Baby Bunco

by Cosgrove, Julie B;

  “You can remain here. I’ll hide you. You can use my spare bedroom.” Janie placed both hands on the shuddering girl’s shoulders. “We, my friends and I, can protect you and help you get back home.”

  She shook off Janie’s grip. “No. I dishonor family. No can go home.”

  Olga drew the younger woman to her. “It not your fault.”

  Mita wiped her eyes. “But no man marry me now. I am dirty to them.” She spat. “Too much burden for parents if I return in shame.”

  Janie guided her back to the chair. “Mita. Stay here with me. My son-in-law is a good, honest policeman. Trust us. Tell him your story. He can stop these men.”

  Mita stared into Janie’s eyes for a long while. Her face remained blank, but Janie pictured the girl’s mind swirled like a branch caught in the eddy of a swollen river during flood season.

  Felix the Cat ticked, ticked, ticked.

  Olga’s lips softly moved as her hand clutched the Orthodox cross dangling around her neck.

  Janie thought her own prayer but locked her gaze on the Nepalese girl as she stood over her. Please, Lord. Let her say she’ll stay.

  Mita took in another long breath. “OK. But nobody knows. Olga, you tell Mrs. Arnold I quit and am sorry. I have family emergency.”

  Olga leaned toward Mita and hugged her. “I will. You can count on me. I will bring you your things from the YWCA.”

  Janie clutched the back of her chair and looked from one to the other. “Is that where you two are staying?”

  Both women gestured they were.

  “First day they come, I tell Ra’naa, Nanu, and Mita about cleaning job. But Nanu too big.” Olga rounded her hands over her belly. “Ra’naa and I pay for Nanu to stay at Y. One day we come back from job, and she get pains.”

  “Who helped her deliver her baby?”

  “The director lady call for ambulance to take her. Ra’naa go, too. But she never make it to hospital.”

  “I at work cleaning. Big job, late hours.” Mita sniffled.

  Olga stood. “I follow in director lady’s car. I drive the Maid to Order cars so she trusts me and gives me keys. Ambulance not take the road with hospital sign but keeps going. They pull into alley behind store. No one get out. I just about to go inside and call police, when...”

  Her eyes welled.

  “Go on, Olga.”

  “Doors open. Lots of blood. They dump Nanu and drive off. Ran’aa came out of shadows with detka, er, baby. She hand her to me and asked me to hide it somewhere safe. Then she run. Then I see gate to your homes across road. I think providence provides.”

  Janie walked over and wrapped her arm around the Russian woman’s shoulders. “So you dropped off the newborn child here in our village at the home you and Ra’naa cleaned. 124 Solar Boulevard.”

  “That is the one. I still had key. Finished after your manager leave for day. Was to turn it in next day to Mrs. Arnold.”

  “And you never saw Ra’naa again.”

  “No. Until...”

  “Yes?”

  “Last week. She hide behind trash in alley at work. She tell me Nanu dead, and she is next. She tell me to keep quiet and protect Mita.”

  And now it appeared Ra’naa had suffered her fate. Oh, why hadn’t Olga confessed sooner? Janie folded into the chair next to her.

  Then the flaw in Olga’s testimony blasted her brain and caused her to sit straight as an arrow. According to the report, the DNA of Aisha and the dead girl, Nanu, didn’t match. Someone either lied about the identity of the infant or the young girl in the ambulance. But who? Ra’naa, and Olga…or the foster parents?

  As Olga stood to begin cleaning, Janie peered into her as if she could detect the truth. Of course, that bordered on impossible. Should she confront the maid about the discrepancy or let the formal interrogation by the police uncover it? After the last admonition by her son-in-law, her common sense whispered to wait.

  She texted Blake.

  TWENTY-NINE

  By the time Blake and his sidekick, Detective Connor Hemphill, arrived thirty minutes later, the maids had scrubbed the kitchen back to normal. Instead of a residual rancidness, fresh pine whiffed over the room. Janie had written down what the two had conveyed and read it back to them to check its accuracy. “My son-in-law will help you and keep you both safe. You can trust him.”

  Two male forms appeared in the glass of her back door along with two rapid taps.

  “Ah, there he is now.”

  Mita scrunched back into the corner by the sink. Olga held her hand.

  Janie pumped her palms, fingers spread. “All will be OK. Don’t worry.” She answered the door.

  “Come in, gentlemen. These two ladies wish to tell you about a few things going on in our community that have relevance to both the baby and the dead girls.”

  Blake tipped his cowboy hat and stepped over the threshold.

  Ethel slid in on his heels. “I got here as fast as I could. Was in the middle of giving Pugsy a bath. She rolled in another dog’s, well, you know. Whew.” She pinched her nose.

  Mita giggled. Hemphill smirked into his fist. Blake tried his level best to keep a straight face.

  Leave it to Ethel to bring comic relief. Janie chuckled and suggested they all move to the dining room table, which sat eight. Like good little troops, everyone followed single file.

  After introductions were made, Janie pressed her back into the spindles of the mahogany chair and watched her son-in-law in action. He oozed honesty, concern, and authority. With a slow and steady tempo, he eased the confessions out of Mita and Olga as Hemphill scribbled madly. A pocket tape recorder app on his cell phone counted off the seconds. Twenty-two minutes later, he clicked it off.

  Mita chewed on her inner cheek and clenched Olga’s hand with whitened knuckles.

  Blake whispered into Hemphill’s ear. The underling detective rose, punched a number into his phone and walked into the living room.

  The girls exchanged nervous expressions.

  Janie smiled the sweetest grin she could muster. “I’ll go make us glasses of iced tea and bring in some vanilla sandwich cookies.”

  Ethel got up. “You stay. Let me go get them.”

  “Thanks.” Blake winked and then returned his concentration to the pair seated across from him. “OK, here is the way it goes. If you don’t understand, stop me. I’ll try to explain as best I can.”

  The two cleaning ladies scooted closer in their chairs.

  “I have papers to be here.” Olga dug in her purse and slid an I.D. card across the tabletop.

  Blake eyed it, took a picture of it with his phone, and handed it back. “Mita do you have one?”

  She reached in her pocket and pulled a similar one out. “It not real.”

  “I know. It’s OK.” He slipped it into his jacket. “Even so, Mita. I will detain you for your own good. But I’m sure the judge will agree it’s not your fault.”

  She gulped a sob, stood, and backed three paces toward the kitchen door. “I go to jail?”

  Blake rose and extended his hands to her to sit back down. “Not at all. There are laws in this country to protect you even if you came here without permission. You are not in trouble, OK?”

  She bobbed her head.

  “We’ll play your testimony,” he tapped the cell phone with his forefinger, “to the government. They may want to talk with you as well.” He took two steps closer and put out his hands. “Do not fear. No one is going to harm you.”

  She didn’t respond, but she didn’t shrink back any further.

  “They will help you find a home, get you food, and let you keep your job if you want to stay in the United States.”

  “I do. Yes.”

  “OK. They’ll make that happen. It may take a while, so be patient. But you will be issued a real card like Olga’s.”

  “Truth?”

  “Yes, Mita. I’m telling you the truth.”

  Mita shifted her gaze to her fellow maid, who smiled, hands clasped t
o her heart.

  “In the meantime, my associate, Detective Hemphill, is calling a graphic artist who will bring her laptop computer.” He pointed to her and then to Olga. “You two describe the men as best as you can, and she’ll tell the computer to construct their faces. OK?”

  Mita turned to Olga. “We must do this, yes?”

  Olga looked down for a moment. “Yes. We must. All the men. Or police won’t help you.”

  Mita’s eyes watered and she hugged Olga. Then they both looked to Blake and agreed.

  “We’ll spread their pictures to the police all over the country and hunt them down. They will not hurt you or any other girls anymore.”

  Mita let out a deep sigh and returned to the dining room chair. When she sat, Olga grasped her hand.

  Hemphill wandered in, pocketed his phone, and gave Blake the thumbs-up sign. “The artist is on her way. Now, when that is done, a female officer will escort you to the YWCA to get your things. We will put you up in a safe house and guard you both to make sure no one harms you until these men are found. Understand?”

  “We no work?” Mita waved her free hand indicating herself and Olga.

  “Not now. We’ll let Mrs. Arnold know. She won’t be angry with you, OK?”

  Olga knitted her brows. “But how do we pay?”

  Blake smirked. “You don’t have to. This is the United States government’s way to say we’re sorry for all you went through.”

  Tears trickled down Mita’s face. She let go of Olga and reached across the table to shake his hand.

  Ethel stood in the doorway, tray in hand. Janie rose to take it from her as a teardrop escaped from her eye.

  Ethel squeezed her shoulders. “Prayer works.”

  Janie gave her a wide-eyed stare. “How did you know I’d been praying?”

  “I know you normally are a private person when it comes to religion.” Her friend’s face softened. “But deep down you’re an old softie and a church goer like the rest of us. I was up half the night taking it to the Lord as well and called Betsy Ann to do the same.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, I better dash over and tell her what’s going on.”

  Blake’s eagle ears perked up. “Ethel. No. This must remain highly classified in order to keep these ladies safe.”

  “Just Betsy Ann. She deserves to know.”

  He rubbed his forehead. “All right. But I’ll be the one to tell her and..., um, who is that research buddy of hers? George?”

  “Yep, except now they do more than scan microfiche.” Ethel gave him a mischievous smirk.

  He lowered his hand. “Oh? Well, then. We may yet need all of you snooping the archives to bring these thugs to justice.”

  Janie set the tray down. She felt her face warm with delight.

  Ethel bounced on her toes. “Oh, goodie. I’ll go call her right now.”

  Hemphill cocked an eyebrow.

  Blake laughed. He leaned in. “Got it handled, so don’t worry. I’ll find a way to keep them busy so they won’t get in the way.”

  “Or get us in trouble, you hope.” He clicked his pen closed and pocketed his notepad.

  Janie placed the cookies in front of them. “We heard that comment, gentlemen.”

  The two coughed into their fists.

  She winked at them as they squirmed. “Don’t worry. We’ll behave.”

  Ethel agreed. “We’ll do exactly as you say. Promise.”

  THIRTY

  Janie pulled Blake to the side. “You do see the problem, don’t you?”

  He slipped his phone into his pocket. “I see lots of them. Which one do you mean? The fact the DNA reports indicated the baby and the girl found behind the Get ’em and Go are not related even though, per Olga’s testimony, they were? How about why the agency allowed Olga to retain a key to a vacant home, or that Ra’naa happened to be in the emergency vehicle while the butchery took place?”

  Janie’s left eyebrow zipped into a pointed arch. “Well, all of them, I guess. So what do we do?”

  “Do your research into the public records on stolen vehicles, but expand it to vans that might be made to resemble emergency units. A quick chop-shop job could turn a delivery van into something to fool the casual eye. A false but official looking emblem on the doors, a few flashing lights, and the recording of a siren would make it easy to fake.”

  “Good point.”

  “Thank you.” He gave her a half-smirk and half-scoff expression. Then his gaze zeroed in on her face. “Janie. Hear me on this. Leave the gleaning of the truth from these ladies to me. If these gals want government protection, they’re going to have to tell us what really happened.”

  “So you plan to split them up and interrogate them in separate rooms?”

  “That’s the idea. And I also want to interview Mrs. Arnold. Something tells me her hands aren’t squeaky clean.”

  Janie chuckled. “Bad pun, Blake.”

  He nudged her with his shoulder. “Made you laugh, though.” With a wink, he sauntered over to Hemphill to give him more instructions.

  The freelance graphic artist arrived. She exhibited the patience of Job as Olga described in broken English the faces of the men who were in the stolen EMS van. Next, Mita relayed the facial features of the ones who conned her, Nanu, Ra’naa, and Chameli to giving up one of their kidneys. As the computer-generated faces developed, it became evident they were not the same people, which meant the tentacles of this treachery extended further than Janie suspected. Not a comforting thought.

  After the renditions of a total of seven Near Eastern male culprits had been completed, Hemphill pointed to each one and asked what their voices sounded like, if they had any other body markings such as tattoos, scars, or moles, and the approximate height and body shape of all of them. He took meticulous notes as the artist again entered their descriptions to generate the images, this time from head to toe. She then forwarded the results to Blake’s e-mail so he could later enter them into the state database to search for possible matches.

  The whole process took less than an hour. Janie played hostess with coffee, tea, and snacks, which allowed her to be in constant earshot as she puttered about. Off to the side, she jotted down what she overheard on a to-do list tablet she kept by her fridge. She thought of a dozen ways to distract them so she could take snapshots of the computer screens with her cell phone and rejected each idea.

  Blake admonition echoed in her mind. The man knew what to do. She should let him. If they were to team up in the future, trust had to be be established. A momentary feeling of contriteness shadowed her thoughts. She made a promise to herself. Scribbling herself a note, she wrote—From now on, I’ll do as he says, bounce ideas off him, and try to stay out of the way.

  She scoffed at the sentence, ripped the page off, and wadded it up. She stuffed it in her pocket. No sense fooling herself. Janie Manson never stayed out of the way.

  ~*~

  Janie accompanied Betsy Ann and George to the archives. She made sure she stationed herself in another area, not so much to ensure them privacy, but because Betsy Ann’s goo-goo eyes and fluttering lashes nauseated her. She checked herself upon recognizing the tinge of green oozing up. Why shouldn’t her friend find love? So what if she bugged out of an occasional Bunco game to be with the man who had captured her heart?

  A wave of loneliness swept over her. Oh, how she missed Jack. The scent of him, the warmth of his soft snores next to her. There were times she woke in the middle of the night and swore she still heard them. Why did the bullet every police officer’s family dreads finally catch him? Life was unfair. Especially to widows.

  To shake off the melancholy, Janie exited the newspaper department’s basement and wandered the block. She let the inner-city bustle, exhaust fumes, and traffic noise numb her. People jostled and sidestepped her, each head down clicking into their phones, staring into space with way too much on their minds, or listening to something through an earpiece. What happened to eye contact and a friendly gesture of greeting? Texas had c
hanged.

  Janie returned to the building, walked down the stairs, and grabbed paper chronicles of several small outlying towns from the information rack. She dabbed her finger with her tongue and flipped through pages of high school football highlights, spring festivals, recipes, and town gossip. At the back, she found the columns of police reports and legal notices wedged between the wedding, birth, or death announcements and the crossword puzzle of the day.

  She browsed the accounts of teenage vandalism, lost dogs, false alarms, and one theft of a newspaper from a front lawn. No vehicles of any shape, style, or size missing in the past two weeks.

  A tap on her shoulder jolted her.

  “Find anything?” Betsy Ann bent her waist to Janie’s eye level, hands pressed onto the table.

  “Nope? You two?”

  “Well, a dry cleaner reported a delivery van stolen on the tenth, but the police recovered it in a ditch two days later.”

  “Hmm. A day before the body turned up at the Get ’em and Go.”

  “Right. Anyway, George is researching some more. The vehicle could have come as far away as Houston or Dallas. Both are international hubs.”

  Janie stretched. “So they are. Smart thinking.”

  Betsy Ann tapped her temple as a dreamy glow covered her face. “He is brainy, isn’t he? One of his many charms.”

  She sashayed away as the bile returned the back of Janie’s throat. She swallowed it down with a swig of bottled water. She refused to dampen her friend’s happiness. Betsy Ann and Ethel meant more to her than any petty jealousy over men. Janie blinked back the tears forming in her eyes. In fact, all of her Bunco Biddies did. Each and every one of them, but her walking buddies the most. Those two lit her world. She felt a twinge of guilt. She didn’t express it often enough to either of them. Well, things would change.

  Another batch of lemon squares, a yellow rose, and a card would mysteriously appear on their front stoops soon. She hated gooey sentiment and didn’t trust her eyes to stay dry if she tried to tell them face to face. As she returned to her scouring of the small-town chronicles, John Abram’s face appeared in her mind. She wondered how he fared as a widower. A call just to touch base with him wouldn’t hurt.