Not as much as I'd hoped. I couldn't trace the text messages Malcolm got because they came from a burner phone. My tech guy is still trying to trace the e-mails, but I did learn somethin' interesting."
"What's that?"
"I tracked down the money deposited in Malcolm's account."
"And…?" I could tell he was enjoying the moment.
"You're not gonna believe it, Jamie."
"Well, are you ever going to tell me?"
"The money came from Broward County," he said.
"Broward County what?"
"Broward County government, Jamie, like the county, itself."
I was becoming more confused by the minute. "Do you mean someone hacked into their bank account and stole the money?"
"Nope. Malcolm Armstrong was being paid by the county. He worked for them."
Chapter 20
"So, then he lied to you," I said, flatly.
"No, he didn't," Duke answered.
Maybe I'd been in the sun too long, but Duke wasn't making any sense. I was still driving on U.S. 1, stuck behind a car of Canadian snowbirds taking a leisurely Sunday drive. I was dying to get home and jump in the shower; the dried sand was starting to itch.
"But he told you he didn't know who hired him," I replied. "Look, you don't have to stick up for him just because he's a P.I., Duke. People lie all the time. You said so, yourself."
"And I stand by my words, Jamie, but our boy Malcolm didn't have a clue. The money came from Broward County alright, but it was routed through a bunch of other accounts to look like travel expenses. Someone covered their tracks pretty damn good and it's gonna take me a while to sort it out."
"Now I get it," I said, and then added, "Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive."
If a degree in English Lit was good for anything, it was for quoting Sir Walter Scott. And making obscure literary references was a great party trick--if you ever got invited to a party, that is.
"Don't go gettin' all Shakespearean on me," Duke said. "I think that Renaissance Festival must've affected your brain."
"Oh, Duke," I teased, "That wasn't Shakespeare, but if you want some Shakespeare, here's a quote you can relate to: 'The course of true love never did run smooth’."
He groaned. "Time to say good-bye, Ms. Esquire."
"Thanks for everything, Duke, you're the bomb!"
"Course I am," he said. "Assumin' that's a good thing."
***
At home, fresh from a shower with my hair wrapped in a towel, I analyzed this new information. It seemed logical to think that if I-C-U had hired Malcolm and paid him with Broward County's money then I-C-U probably worked for the county. Who else would want Kip to 'back off' if not a county employee? But I-C-U would have to be high-ranking, or at least work in payroll, to pull off such a complex accounting trick. I was betting he was a person of authority, a true megalomaniac. Hiring a P.I. to spy on a fellow employee and then making the county pay for it took some serious chutzpah. Add in Malcolm's suspicious death and you were looking at a potential sociopath--a sociopath that I was trying to antagonize, for some reason. Wary but curious, I checked my e-mail for a response from I-C-U but there was nothing, no bounce-backs either. I was relieved and also oddly disappointed.
I had a decision to make--should I tell Kip what I'd learned? On the one hand, he was in the best position to snoop around from inside the system. On the other hand, he would probably tip I-C-U off by investigating. Surely, someone as smart as I-C-U would have safeguards in place. Telling Kip to look for I-C-U would be like telling the babysitter the call is coming from inside the house. You just know it won't end well. Waiting a few days seemed like a prudent course of action. Call me selfish, but I didn't want my boyfriend confronting a sociopath.
It was time to finish my assignment, so I called all four Party City stores, but nobody remembered an unusual jester. As one clerk explained it, ‘Ma’am, this is South Florida, we see strange people every day’.
Chapter 21
It was Monday morning and I had an uncontested divorce scheduled at the courthouse. The hearing was short, but bittersweet. It's the rare client who doesn't get choked up when their old life is officially pronounced over and, because it's poignant and sad, it always makes me a little emotional, too. Witnessing this milestone in another person's life is a big responsibility, not to be taken lightly. That's why, if I had my way, I'd do nothing but adoptions every day, snapping pictures of each newly-minted family with a smile on my face that never faded. But that was just wishful thinking on my part.
I was working through lunch, catching up on paperwork (not real paper, we had to e-file now) when the receptionist buzzed to say I had a visitor, a Ms. Ana Maria Suarez. There was exactly one reason for Ana Maria to be there--she'd received a letter from Immigration. Instinctively, I felt like it had to be good news, why else would she drive across town on her lunch hour? Then again, if it were bad news, she would want to tell me in person. She knew how I'd been searching for my father since I was a kid. And now a piece of paper (real paper) posed the only barrier to my happiness. I braced myself for the worst and then ushered in the kindest woman on the planet. Although it felt like I'd known Ana Maria forever, it had actually been less than a year.
A petite woman with wavy blonde hair and a broad smile, Ana Maria had felt like family right from the start. I suppose she was my step-mother but since my parents had never married, that didn't seem quite right. She was more like a surrogate mother, always ready with an encouraging word or a hug if I needed one. My own mother would've loved her.
We kissed once on each cheek, a custom I'd found awkward at first, but now I thought it was sweet. It was impossible to read her mood; I saw no wild elation, no dark depression either. She was as calm and serene as ever. What was up with that?
"Hola, cariño," she said with a little smile. "I'm so happy you're here. I took a chance."
"What a nice surprise! I'm glad you did," I said. We sat down in the wingback chairs in front of my desk. "So, any news?"
Her brow furrowed and my heart skipped a beat. She pulled a sealed letter from her oversized bag.
"I thought we should find out about your papi together."
I was clutching the arms of my chair the way I did when the dentist drilled my teeth. I jumped up and walked over to the window where I looked outside, but nothing registered. There was so much nervous energy coursing through my body that sparks would be flying off my skin soon.
Without turning around, I said, "You should open it, Ana Maria."
"Don't you want to do it, Jamie?"
"I can't," I said, my voice shaking.
I heard her rip it open and then only silence. I was afraid to look at her, but tears were already streaming down my face. I knew what it said.
Slowly, I turned towards Ana Maria.
She looked up from the letter. "Our petition was denied, mi amor."
Chapter 22
Why wasn't Ana Maria crying? She must've seen the confusion on my tear-streaked face.
"Jamie," she said gently, "Your father and I were expecting this, so we made a plan."
"What kind of plan could possibly fix this--?" I was going to say 'crushing disappointment', but I stopped myself.
Ana Maria walked over to the window and put her arms around me while I sobbed into her shoulder for several minutes. Then my inner voice said, Jamie, it's time to get a grip. So I did.
"I'm sorry I slobbered all over your work clothes," I said wanly, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand.
Ana Maria gave me a half-smile as she stroked my hair. "It's going to be okay, hija, you'll see."
"What's your plan, then?" I asked, trying to sound m
ore positive than I felt.
"I am moving to Nicaragua."
"What? But you can't be serious--" I backed away to study her face. She meant it.
"Not forever. Just as long as it takes to prove we have a true marriage. Then I can reapply for a visa for Guillermo."
I was feeling a bit shaky so I sat down again. There was a fog rolling through my brain and I couldn't think straight.
"How do you know that's why it was denied? What if it was for political reasons? Then your plan won't work no matter how long you stay in Nicaragua."
Ana Maria sat down next to me and took my hand in hers. Her eyes told me everything. I understood then that she had no choice, he was her husband and she wanted to be with him--even if she had to live in Nicaragua.
"When are you going?" I asked, breaking the silence between us.
"In six months. I want to help the shelter find a new director and I have a lot to do: sell my house, my furniture…" her voice cracked and her eyes grew misty.
"I'll help any way I can," I said. "And I'll go with you to Managua to settle you in. I need to see the old man, anyway." I said with a little smile. It was all I could muster.
Her face lit up with pleasure. "Thank-you, Jamie! And don't lose faith; I know we will all be together one day. I feel it in my heart."
I wasn't feeling it, myself, but I also wasn't ready to give up. I had six months to work on this problem--probably less if I wanted to keep Ana Maria from quitting her job and selling her house. Suddenly, I couldn't wait for Ana Maria to leave. I needed to call Grace and start brainstorming.
Chapter 23
I wished I could tell Grace what was going on with I-C-U, the lunatic jester, and poor, dead Malcolm--but I'd promised Kip I wouldn't discuss the situation with anyone except Duke. Speaking of Duke, I would've loved to tell Grace about the return of the one and only Candy Broussard, she of the famous billboard, but I couldn't do that either. After Candy's stunning revelation in the ladies' room, I already felt mean-spirited enough.
Anyway, none of that mattered at the moment because I needed to focus on my father's problem. Everything else was just a distraction.
I texted Grace: S.O.S. Re: INS! Can we talk?
After five minutes with no response, I put my phone down. As soon as I did, it rang. Grace to the rescue!
"Sounds like bad news," she said when I picked up.
"The worst, Gracie."
"That damn INS! What do they have against happy families?"
I briefed her on Ana Maria's plan to expatriate. After commiserating she asked, "Did they give a reason?"
"No, they did not."
"Well, there's your first problem," Grace said.
"Tell me about it. How can we find out why it was denied?" I asked.
"I can call my friend Greg in D.C. He's got connections at the State Department. He's the one who helped us locate your dad in the first place."
"That's why I love you," I said,
"Because I have friends in high places?" She laughed.
It felt like we were in law school again, working on a project together. I could hear computer keys clacking on her end of the phone and mine were clacking, too. The best thing about doing legal research was that it was now online, all of it. The next time you walk into a lawyer's office and see a wall full of books, know that they are just for show; you couldn't give those books away. In fact, ten years ago, Broward County built a big, beautiful library in the main courthouse and stocked it with every legal journal, treatise and case reporter series imaginable--right before everything went digital. I wish I had the money they spent on that boondoggle.
"I'm trying not to freak out," I said, "But if the petition was denied for political reasons, then there's no hope, right?" I'd just clicked on the INS website and was trying to navigate my way through it.
"I wouldn't say no hope…" Grace said.
"I don't want to think about that," I said, hastily. "Let's assume it was the marriage thing. From what I can see on the website, there's an appeal process for when a petition's been denied. You can also ask for a rehearing."
"Doesn't sound like the best way to go." Grace said. "Ana Maria's way is probably faster than that. Wait!" She sounded excited. "I think I found something."
"What is it?" I felt the tiniest glimmer of hope.
"I'm reading…okay, it looks like maybe you could petition for your dad. Hold on, there are three categories: legitimate children, legitimated children and illegitimate. Forget about the first one, but maybe you could be 'legitimated'."
"You mean, my dad could acknowledge me? Or do you mean I could sue him for paternity?" I snickered at that. Who better than a family law attorney to file a paternity action? It turned out I had the ideal education for suing my own father.
"Oh, that's disappointing," Grace said. "You had to be legitimated before your eighteenth birthday."
"Well," I said, "I'm not legitimate and I'm not legitimated, that leaves illegitimate, right? Sounds like me."
"Jamie, that won't work either," Grace said softly. "Your dad would have to be listed on your birth certificate."
"I guess it's possible," I said, "I don't remember ever seeing my birth certificate."
"That’s not enough. There has to be evidence that an emotional or financial bond existed between you and your father before you reached the age of twenty-one."
"There's my journal," I said. "When I was a kid, I used to write letters to my dad and tell him about my day, and what I was thinking. But there's nothing from him to me, no financial assistance either. I can't hold it against him; he didn't know I existed."
Grace sighed. I could almost picture her at her desk, flipping her dark hair off her shoulders and pushing her glasses up when she was done reading.
"If your parents weren't married, I think you're out of luck, my friend."
"I will never call anyone a bastard again," I said, with feeling.
"I can't promise the same," Grace said, laughing. "But I will call my friend Greg for you."
Chapter 24
If knowledge is power, then knowing why my dad's petition was denied would make me feel more powerful, or at least not as powerless. If nothing else, it was a step in the right direction. I just needed to be patient, which was clearly not my forte.
After I finished talking to Grace, I wrote some letters and then decided to knock off for the day. I hoped a jog through T.Y. Park would clear my buzzing head. My brain felt like a school bus full of rowdy kids, pushing, fighting, stealing each other's lunches--I don't know what the hell they were doing in there, but I wanted them to shut up and give me some peace. I guess that's why I don't drive a school bus.
I've found that physical exhaustion quells stress. Being stressed requires a high level of energy, energy which is no longer available to you after a heavy work-out. Just ask your pounding heart and burning lungs, they'll tell you all about it.
After my run, I drove the few blocks home, took a shower and threw a frozen dinner in the microwave. I fed the insistent Mr. Paws his smelly cat food while I held my nose. All was quiet--I hadn't heard from I-C-U, which was fine with me, but I also hadn't heard from Kip, which was less fine. I knew that he'd had a meeting with his boss about the Ren-Fest craziness and I was anxious to hear how it went. I called his cell, but it went straight to voicemail. Where was he?
I planted myself on the sofa to watch Jeopardy, followed by a re-run of Monk, and then turned off the TV. There were three things I still needed to do: order my birth certificate from the department of vital statistics; print a passport application, and call my dad via Skype. It was getting late, but Managua was two hours behind. To my relief, my dad had already spoken with Ana Maria, so we talked about the logistics of her move and my upcoming visit. I could tell he was putting on a good show for my sake and I tried to do the same for him, but I couldn't and, for the second time that day, I dissolved into a puddle of tears. After that, we did our best to comfort each other and then said good-night. I was g
etting ready for bed when Kip texted me.
Too late to come over? He asked.
It's okay, I replied. I'm still up.
Good, because I'm on your front porch.
I opened the door and there he was. His expression said it all.
"No offense, but you look like hell," I remarked. "Get in here, already."
"No offense," he said, "But you don't look so great either."
He came in and gave me a quick hug and then looked at me more intently.
"Hey babe--have you been crying?"
"Yeah, I just found out today that my dad's visa was denied."
"Oh, man! That's terrible." He pulled me close and I snuggled against his chest, one of the advantages of having a tall boyfriend.
"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked, concerned.
"No, Kip, I really don’t," I said. "I'm all talked out."
A look of relief crossed his face; I could see he already had enough on his mind. I took his hand and sat on the sofa, pulling him down with me.
"Why don't you tell me about your day, instead?" I suggested. "Can I get you something to eat?"
"I wouldn't say no to a drink." He sank into the sofa cushions and propped his feet up on the coffee table.
"Lemonade, or something stronger?" I called out from the kitchen.
"Lemonade's great, but if your hand slipped and splashed some vodka in it, I wouldn't send it back."
I set Kip's drink on top of a coaster, put a bowl of pretzels next to it and then sat down next to him.
"I'm ready," I said. "Tell me everything. How was your meeting?"
He took a big sip of his drink. "That really hits the spot, thanks for the drink."
"Quit stalling, I know all your tricks."
"Okay, here goes. I was supposed to have a meeting with my boss about the Ren-Fest, but it never happened."
"No meeting?"
"Oh yeah, there was a meeting alright, but not the one I thought we were having. This was more like an ambush. You wouldn't believe the pressure I'm under, Jamie. I don't know what to do." Kip looked worn out.
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