Harriet discreetly closed the door and offered Anya a seat. “So, you’re Mr. Sergio’s girlfriend?”
“Yes, I am…I was,” she corrected, dropping her eyes. The idea that she’d never see Sergio again…that she had to speak of him in past tense still hadn’t fully sunk in. “I’m not going to beat around the bush. I came to give you something.” She pulled an envelope from her bag. The envelope was stuffed with thousands of dollars. “There’s more than enough money here to cover sending Paloma’s body back to Santo Domingo, to pay for her funeral, and for round trip tickets for you to fly back with her body. And I’d appreciate if you’d give the remaining money to her family back on the island.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Harriet said.
“It’s what Sergio would have wanted.”
“I knew his mother. Mr. Sergio was generous like she was. They’re together, now…in heaven. His father, eh, I’m not so sure where he ended up. He wasn’t a nice man. But Mr. Sergio had his mother’s kind heart.”
“I hope he’s in heaven,” Anya said in a voice barely above a whisper.
“Of course, he is. The good Lord has already forgiven his sins.”
Anya left Harriet’s house feeling comforted. The average woman would be nervous about driving across country in a car that had millions stashed in the trunk, but Anya felt safe and protected. No harm would come to her. Her two guardian angels—her mom and Sergio—were looking out for her.
• • •
After driving 644 miles without stopping to sleep, Anya arrived in Philly, and checked into a hotel. She could feel her eyes trying to close as she made her way to the elevator with the bellhop trailing behind her, pushing her assorted pieces of luggage on a gold baggage carrier.
A very pretty young woman, who appeared around Anya’s age—no more than five years older—got on the elevator. “I must have missed your phone call,” the woman said to the handsome bellhop flirtatiously.
“Oh, I didn’t think you were serious,” he responded, blushing.
“I never kid around. When I see something I want, I make it very clear.”
“Cool. I’ll give you a call.” He looked embarrassed for Anya to overhear him making a hookup with a guest of the hotel.
Minding her business, Anya searched her phone as if expecting a text from Sergio. Glimpsing old text messages was so heartbreaking, Anya closed her phone and stuffed it in her bag. She glanced up and found herself looking into the face of the woman who was flirting with the bellhop.
Not only was she stunningly beautiful, but she looked eerily familiar. Anya felt a chill so strong, her body shuddered. The old folks said someone was walking on your grave when you felt a sudden and powerful cold chill. The woman had a hostile vibe and she defiantly stared Anya down, forcing Anya to break her gaze and look away.
She was relieved when the elevator reached the twelfth floor, and the strange lady sashayed through the sliding doors, head held high. Though she was petite in stature, she walked with the air of a much taller person. In fact, she gave the impression that she was quite fond of herself. Putting it bluntly, the bitch had an ego problem.
In her room, Anya kicked off her shoes and collapsed on the bed. Too tired to take off her clothes, she got under the covers, fully dressed. Before drifting off to sleep, she pictured the woman from the elevator again, and wondered why she seemed so familiar. She racked her brain trying to figure out why she felt so connected to her, but fell asleep before she could figure out the answer.
• • •
Refreshed after sleeping twelve hours straight, Anya contacted Jonathan Whitman, the private detective she’d hired to find her father. “I’m in Philly and since I’m in such close proximity, I was wondering if there’s anything I can do to help you with the search for my father. Do you have any leads? Are there any homeless shelters that I could visit?”
“Actually, I was going to give you a call today,” Whitman said.
“Really? Do you have news?” she asked hopefully.
“Yes, but I’m afraid it’s not what you want to hear.”
She pressed a hand against her heart. “Oh, no, don’t tell me he’s dead,” she blurted with apprehension creeping into her voice.
“I’m sorry. He passed away several years ago,” Whitman said.
“No. No. No,” she cried. “What happened; how’d he die?” It was devastating to imagine her father slumping over dead on a park bench or dying alone on the streets while living inside a cardboard box. The imagery of him being an anonymous derelict that was seemingly unwanted and unloved, with no family members even claiming his body, caused her unbearable grief.
“He had lung cancer that had gone untreated. He collapsed in the streets and spent his remaining months in a very nice hospice facility in Pottstown, Pennsylvania.”
“Pottstown? How’d he end up there?”
“Who knows? The homeless tend to move around a great deal. On a brighter note, the facility kept his personal effects and I was going to have them mailed to you, but since you’re in the area, perhaps you’d like to pick up his things.”
“Sure, I’d love to,” Anya said, wiping away tears with the back of her hand.
“Hold on for a sec while I look for the director’s name and the phone number of the facility.”
Placed on hold, grief took over, and Anya broke down sobbing again. Her poor father had died with no one who loved him by his side. He must have felt so terribly afraid and unloved. I would have been there to hold your hand, Daddy, if only I’d known where you were.
Whitman returned to the phone and gave Anya the contact information for the hospice facility. Before hanging up, he extended his condolences. Tearfully, Anya thanked him. She set the phone down, and stared into space.
My father’s gone, and I have absolutely no one. All the money I’ve acquired means nothing now that I can’t share it with him.
For the next two days, Anya stayed in her room, having meals delivered as she shut herself off and mourned alone.
CHAPTER 37
Brick had the foresight to stop at Home Depot and pick up sheets of plastic to store and preserve the bundles of money that Misty wanted to hoard in a storage unit. He’d never seen so much cash in his life.
“Isn’t it beautiful, Brick?” Misty gestured to the covered money stacks. “That money represents the power I’ve always wanted. There’s close to three million right there, and there’s more to come. I have an appointment with some guy in Mexico. He wants me to heal his wife of cancer. I told him I wasn’t sure if I could cure cancer, but he’s willing to pay me a fortune merely for trying. Isn’t that something?”
Misty gazed at Brick with a proud expression. Brick grunted a sound that was supposed to express agreement, but worrisome thoughts plagued his mind.
He imagined that most billionaires made their money from being ruthless, and Misty could possibly be in over her head without even realizing it.
“You should be careful in your dealings with those people. Rich folks love money even more than you do. They’re feeling vulnerable while they or their loved ones are unhealthy, but who’s to say how they’ll react if someone dies after one of your healings?”
Misty waved her hand through the air. “This money is proof that I’m the bomb-dot-com, but you love being negative.”
“That’s not true. I only want you to be careful.”
“I am being careful; that’s why I hired you as my bodyguard.”
• • •
The preschool that Brick selected for his son was located in the Society Hill section of the city and was near his work site. The annual tuition of twenty-eight thousand dollars was a drop in the bucket for Misty. Of the many perks, the elite school offered early exposure to foreign languages, such as Latin, German, and French. The previous year, the children had successfully built a robot, and that was something Brick felt his son would love getting involved in. There were three libraries, four art studios, and five music studios. The kid
s were urged to learn an instrument. In addition to academic and fine arts, there were a variety of special programs for children including gourmet cooking and leadership classes.
Despite her ulterior motives, Misty had come up with a fantastic idea. Getting Thomasina on board with the idea of enrolling their son in nursery school was a lot easier than Brick had expected. He led her to believe that part of the tuition was being covered by his vague lottery winnings and the other portion was a scholarship the school offered for minorities.
The first day he dropped his son off at school, Brick felt a tremendous sense of pride. His son was getting an opportunity that he could never have dreamed of. Who knows where life would have taken Brick if he’d had caring parents and had been provided with a quality education?
Although the other parents were wearing business attire and carrying briefcases when they dropped their children off in the morning, Brick, dressed in work coveralls and carrying a lunch tote, didn’t feel out of place in the least. He figured his money was as good as theirs, and his son deserved the same privileges as any other kid.
At the end of the week, when Misty reminded Brick that she needed him to accompany her on the trip to Mexico, Brick readily agreed. He had no intention of relying on Misty to pay Little Baron’s tuition year after year, and he was eager to earn more money to put aside for next year’s school fee.
• • •
The trip to Tijuana, Mexico via a luxury jet could have been pleasant and relaxing had it not been for disgruntled and inebriated Gavin Stallings. Brick had no idea what dude’s problem was, but he seemed to be muttering profanities under his breath as he guzzled down shots of tequila. Hearing Misty’s name mumbled and also seeing Gavin casting angry looks toward the jet’s master bedroom, where Misty was getting in her beauty rest, it appeared to Brick that she was the target of the man’s drunken ramblings.
What had Misty done to piss off Gavin? Brick wondered. He’d have to speak to Misty about his suspicions after she woke up. In the meantime, he’d keep a watchful eye on Gavin, and he wouldn’t hesitate to jack him up, if he displayed any sign of violent behavior toward Misty.
Upon arrival at their destination, Gavin was ordered to stay behind at the hotel while Brick and Misty were chauffeured to the alternative medical center where the Mendelsohns were waiting for them.
Compared to the abject poverty of the neighborhoods and the people he’d glimpsed through the darkened window of the limo he’d ridden in, the facility was a complete contrast. Surprisingly, the facility looked more like a rich resort than a medical center. Misty and Brick were escorted to Mrs. Mendelsohn’s private suite of rooms by smiling professionals who seemed eager to please.
They were met by a grim-faced Jacob Mendelsohn in the living room area. “She’s not doing well today,” he said, rubbing his forehead anxiously. “She can’t keep any food down…” His voice trailed off as he shook his head grimly. “These alternative treatments worked for a while, but my wife’s going down fast.” He gazed at Misty with watery eyes. “I need you to do whatever you can to save my wife. She’s only forty-three years old; that’s too young to die.”
“Okay, well, I have a policy,” Misty said, causing Brick to cringe.
Please don’t let her bring up money right now while this man is in despair.
“I don’t lay-on hands until I’ve been paid in full and in cash,” she said in a tone that didn’t contain an ounce of compassion.
Damn, his wife is dying, Misty. Have a heart! Mortified by Misty’s callousness, Brick’s gaze shot downward.
“Sure. I…I…have the money right here,” Mendelsohn stammered as he pointed to a large, zippered piece of luggage.
Misty motioned for Brick to check the bag. Brick wanted to offer the grief-stricken man a thousand apologies for Misty’s coldblooded attitude, but having to act out his role of hardened bodyguard, he maintained an impassive expression as he strode across the room and examined the cash that was stacked inside the suitcase.
Since getting involved in Misty’s healing venture, he’d learned to calculate amounts of money by eyeballing stacks of large denominations. “It’s all here,” he concluded in a serious tone.
“I’m going to take you to see my wife, Elaine.” He led them through a kitchenette and a small dining area to get to the bedroom. In the dining area, two teenagers sat at the table looking forlorn.
“These are my kids,” Jacob said, without slowing his stride. Brick was relieved that Jacob hadn’t bothered to make proper introductions. He doubted he could look those kids in the eyes.
Inside the wife’s official hospital room, Brick was overcome by the showing of love that was demonstrated by an extensive array of flower bouquets, and what appeared to be over a hundred get well cards were atop tables and thumbtacked to every available wall space.
Elaine Mendelsohn was nothing more than skin and bones, Brick noted. She looked much older than her actual age. Her room had an odd smell that Brick assumed was the overwhelming scent of the flowers combined with the scent of impending death. Had it not been for the slight rise and fall of her narrow chest, Brick would have assumed Elaine was already dead. He didn’t believe there was anything Misty could do for the cancer-ridden woman and he intended to strongly suggest she get over her greed and return Jacob Mendelsohn’s money. It was the right thing to do.
Scowling, Misty approached the bed where the sick woman lay with her eyes closed, and Brick could tell from Misty’s expression that she was creeped out by the woman who looked like a breathing corpse. With her aversion to anyone who wasn’t glamorous, let alone people who were deathly ill, Misty was definitely in the wrong field, Brick surmised.
“She’s been sleeping a lot for the past few days,” Jacob explained.
Misty pulled back the covers and then to Brick’s and Jacob’s utter shock, she lifted up the woman’s nightgown, exposing an adult diaper.
“What’re you doing?” Jacob demanded.
“The cancer’s in her vagina, right? So, I’m going straight to the source.”
“She has ovarian cancer,” he corrected with annoyance.
“Same thing,” Misty said with a shoulder shrug. She undid the tape that held the diaper in place and Brick immediately averted his gaze.
“Is this necessary?” Jacob asked in a raised voice.
“It can’t hurt,” Misty responded as she covered Elaine Mendelsohn’s pubis with her palm. She kept her palm in place for what seemed like an unbearably long time to Brick. Never had he felt as uptight and uncomfortable as he felt in that moment. He’d have to figure out another way to pay his son’s tuition. Being an accomplice to Misty conning this desperate family was not what he’d signed up for.
After removing her healing hand, Misty retaped the diaper. A few moments later, Elaine’s eyelids began to flutter, and finally opened, revealing vibrant brown eyes.
“Jacob,” she said in a surprisingly strong voice. “Who are these people?”
“Uh, they’re friends of mine. How’re you feeling, honey?”
“Hungry. In fact, I’m starving,” she said, struggling to sit up.
“Do you think you could hold some soup down?” Jacob asked, looking surprised.
“I have the strongest urge for a big plate of spaghetti or maybe Chinese food,” she said with happy laughter.
“We’re in Mexico, remember, hon? I don’t think we’ll find those dishes on the lunch menu here.” Jacob clasped his wife’s hands and kissed her on the cheek.
“What kind of treatment are they using on me? I honestly feel like I could get out of this bed and run a marathon.” Elaine laughed heartily.
Jacob glanced at Misty and mouthed the words, Thank you!
CHAPTER 38
Anya’s father’s worldly goods included a battered wallet that contained his Pennsylvania identification and appointment cards for the city health clinic. But he’d left behind a gift that she’d cherish for the rest of her life—a small photo album with pictures o
f her parents and her, depicting happy times together. Some pictures brought back wonderful memories and others were taken too far back for her to recall. But seeing her parents together, smiling and happy, gave her a warm feeling inside. They were together now in the afterlife, and one day she’d join them. Until then, at least she had some proof that she’d once been the cherished child of loving parents.
• • •
Brick wanted to come clean with Thomasina and tell her about Misty’s miraculous healing capabilities and her ability to walk, but Thomasina had so much animosity toward her daughter, he doubted if she’d be happy about the turn of events. If she found out that Misty was earning millions of tax-free dollars, she was liable to alert the IRS, and so Brick refrained from bringing up Misty’s name.
After returning from Mexico, he was suffering from jet lag and was running a little late to pick up Little Baron for nursery school. When he arrived, he was dismayed to find his son dressed preppy-style in a button-down shirt, a vest, Dockers, and even a bow tie. “Why you got him looking like he’s on his way to Oxford University or somewhere?” he asked Thomasina.
“He’s going to that fancy school, and I figured he should look the part,” she responded.
“The other kids don’t wear designer clothes. They dress in regular play clothes.”
“My son is not any regular kid. He’s taking leadership classes with a bunch of white kids and I want him to stand out. He’s gonna have to learn to work twice as hard and to dress to impress.”
“You got my little man looking crazy. He’s gonna stand out like a sore thumb, looking like he’s ready to play polo or a game of croquet,” Brick said sarcastically, and then removed the bow tie and tossed it on the coffee table. “We’re running late and there’s no time for him to change, but in the future, dress him in clothes that he can rough-house in. Dressing him like a little scholar will make him a target for bullies. Is that what you want?”
“No, but I think he looks suave and handsome,” Thomasina said stubbornly.
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