by L. J. Parker
Margaret stared at the device between them like it was going to sprout tulips.
Cassie mellowed her tone. “I know Mr. Fozzi has terrorized you the same as he did me. How do you know him in the first place?”
Margaret made a noise that could have been a grunt of disgust, or another sob. Cassie waited.
Finally Margaret spoke. “He showed up with Hortensia’s granddaughter a few weeks before Easter a year ago,” she said, not as loud as Cassie, but at least talking directly to the recorder.
“Hortensia is your housekeeper?” Cassie said for benefit of the recorder.
“Yes.”
“And Fozzi brought her granddaughter to your house? Did they stay here together as a couple?”
“She stayed. Not him; he was just dropping her off.”
Margaret paused and blew her nose, and dropped the tissue in a wastebasket beside her chair. “I could see Delavina was terrified of him. I couldn’t turn her away.”
“She was illegal?”
“Yes.”
“Hortensia – is she illegal too?”
“No. My father helped Hortensia obtain naturalized citizenship before he died. She stayed on to take care of my stepmother when he was gone, and then came to me when Mother Goodman passed.”
This was not going where Cassie expected. She had to keep Margaret focused on the Baylin House problems, but that meant staying focused on Fozzi.
“Did Delavina say how she came to be with Fozzi in the first place?”
“Not really. I overheard her tell Hortensia about a coyote she called Senior Buck that Fozzi must have known from somewhere. I know the reason she ran away had to do with her father. Hortensia already told me her son mistreats the girl’s mother. None of us ever mentioned Fozzi again until he showed up here a month later with another girl who was just as terrified of him as Delavina was. He is an evil man.”
Cassie wouldn’t argue against that. “How does all this lead to embezzling the Baylin House funds?”
The beleaguered Margaret took a deep breath and stared out the window for a long moment. “After Fozzi dropped a fifth girl on us in less than five months, he came back demanding blackmail payment, threatening to tell the police I was importing slave labor for my wealthy friends up north. I knew it was wrong not to turn the girls over to INS, but I just couldn’t do it. I didn’t have any way to meet his demands, so he suggested I put him on the payroll of the charity fund.”
Payroll! That gave Cassie a start, but she had to keep Margret focused. “How could he prove you were doing anything wrong? Were the girls still with you?”
“No, no, none of them were ever here more than a couple weeks. But he had photos of the different girls with this house in the background, and more photos of them getting into the car with me at different locations driving to the east coast. When I realized he’d been following me . . . you can’t imagine how that terrified me!”
“Actually, I can,” Cassie breathed, feeling goose bumps rise on her arms. “Where are the girls now?”
Margaret shrugged and shook her head.
“You haven’t stayed in touch with any of them?”
“God no! I had to beg until I was sick to my stomach to get them placed with different people who would take them in. Of course they’re given household chores to earn their keep, but they’re also given spending cash. And they’re being educated . . . that certainly wouldn’t happen if they’d stayed in Mexico or wherever they came from.” Margaret’s defensive tone slipped into a keening wail. Cassie began to worry the woman would lose it before she got it all out.
“Whose idea was it to change accountants for the charity fund,” Cassie asked. “Who decided to give the account to David Thornton’s company?”
Margaret took another deep breath. “Edith’s CPA started questioning the money going to Fozzi. I tried to use that to convince Fozzi to back off, but he said he had located the girls in Vermont and if I didn’t find a way to keep paying him, he’d contact my friends next. I was desperate to move the account to a new company where they wouldn’t know so much. I was actually grateful when he suggested David Thornton. Then it was easy to just make up invoices and send them over for payment.”
Cassie listened without interruption. She could understand now why Margaret didn’t want Cassie or anyone else to see the charity account’s financial reports – not with Fozzi’s payroll draining it. Gorduno had said Fozzi’s background tied him to scamming some Atlantic City tourists. He was obviously very good at it, and he made it easy, collecting bogus payroll checks. Except closing Baylin House would have lost one of his income streams – that didn’t compute just to make brownie points with his in-laws.
“Margaret, if this has been going on for months, what does Fozzi want that makes you so frightened of him right now?”
She sniffed and shook her head.
“What!” Cassie demanded.
“He wants me to ask my mother’s husband for money.”
Oh cripes, that was a bigger fish all right.
Margaret sobbed, “I’m afraid of what Fozzi will do if I tell him I can’t do that, so I just hide in here to keep from having to face him!”
Cassie didn’t blame her. “Is there anyone here besides you and Hortensia?”
Margaret shook her head.
“Who was the young girl that answered the phone a couple days ago?”
Margaret frowned a moment, and then, “Oh, that must have been Hortensia’s friend. The granddaughter of her friend, I mean. Sometimes when Louisa has to go somewhere, she drops her granddaughter here for Hortensia to babysit.”
“So she’s not here now, right?”
“No. I told you there’s no one but Hortensia and me.”
“Then I’m going to get you both out of here to a safe place. How quickly can you pack enough to get you through a few days?”
Margaret sobbed.
Cassie called out, “Hortensia – would you come in her please?”
The Latino woman understood exactly what to do. She helped Margaret to her bedroom to pick out a few changes of clothes and some personal items.
While they were out of the room, Cassie dialed Rob’s cell phone.
She felt bad when she heard his voice, hoarse with exhaustion, remembering he slept in a chair last night.
“Cassie, I still can’t leave here. Are you all right?”
“Yes, please don’t worry. I’m just checking in to let you know I’m going back to the motel. I have a lot to tell you, but you need to get some rest first and so do I.” She forced a good-natured laugh. “We’re both exhausted after last night, so call me tomorrow when you get up.”
She hung up from Rob, and made the next call – to Arthur Wright’s legal firm. Even on Sunday she knew some kind of answering service would take the call.
She left the message that she was referred by Travis Harmon, that she needed help as soon as possible, and that she was calling on behalf of Rosalie Baylin and Margaret Goodman Frank. If those three names together didn’t get a response, nothing would.
Cassie’s phone rang during the drive back into town. She reached for it, and pulled to the shoulder of the road, braking to a full stop in case Attorney Arthur Wright was already returning her call.
“Hello?”
“Miss Cassie, it’s Bea Morgan . . . Miss Rosalie asked if you could come visit her a while this afternoon?”
“Visit? Do you mean Sunday dinner, or does she feel well enough to work for a while?”
“No, no. No big dinner today, and not work. Don’t even bring your computer. She just wants to have some time with you to talk. Can you come over here?”
“Yes, but I have another quick stop to make. I could be there in an hour or so.”
“Thank you, Miss Cassie. I’ll let her know.”
At the Treasure Isle Motel, Cassie checked Margaret and Hortensia into room 18; only two doors from her own; a room with two double beds. “It isn’t fancy,” she told Margaret, “but this is wher
e the police put me to keep me safe from Fozzi, so they’re still watching it and keeping an eye out for him. If you get hungry before I get back, there’s a list of restaurants in the drawer and most of them deliver.”
Margaret didn’t seem to pay much attention, but Hortensia assured they would be fine and would not leave there.
Chapter Forty-Five
Harvey answered the door when Cassie knocked. “Miss Rosalie asked me to come,” she offered.
He actually smiled at her. “Yeah, she told us about you.”
He stood aside to let her in, and then led her directly into Rosalie’s bedroom.
The room should have been bright and airy this time of day, but it was darkened by pulled shades. One of the French doors stood ajar letting in fresh air.
Not enough. Cassie recognized the metallic rank of decaying blood.
Rosalie lay propped on pillows, looking more ashen with the dimmed light. Her eyes, dulled with sedative and ringed by dark shadows, followed Cassie to the chair where Harvey had sat with her that first night. A lifetime ago, wasn’t it? More life than Cassie was prepared for, anyway.
Rosalie reached for Cassie’s hand, clasping her fingers around it, and tried to force a smile. Her skin was deathly cold. When she spoke, her voice was strained and hoarse, reminding Cassie what Bea said about Rosalie and Dorothy yelling at each other. Yelling, for God’s sake! How could Dorothy do that to her!
Rosalie pinned Cassie’s eyes with hers. “I need you to know,” she said, and held tight to Cassie’s hand while she paused for a ragged breath.
Cassie waited.
“I need you to know I gave birth to a daughter when you were only a few months old. So she’s a grown woman now, like you.”
Cassie’s jaw dropped, but she stayed quiet.
Rosalie smiled wanly. “Dorothy was with me for most of the pregnancy; staying at my place in Sacramento while The Colonel was on maneuvers somewhere. She was desperate to adopt the infant and raise it as her own. We talked about it.”
Rosalie paused, watching shadows ebb and flow on the shades over the French doors as a faint breeze rippled into the room. “I made the decision . . . on my own . . . to go away and give birth without her, and to allow adoption by someone else. Dorothy has never forgiven me for that. And she has never given up searching for the child she feels she lost.”
Cassie felt a new ache, listening to Rosalie’s words. “This is what Dorothy really wants?” she whispered in disbelief, “to expose an illegitimate birth?”
“I don’t think she wants it published – she just wants it for herself. But there are some other things you need to know that Dorothy only suspects. You should know your grandmother made the arrangements, and it was your mother who helped me.”
Cassie gasped. Rosalie squeezed her hand.
“Dorothy visited your mother several years ago because she convinced herself that I had let Helen and Nolan adopt, and I’m afraid for a while she convinced Lawrence of the same thing. That’s why he wanted to see you when you came to Texas. Of course when he met you, and saw how much you resemble your mother, he recognized how wrong Dorothy had been about that. But he was still very glad to finally meet Noreen’s granddaughter, and to spend time with you.”
“Did my grandmother know that Dorothy wanted to adopt the baby?”
“Yes, she did. That’s why she encouraged me to spend time with Nolan and his wife, and you as a new baby, before I made the decision. And she was right, Cassie. Being with you and your parents helped me understand my own feelings.”
Rosalie drew one of those slow deep breaths that made Cassie nervous. This was something Rosalie did when she was in pain, or when she spoke of the woman she had called Mother – which was just another kind of pain. Cassie watched Rosalie’s expression closely to see if she needed to call for Bea.
“I wasn’t fit to raise a daughter,” Rosalie said in a steady tone. “I already knew that. Not with the role model I had growing up. Being around you as an infant, falling in love so quickly with a tiny bundle that wasn’t even mine, made me determined that my child be raised by a family I would not be tempted to contact later, and who would never know how to contact me. There was no other way to protect her, and no other way I could survive the heartbreak of giving her up.”
Rosalie’s gaze moved to the wall of French countryside paintings behind Cassie. “Your mother told me you asked about the paintings,” she said peacefully. “You were right; we were together when we bought them. Noreen was at your house with you and your father. Helen and I drove to Los Angeles, and visited the convent on the way to the hospital.”
Cassie studied the paintings. “What happened when you left the hospital?”
“We drove back to Las Vegas in your mother’s car. Helen helped find good people to adopt the baby . . . took care of me until I could travel alone . . . and then I went back to Sacramento.”
Rosalie closed her eyes. Cassie’s thoughts whirled as she listened to Rosalie’s steady breathing rhythm, waiting until she thought Rosalie was sleeping.
She tried to loosen her fingers. Immediately Rosalie’s hand clamped down, holding tight.
“Cassie, I don’t care how much of that goes into the book,” she said with a firm voice. “I’m beyond scandal. But I don’t want it to fall on my daughter the way Lawrence’s mother did it to me. Please . . . promise me you won’t let that happen. Don’t let anyone find her and ruin whatever happiness she has built of her life. Promise me that!”
“Yes,” Cassie whispered, “I promise.”
But even as she said it, she knew she was going to break that promise.
Chapter Forty-Six
Cassie’s stomach began to growl as she drove from Baylin House. She hoped Margaret and Hortensia had ordered something for themselves to eat and were comfortable enough. She phoned their room to check on them.
Hortensia answered; no, they had not eaten yet. Margaret had no cash and she was afraid to use credit cards with her name on them. “She is afraid Mr. Fozzi will have some way to trace where the food is delivered.”
Cassie didn’t think so, but she understood the woman’s fear. “I’ll bring something,” she told Hortensia.
She found a Deli-Quick near the University Commons apartments, and ordered three Cobb Salad Bowls with extra sides, a gallon of sweet tea, and two containers of breadsticks. She no longer cared about the charges she was putting on the AmEx card.
On her way out, she noticed the window placard advertising free Wireless Access for customers. That was good to know. She could come back with the laptop and check her bank account to make sure the first paycheck is there before she gives Dorothy any information.
At Treasure Isle Cassie carried most of the food inside at room 18. “You really are safe here as long as you don’t go outside where you can be seen,” she warned the two women now in her care. She didn’t hear any complaints; only the plastic lids popping off containers, and wrappers being torn off plastic utensils.
“I’m going to my own room now to make phone calls, and I need to leave again for just a little while, but here is my cell phone number if you need to reach me. I won’t be far, and I won’t be gone long.”
***
It was six-thirty Texas time; four-thirty in Las Vegas. Helen picked up on the second ring.
“Hello Cassandra. I’ve been expecting your call.”
“Then you know Rosalie and I had a long talk this afternoon.”
“Yes, she told me what to expect. She wasn’t able to tell you who the adoptive parents were for obvious reasons--”
“But you can, can’t you? It must be someone I know. Who was it, Mom?”
Cassie could hear her mother’s heavy sigh on the other end. Maybe it was Helen’s disappointment that Cassie couldn’t let this go without making more trouble for everyone. Maybe it was a sigh of relief to finally share the burden.
“Do you remember the Stanwyks?” Helen asked.
“Sure! Stephanie was my best friend
until fifth grade. They moved away the week after school started. Are you saying Stephanie Stanwyk is Rosalie’s daughter?” Cassie’s memory suddenly pictured her little friend from long ago, carrot colored hair and all.
“Well, it didn’t take you long to figure that out, did it?”
“Mom . . .”
“Jennifer and Stephen were our neighbors when we lived on Curtis Drive. I knew they were good people who’d been trying to have a baby for a long time, so it was a kindness to give their names to the attorney handling the adoption.”
“And Rosalie never knew her daughter was right there all that time . . .” Cassie was thinking aloud, not asking, but the direction of her thought was clear to her mother.
“I didn’t expect Rosalie to ever come back to Las Vegas, so there was no risk,” Helen insisted.
“And then they moved away, yeah, I remember. I think I tried to convince you to let Stephanie stay with us so she wouldn’t have to move.”
“Yes, you did. The two of you were very close.”
“I don’t remember where they moved. Do you?”
“They followed Stephen’s job.”
“Where?”
“The last time I heard from Jennifer they were living in Phoenix. She sent an invitation to Stephanie’s wedding, and we sent a lovely gift.”
“Stephanie’s wedding? Where was I? I don’t remember an invitation.”
“You were going through your divorce at that time, Cassandra. It wouldn’t have helped to wave someone else’s wedding invitation in your face.”
Cassie took a breath to avoid that subject. “Are they all still in Phoenix as far as you know?”
“I imagine Stephen is. That’s where he buried Jennifer.”
“Buried . . . you mean Jennifer died?” Cassie’s heart sank. Stephanie had already suffered the death of one mother – could she ask her to do it again?
“I think about five years ago. She was severely diabetic, Cassie; that’s why she couldn’t carry a baby of her own, and why they were so grateful to have Stephanie in their lives.”
