Baby Bunco

by Cosgrove, Julie B;

  Janie peered into her face. A glow lived there. “You two are getting kinda serious, aren’t you?”

  Betsy Ann’s cheeks reddened. “I think so. We’ve kissed.” She giggled. “A lot.”

  Ethel stood hands in the air. “TMI. Too much information. Let’s go visit folks.”

  ~*~

  For the first time in four years, the Bunco Biddies didn’t meet on Thursday. All were too wiped out from helping Mildred move into her new condo in the four-clustered units across the lane from Janie. They loaded her fridge with homemade meals so she didn’t have to unpack her kitchen all at once. Ethel worked like a farm horse to get her friend settled. Janie noticed Ethel walking much more slowly when she finally left to go back to her own condo.

  That evening Janie took over chicken and wild rice soup to her, knowing she’d be too tired and sore to cook. She met Betsy Ann coming up the walk, carrying hot-buttered French bread. They tapped on the door and let themselves in.

  Ethel sat at her kitchen counter rubbing ligament ointment into her arms and calves. “For the life of me, why do they call it moving? Because I can’t right now.”

  Janie groaned in agreement. “At least she’s in her new place, and tomorrow you’ll receive the deluxe cleaning treatment. Think of it. A sparkling, clean-to-the-rafters place all to yourself.”

  “And Pugsy. I’m taking her to the groomers so she’s not stressed out and in the way.”

  Betsy Ann raised her hand, as was her habit when interrupting conversations. “Let me do that. I can drop her off on my way to the dry cleaners.”

  “There’s one here in the village, you know.”

  She lifted her nose into the air. “After they ruined my best pair of wool blend slacks last month, I will never, ever darken their door again.”

  Janie glanced away. They all knew Betsy Ann had gained close to seven pounds while she recuperated from a badly bruised tailbone earlier in the spring. The pants hadn’t shrunk at all.

  ~*~

  Friday morning, Betsy Ann left with a confused Pugsy in tow. Janie sat at Ethel’s breakfast bar sipping coffee as she restrained from her habitual foot wiggle. The doorbell rang.

  “Ah. The maids.” Ethel made her way through the dining room to the front hall.

  Through the mini blinds over Ethel’s sink, Janie spotted the fender of a yellow car. Maid to Order had arrived. Several nerves fluttered in her tummy as Ethel invited them in.

  “Right this way. I’m having coffee and a chat with one of my neighbors.”

  Janie straightened her spine. Olga entered, dangling a bucket filled with cleansers and rubber gloves. “Why, Mrs. Manson. Hello, again.”

  A shy, darker skinned girl followed behind and peered around Olga’s substantial Eastern European torso. She’d twisted her shimmering, straight black hair into a long braid and a Bindi dot sat in the middle of her forehead. Janie rose and extended her hand across the countertop. “You must be Ra’naa.”

  The long-lashed beauty slunk and stepped back.

  “Oh no, ma’am.” Olga set the bucket down, releasing a whiff of pine. “Ra’naa never returned to work. This is Mita. Mrs. Arnold hired her Wednesday.”

  Ethel and Janie exchanged wide-eyed glares. Now what?

  As the new maid bent to scrub the baseboards around the kitchen, Janie took a gulp of air and decided to approach her. “Have you been in America long, Mita?”

  She shook her head without making eye contact. “I here legal.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you are. I only imagine you must miss your family a lot.”

  The girl raised her head briefly. Janie gave her what she hoped translated to be a grandmotherly smile. Mita’s face softened. “Yes, ma’am. Better I be here. Send money home.”

  Ethel chimed in. “Good for you, as long as you’re treated well.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Janie squatted to the girl’s level. “Mita, if you ever need help, you let me know. I mean that. Here’s my cell phone number.” She handed her a piece of paper.

  The maid slipped it into her pocket without moving her attention from her task then whispered a barely audible “thank you.”

  Janie laid a soft hand on her shoulder blade. “If you know Ra’naa, tell her the same thing. Yours and her safety and well-being are of the utmost importance to me and the other ladies who live around here. Do you understand?”

  She knitted her brow.

  Ethel tried to explain. “We want everyone who comes to our country to be treated well. You can trust us. Day or night. We’ll help if you’re scared, hurt, or get in trouble.”

  Mita returned a quick, blushed grin to them both. She lifted from her knees and headed down the hall with her bucket.

  The two women exchanged puzzled glances. Ethel got up to rinse out her coffee cup. “Seeds sown. We’ve done all we can do right now.”

  Janie swallowed the last of hers. “True. But I have a sneaky suspicion all is not well with Ra’naa.”

  Ethel turned around. “I know. Me, too. More and more, I think your assumption that murdered girl and the baby are connected is correct. If she’s alive, Ra’naa must be the rope binding them.”

  “Yes, but who holds the ends?”

  EIGHTEEN

  That afternoon a large envelope arrived. Janie bit her lip as she slit it open and pulled out the lab report showing Aisha’s DNA results. She printed out a copy on her desktop machine and folded it. As she walked to her car, she clicked the number two on her speed dial. A male voice answered within two rings.

  “Yes, is Chief Detective Johnson available? It’s his mother-in-law, but it isn’t anything urgent.”

  “No, ma’am. I expect him back around two. May I leave him a message?”

  “Tell him I have something he might wish to see regarding a case of his.” She dashed a glance at her wristwatch. Twelve forty-five. “I’ll be there promptly at two fifteen.”

  That gave her about an hour and a half. Plenty of time. She pulled into a drive-thru restaurant and ordered a chicken sandwich along with two bottles of water. Already, the temperature outside read ninety-five degrees on the bank marquee across the street and not a cloud in the sky.

  She bore right at the light and let her global positioning system’s sweet female voice guide her to her next destination. After only two recalculations, she pulled into the parking lot.

  As she stared at the sign on the glass door, she chomped her lunch and glugged one bottle of water. Janie wiped her mouth with the flimsy paper napkin which came wrapped in cellophane along with her take-away. It had a faint odor of pepper. She twitched her nose, applied a fresh coat of lipstick and took a breath. OK, let’s do this.

  She opened the front door with Maid to Order painted on it and entered the lobby. A young girl in her twenties sat at a clear, Lucite desk smacking her gum in sync to her thumbs clicking over her phone. She wore purple leggings, gray boots and a black and white striped tunic. One sleeve slipped to her shoulders revealing a lavender tank top and a butterfly tattoo halfway up her neck. Turquoise and hot pink streaks waved through her thick, black hair. Surely this couldn’t be the owner of the pleasant, professional voice on the phone.

  Janie cleared her throat.

  The girl blinked her false eyelashes. A silver stud and loop pierced her right nostril. Her tongue piercing moved the bright chartreuse, spearmint wad to her dark burgundy colored lips. She grabbed it with her long purple and rhinestone fingernails, and tossed it into a wire wastebasket by her feet. “Yeah?”

  Janie stifled a scoff when she heard the whiny high-pitched voice. Definitely not the same one. “I wish to speak to Mrs. Arnold. Is she in?”

  “I’ll check.” She slapped her phone onto the desk and un-pretzeled herself from the secretary chair.

  Janie scanned the sparse room. Above the desk hung a photo-shopped gigantic closeup of a broom. The wall to the right sported similar, skewed snapshots of canary-colored sponges and a bottle of bleach. “Let us clean up your mess” splayed acr
oss the opposite side in large, hot pink decal letters. Two black chairs on a white furry rug angled in the corner between a translucent plastic, round table. A centerpiece of coal, fuchsia, and butter-colored silk carnations in a zebra-patterned vase rounded out the decor.

  She swiveled toward the sound of high heels clicking over the highly polished black linoleum. A woman in her mid-forties, in attire designed for a teenager, entered. What is it with these executive types dressing half their age?

  The lady extended her hand at the end of several bangle bracelets. “I’m Mrs. Arnold.”

  “I’m Janie Manson. May we speak in private?”

  She raised a penciled eyebrow and stood a bit taller. “All right. Jasmine, hold all calls, please.”

  The girl let off a sigh and returned to her cell phone screen.

  Mrs. Arnold flashed her employee a darted glance and gave Janie a quick, apologetic smile. She motioned with a sweep of her hand, the bracelets tinkling as they cascaded down her wrist. In a hushed voice she leaned towards Janie. “Sorry. New hire. My secretary of six years had to take family leave for three months. This way to my office.”

  Janie followed her slight swishing hips down the stark white-walled hallway, lined with black and white photos of more cleaning supplies. The owner stopped and guided Janie into her domain. A bright, fuchsia shag rug adorned the floor. Licorice painted walls shimmered with sunlight streaming in from two plate glass windows draped with pink and white striped curtains. The sunbeams reflected off the glass knickknacks and mirrors. An aroma of freshness lingered in the air. Opposite a clear Lucite desk, similar to the receptionist’s yet almost twice as large, sat two bucket chairs upholstered in pink, black, and white flowers. Janie eased into the one on the right.

  Mrs. Arnold skirted her desk and lowered her slender form into her black mesh executive chair. She steepled her fingers, elbows propped on the armrests. “Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

  “You sent another maid besides Ra’naa, and I wondered why.”

  “Oh, you mean to Mrs. MacDaniels? Because I sent you Olga and Juanita.”

  Janie squirmed. The woman had her. “Mrs. MacDaniels couldn’t come. I, um, felt responsible since I’d recommended you. So I told her I’d speak with you about it.” She sucked the inside of her cheeks as the manager glared back without any facial change. Pretty lame reason. Why hadn’t she rehearsed this while she ate lunch?

  After a moment Mrs. Arnold leaned back. “Mita didn’t meet your, I mean, her standards? She is new but came highly recommended.”

  “By whom?”

  The manager’s eyes widened for a split second before her face resumed its unruffled appearance. Janie pressed her lips together to keep from smirking. Now I’ve got you.

  “I assure you, Mrs. Manson, I only hire staff who are legally able to work in this country.”

  Janie crossed one leg over the other and smoothed her clothes over her knees. “Oh, I’m sure so. It’s only, well, rather coincidental that one of Hindi descent would disappear while another of the same culture becomes her replacement. Mita did an excellent job, but it left a sour flavor in my friend’s mouth as if you thought you’d pull a fast switch.”

  Mrs. Arnold rose and came to perch on the edge of her desk. She peered into Janie’s eyes without blinking. “Please. It was not my intent...and besides, I really should be discussing this with Mrs. MacDaniels.”

  Janie shifted in the chair. “Ethel was too shy to call herself. I did appreciate you sending Olga, however. She did an excellent job for me and that calmed Ethel’s concerns to some degree.”

  “I see.”

  “However, you never answered my question. Who is your source for hiring these girls?”

  She crossed her arms over her torso, never removing her gaze. “I don’t see how that is any of your business. If you have no complaints, then I can assume I can send the same team again to both you and Mrs. MacDaniels. When can we set that up?”

  Slick. But, why skirt the question?

  The woman maneuvered her chair and clicked on her laptop. “Would you like to schedule bi-monthly, monthly, or weekly?”

  Janie counted to three and breathed through her nose slowly. This woman’s wit would prove no match for her own. She rose and returned Mrs. Arnold’s glare. “I’ll tell my son-in-law, Chief Detective Blake Johnson, you refused to answer my questions about your employee sources. You should most likely expect a visit from immigration services.” She spun on her heel.

  “Wait. Mrs. Manson. Please sit back down. You misinterpreted my hesitancy. I simply like to keep my staff’s personal issues confidential.”

  Janie turned back to face the manager but remained standing. “Go on.”

  She clicked a few keys and flipped the screen to Janie’s side of the desk. “A-Plus Employment Agency is who I use the most. I frequently request Hindis because I find them pleasant, hard-working, and obedient to authority.”

  “I see. Thank you.” Janie again pivoted to exit.

  Mrs. Arnold spoke louder. “But, I still don’t...”

  Without turning her head Janie proceeded to the door. “No, I suppose you don’t. I’ll think about whether or not to book your staff again. Good day.”

  She grinned as she shuffled down the hall and out the front door. Her father always said the best way to catch a fish was to make sure the worm squiggled on the hook. Odds were Mrs. Arnold dialed her cell phone within seconds of Janie leaving. Who did she call? Oh, how Janie wished she’d had a bug to plant under one of those flowery chairs.

  She slid into her car and rolled down the windows to let the steaminess out. The other bottle of water had lost its cold sweat and felt way too warm to the touch. Janie glanced at her watch. One forty-eight. She decided on a quick dash to the convenience store for a caffeinated diet soda with extra ice on her way to see Blake.

  NINETEEN

  Blake’s smile faded. “Janie, what are you getting into now?”

  She brushed his cheek with an air kiss before sitting down. He closed the door to his minuscule office and swiveled the wand on the mini-blinds covering the glass partition, which separated him from his underlings in the next room. The room darkened a bit.

  “I wanted to keep you abreast of what I am learning. That’s all.” She clutched her handbag in her lap. “Whether you choose to investigate or not is your business.”

  His left eyebrow peaked. “Go on. What’s this about a maid service?”

  “Don’t you think it an odd coincidence that the cleaning crew hired to spruce up Edwin’s condo the day before its first showing would be comprised of Hindi workers, one of which has disappeared?”

  “You can’t be certain of that.”

  “Everyone says she’s vanished into thin air, Blake.”

  “Everyone, huh?” He raised his eyes to the ceiling as his Adam’s apple moved.

  Janie suspected he counted to three as she’d done a half hour prior with Mrs. Arnold. Cases can prove to be nerve-racking. She scraped her teeth over her lower lip and waited. Eventually, his lips parted again.

  “How can you be sure who this Mrs. Arnold assigned to clean the garden home? Assumptions are of no use to me.”

  “Perhaps you can subpoena Maid to Order’s employee records...”

  He jolted from his chair. “On what grounds?” He pressed his hands to his desk, elbows locked. “There are protocol hoops to pass through, Janie. You know that. Surely Jack had to deal with them.”

  “I’m sure he did. Nevertheless, I still believe there is a connection between the mysteriously missing maid, the dead girl, and the baby—all Nepalese, mind you.”

  “Granted. But we need more to go on before starting a formal investigation.”

  She reached into her purse and pulled out the DNA report. “Perhaps this can help.”

  He snatched it, scanned it, and then tossed the document on his desk as he rubbed his hand down the back of his neck. “For the love of Pete. How did you obtain this?”
<
br />   “We swabbed the baby’s inner cheek when we went to visit her. Her name is Aisha, by the way. Nepalese for ‘good life’ from what I am told.” She waved her hand in front of her. “Or something similar. I forget what Amber said.”

  “Amber?”

  She stared at him with an incredulous look. “The foster mother, of course.”

  He glanced at her, then the report, then back to her again. “OK. I’ll take this to the coroner’s office and ask them to compare it to the Hindi Jane Doe. If there is a match, well, then, further investigation would be warranted.”

  She stood, purse tight to her waist. “Good. All I’m asking.” She shot him a sugary smirk. “See you Sunday?”

  He returned to his swivel chair. “Yeah.”

  ~*~

  Ethel met Janie at the diner on the highway at four in the afternoon. They agreed to meet early in order to qualify for the daily senior discount offered until five. Ethel feared if they didn’t finish their meal by then, the establishment would charge them full price. Janie complied without arguing the point. Pick your battles.

  Her friend slid into the booth across from her and slipped the paper napkin onto her lap. She pushed the fork, spoon, and knife into place, as her grandmother schooled her no doubt, leaving a vacant spot for the plate. “So, Betsy Ann is AWOL, absent without leave?”

  Janie sipped through her straw and nodded. “Something about a movie with George.”

  “Again?” Ethel grunted and peered at the menu, even though she always ordered the same thing each time. Senior portioned pot roast with a salad, Italian dressing on the side. Still, Janie supposed it didn’t hurt Ethel to look. She may deviate...one day.

  “Hello, ladies. What do you want to order today?”

  Janie set down her menu. “The braised chicken with seasonal vegetables and rice pilaf.”

  “Great choice.” The waitress turned her attention to Ethel who stared at the selection with a furrowed brow. “And for you, Mrs. McDaniels?”

  Janie tapped her foot as Ethel flipped the laminated sheet over again. The server waited patiently, pencil poised, to take her order.