Poison and Prejudice (An Eat, Pray, Die Humorous Mystery Book 4)

by Chelsea Field

  “Let’s cut to the chase,” she said, her voice tight with contained fury. “How much do you want?”

  “I’m not interested in money. I want information.”

  “What for?”

  “To stop the exploitation of innocent girls, obviously.”

  Her gaze grew even more hostile. “What the hell are you talking about? I’m helping an entire family!”

  “If you’re angry, imagine how mad your two million followers are going to be. Were you planning to paint on some stretch marks and have them miraculously disappear too? With the help of some specially formulated, ludicrously expensive serum?”

  “Don’t you dare judge me,” she whispered furiously. “I make my living from my body. Of course I’m going to protect it.”

  I made a tutting sound. “You should calm down. Stress is bad for the baby.” I knew I should stop provoking her, but I was infuriated that this woman and her perfectly toned abs would take advantage of girls who’d been given none of her opportunities, privileges, and successes. Didn’t she already have enough? “Tell me everything about your arrangement with Alyssa Hill.”

  “I want guarantees. What’s in it for me and my daughter?”

  “Do it, and I guarantee I’ll find the strength not to make your secret the YouTube viral video of the year. How much money do you think I’d make off one of those?”

  She eyed me like she was thinking of punching me in the face. Her muscles were more developed than mine, and I was certain it would hurt. A lot.

  “I wouldn’t. I’m a self-defense expert,” I lied.

  She made a noise somewhere between a yell and a growl. “Argh! Who do you think you are to ruin this for me?”

  I didn’t answer, and she came back to the real question.

  “What’s going to happen to my daughter if I talk?”

  It was terrifying to realize what I should’ve already figured out: that we might be playing for twice as many lives as we’d originally thought. I chose my words carefully. “I won’t do anything to harm your child.” I hoped that was true, that my actions wouldn’t cost the lives of any of these girls or the infants inside them.

  Taryn seemed to accept my assurance as sincere. She sank into the couch and rubbed her fake stomach. “I’ve wanted a baby for years and years, but I couldn’t risk wrecking my body. Dr. Dan raised the possibility of surrogacy. Offered to even falsify medical records to say I was unable to carry a child to term so the public would give me sympathy rather than vitriol. But I didn’t love the idea. My market is the everyday woman, and that would make me different to most of them.” She glared at me. “I’m sure it’ll come as no surprise to you that women can be vicious, can turn on each other in a heartbeat. Anyway, a little while later Dr. Dan had an alternative proposal for me. A better one.”

  “Do tell.”

  “He told me there was a way that everyone could believe I had my own baby while actually using a surrogate. I thought he meant lock me out of sight until he started talking about custom-crafted bellies and pregnancy training.”

  “Tell me about the surrogates.”

  “He said there was a reputable charity foundation that runs a confidential initiative. Poverty-stricken girls in poor countries volunteer to be a surrogate for a single birth in exchange for a lifetime supply of the basics—food, water, shelter and all that. They come from rural villages that are so remote they have no access to technology, no education, and only speak the local language, so there was no chance of a media leak or being blackmailed afterward.”

  She shot me a look of hatred for proving that one untrue.

  “And was this charity the Hill Foundation?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me more about the surrogates.”

  “They’re brought to the States, nursed up to optimum health, have the child, then returned to their village with wealth beyond their wildest dreams. Well, they don’t get a lump sum since it could be stolen or wasted. Instead, they get their needs—and their family’s needs too if they have one—provided for until they pass away. One year of their life pays for all that. It’s no different than medical trials people volunteer for over here but a way better deal for the girls. Win-win.”

  I felt a prickle of hope. Could it be true? Could all the girls still be alive? But no. Whoever reported them missing in the first place would notice if they returned to their village a year later, especially with wealth. That would get around. Which meant… they were either forced to have one baby after another, and Alyssa was stealing more girls for a growing demand. Or they disposed of them after each round and acquired new ones.

  My brain raced over the implications of each and came to the sickening conclusion that the latter was more probable. If the girls had been fed the same lies Taryn had, then it would make sense to dispose of them and get a new batch. They’d be cooperative, with no chance of trying to escape or seeking help from the clients who came to see them. If they did come to see them.

  My heart ached, but I owed it to the girls to keep asking questions.

  “Where are the girls kept?”

  “I don’t know. To protect the privacy of other clients, Dr. Dan always makes me leave my phone behind, and I’m driven there in a limo with curtains on the windows. All I can tell you is it’s about twenty or thirty minutes away, depending on traffic.”

  “What does the building look like?”

  “Well, we park in a garage and go through an internal door to get inside, so I don’t know about the outside. But the interior is like a modest hotel, I guess. Except with more medical equipment. There are some communal spaces, but the girls have their own private rooms. They seem pretty happy. I’m sure it’s a huge step up from what they’re used to.”

  “Any windows?”

  “No. Well yes, but the roller shutters are always closed. I figured it was part of keeping it confidential.”

  “How many girls?”

  “I’ve seen four I think, but there might be more. I only ever talk to Sabina, that’s the girl carrying my baby.”

  “Didn’t you say that none of them speak English?”

  “That’s right. But there’s an African man there who translates for us.”

  Following a hunch, I brought up the photo on my phone that Jennifer had supplied. The one of Alyssa and Zac’s honeymoon safari guide and translator. “This guy?”

  “Yes. That looks like him.”

  “How much does it cost you?”

  “Two million.”

  I sucked in an astonished breath.

  “Five hundred thousand upfront, the rest on delivery.” A ghost of a smile tugged at her lips. “Literally.”

  That was good, I guess. Dr. Dan—or perhaps I’d call him Doctor Evil—had a lot of motivation to at least keep the girls alive until the babies were delivered. “What happens when your baby is due? Will you be there for the birth?”

  “We had a choice. I wanted to be there. Dr. Dan is inducing her Friday next week, so I’ll go there then.”

  “In the limo?”

  “Yes.”

  I didn’t want to tip her off that we’d be watching, so I didn’t ask for an exact time. “Do you know when the other girls are due?”

  “No. I haven’t had anything to do with them. But Dr. Dan did mention once that I was lucky last.”

  That meant we had until Friday to figure this out. To rescue the girls before Doctor Evil disposed of them.

  It was Saturday today, so that gave us six days.

  “One last question, did you ever have any dealings with Zachariah Hill about this?”

  “No, but I always assumed he knew about it, considering it was his charity too.”

  I stood up. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

  “Wait. What’s your interest in this? What’s going to happen now?”

  On one hand, it didn’t matter what she thought now she’d given me the information. But my gut told me it was best to try to get her on our side. “I’m investigating the disa
ppearance of fifteen girls from orphanages run by the Hill Foundation. From what I can piece together, Dr. Dan and Alyssa are either using these girls as permanent breeders or getting rid of them afterward and keeping the money for themselves.”

  “Do you have any evidence? Even if they’re taking the girls through unofficial channels, it doesn’t mean they’re not setting them up for life when they get home.”

  “Then why aren’t there any reports of them coming home?”

  She shrugged. “If they’re kids without connections in remote villages, who would know?”

  I realized she was invested in believing what she’d been told by her doctor and Alyssa. To believe otherwise would be horrifying. “Consider for a minute that I might be right, Ms. Powers. Do you really want to be a part of that?”

  “No. Of course not! But you don’t have any evidence, and my daughter is just days away from being born. I need to think of her. I need to protect her.”

  There was no point arguing further. “I suggest if you want to protect your daughter, you don’t tell Dr. Dan about our chat. If I’m right and he knows we’re onto him, he might decide to get rid of the evidence. All of it.”

  I watched her face to make sure the meaning struck home. Then I let myself out.

  22

  We had six days. Six days to find the facility and rescue those girls without tipping off Doctor Evil we were onto him. And that was ignoring Taryn saying her daughter was due last, which meant the other girls could already be sold, killed, or whatever happened to them after they’d given birth. Our hope was that since it sounded like they were allowed to mingle as a community within the house, Doctor Evil would keep them alive until he was ready to be rid of all of them.

  That’s what we had to hope and pray and bargain on.

  I’d rejoined Connor and Harper in the SUV, sliding the folder of blank pages, the pin, and the baseball cap into the backseat with me. Connor had insisted on driving, something Harper had muttered about all the way to Taryn’s place. Now she was muttering about evil bastards who ought to be run over by a truck.

  Depressingly, Taryn’s description of the building didn’t give us much to go on. Twenty to thirty minutes away with roller shutters and a garage. Yeah, not even nearly specific enough. And for all we knew, the limo took a circuitous route to confuse the clients further.

  Maybe Homeland would be able to do more with the information. I called the general line Joe had given me.

  “Hi. I’ve been working as an informant with Agents Jeff and Joe, and I have some new info for them.”

  “Last names?”

  Damn. How many Jeffs and Joes could there be in Homeland? “Um. I’m not sure. But they’re working the Zachariah and Alyssa Hill trafficking case,” I offered helpfully. She should be able to track them down based on that.

  “If you say so,” she said in a way that suggested the opposite.

  I chose to believe her lack of enthusiasm was because she’d been trained not to reveal anything to people who phoned trying to garner information rather than that she thought I was a prank caller or a lunatic.

  “Okay, well if you could ask them to get in touch, they know who I am. Tell them I have critical information for them.”

  “Sure.” She took my name and number, then said in a bored robot tone, “Thanks for calling Homeland Security,” and hung up.

  Right. That was less promising than I’d wished.

  So what were Connor, Harper, and I going to do about it?

  Of course we’d stake out Taryn’s place on Friday and follow the limo, but it would be safer for everyone if we could find the girls first. The more time we had to plan our rescue of them, the better.

  But how were we supposed to find them? The doctor was our only lead while we had no idea where the translator was. But we had to tread very carefully. He would be jumpy after Alyssa’s death, and as I’d said to Taryn, if he had the slightest inkling we were onto him, there was a good chance he’d destroy the evidence.

  “We’ll have to do surveillance on him from a greater distance,” Connor said, “and make sure to frequently swap both cars and people. Since Izzy and I have met him, we’re going to have to be even more cautious.”

  “I can put a GPS tracker on his car as well,” Harper offered.

  That was a good point. If he visited the building where the girls were being kept, he would lead us straight to them. Or at least straight to the general vicinity where we might be able to narrow it down using the roller shutters and attached garage information.

  “Yes. That’ll help with long-distance surveillance too,” Connor said. “But you had better wait for an opportunity where there’s no chance of being spotted.”

  When weighed against all the lives we were fighting for, the plan felt thin. But then it was a lot closer than we’d been twenty-four hours ago. And maybe Homeland would call me back and use that fancy-pants technology you see on TV to locate the building. Sure it would.

  I was listening to Harper and Connor squabble over the best long-distance tailing techniques when my phone rang. I grabbed it, half expecting it to be Homeland, but caller ID said it was Zac.

  What the—?

  “Isobel, this is Zachariah Hill here.”

  Like it would be any other Zachariah I knew.

  “I’ve been released on bail, and well, this is kind of awkward, but I was hoping you might come to Alyssa’s post-funeral reception with me. I won’t blame you if you ask for a reassignment considering… everything.”

  Everything? Was he talking about the black eye or the killing of his wife? My mind struggled to recall what the public, and therefore I, was supposed to know about Zac’s jail visit.

  “But I’ve already missed her funeral, and I really wanted to at least make it to the reception to pay my respects and say goodbye. Not that I can’t go and just not eat or drink anything. Well, I guarantee I won’t drink anything… of the alcoholic variety I mean, if you do come. Ugh. I’m making a mess of this, but—”

  I’d never heard the charismatic actor so tongue-tied and decided to put him out of his misery. “I’ll come,” I said. The fact was, if he asked for a new Shade and got someone other than Mr. Slippery at the Taste Society, they might tell him no one was assigned at the moment and blow everything up in my face. Besides, if the judge had allowed him out on bail, it suggested they were leaning toward manslaughter or self-defense rather than murder.

  Which was a good thing.

  But I sure wished I’d taken the time to return his Speedos.

  I had yet to acquire a formal black dress, so once again I pulled out the conservative navy one I’d worn to my first client interview as a Shade and then later to my second client’s funeral. Losing Earnest would always hurt, and I’d avoided wearing the dress since then. But here I was wearing it to yet another funeral thanks to my Taste Society job. A job that was supposed to save lives.

  There was also an uncanny parallel that I’d gone to Earnest’s funeral after just being released from jail, and now here was Zac doing the same. Except he hadn’t been released in time. He’d missed the burial and would only make it to the post-funeral reception.

  Though technically, I suppose he’d already seen her buried once.

  I pushed away the morose thoughts and got into the car Zac had hired because his was now where it belonged in police lockup. His appearance made me do a double take. There was nothing overtly different on a physical level, but the change the past five days had wrought on him was worse than any migraine. Like a piece of him had been broken. His cheeks seemed sunken, his eyes haunted. Was it possible this was part of the act?

  He still managed to look stupidly handsome, just in a more complex way, but his greeting was cut short when he noticed my shiner.

  “Oh no. I never saw the damage I did to your eye. I’m so, so sorry.”

  Well, thanks for reminding me how it matches my dress. And not in a good way. “It’s fine,” I said. “I’ve been walking around with a fake hook o
n my hand telling the kids I’m a pirate.”

  We exchanged awkward smiles.

  He rummaged in a manbag he’d brought with him and pulled out… concealer? “If you get sick of the pirate gig, this stuff is magic at covering dark bags under the eyes. It might work for bruising too.”

  Cute. I already had concealer on but thought another layer wouldn’t hurt if it made him feel better. The passenger visor had a mirror, so I used it to apply the magic. Then realized it was actual magic.

  Okay, I could still see a faint blue-green on a few of the darkest spots, but it had done more in one thin coat than two liberal layers of mine. I checked the label. “Where would one purchase this miracle of modern medicine?”

  Zac smiled more genuinely this time. “I’m not sure; a makeup artist gave it to me. But I can ask.”

  “Thanks. I can imagine a tube of this stuff would come in handy.” More handy than I’d like to admit.

  Zac started the car and braced his hands on the steering wheel. “Look. I know the police have been keeping pretty quiet about everything, which is nice because I’m not sure I’d be welcome at Alyssa’s reception otherwise. But it’s going to come out soon enough, and I figure you deserve to hear it before then.” He glanced over at me, looking nervous. “Besides, I know you can keep a secret since you’ve already kept so much confidential for me, right?”

  “Right,” I agreed, feeling acutely guilty. I was keeping all sorts of secrets, but none of them were for him.

  He took a deep breath and launched into the whole sorry tale. Most of it matched what Joe, Jennifer, and Hunt had already told me, but there were a few new details. Like: “I didn’t know what happened, if I’d said something wrong or what, but all of a sudden she was screaming she’d kill me and running at me with a knife. The police informed me later she was drugged, but I didn’t know that. All I knew was that while she’d threatened to kill me before, this time there was something on her face that made me believe it.”