by Hill, Brenda
Carefully, she twirled around for the girls’ inspection.
“Perfect,” Suzy said.
“I bet your own mother wouldn’t recognize you,” Karen commented.
“Why Greg,” Diana teased, “I didn’t know you were so brilliant.”
“I’ve been telling you for years. You oughta listen more often.”
Diana stuck her tongue out at him.
Suzy smiled and got up from the table. “Well, looks like we’re about ready.”
Tracy looked at Suzy. “This is it, isn’t it?” she whispered. “I’m scared.”
“Honey, that’s natural.”
“But if he’s watching, won’t he notice me anyway? Even if he doesn’t recognize me as me, won’t he think something’s funny if all of a sudden there’s a extra person leaving?”
“I won’t lie,” Suzy told her. “That’s always a possibility. But unless he’s really trained in observation, he probably won’t notice someone new in a group of women. That’s why we always arrive and leave at the same time. It presents a confusing picture and that’s what we want. It’s worked so far.”
Suzy came over to her and took both of her hands.
“I know it’s a risk,” she said. “It always is. But what’s your alternative? At least if this works, and we take the best precautions to make sure it does, you and Ritchie will be safe while you finish your recovery period and decide what to do.”
Tracy didn’t move. She felt gentle pressure from Suzy’s hand.
“Come on now, think. If you don’t go with us, what will you do? How will you take care of Ritchie?”
Tracy thought irritably that Suzy must’ve learned her persuasive technique from a high-pressure salesman. She didn’t let go of Tracy’s hands and she didn’t break eye contact. “Okay.”
“Good girl.” Suzy smiled, and before she let go of Tracy’s hands, she gave her a brief hug. She turned to the group.
“Now, we’ll get Ritchie and we can leave.” She walked to a large cardboard box covered with the same logo design. Perfect round holes, about the size of silver dollars, dotted the front and back.
Tracy eyed the box. “What are the holes for?”
“Air.”
“You’re going to put him in there?” She examined the box. Soft blankets lined the bottom.
“I know it looks like a terrible thing to do, but believe me, it’s just to the car and he’ll be fine. We’ve done it before. And tonight, with Greg here, we can even take advantage of someone with muscles carrying it out for us. We don’t always have that good fortune.”
“Isn’t there any other way?”
“Don’t worry,” Wendy said, “I felt the same way, but it doesn’t hurt the kids. I should know. I had to smuggle three of them out.”
“Believe me,” Margaret chimed in, “Suzy’s got this down to a fine art. We’ve all done it. If the kids are awake, they think it’s fun to ride in a box.”
“It has to be your decision,” Suzy, said, “but decide quick. We need to get moving.”
What should she do? Tracy looked at the box, then to Diana, the rest of group, then to Suzy. Did she trust Suzy or not? She nodded.
“I’ll get him.” Diana rose and left the room.
Fortunately, Ritchie had fallen so fast asleep that he did not awaken when they placed him into the box. Tracy covered him with his special blanket.
Finally, when everything was ready and everyone was by the back door waiting to leave, Suzy gave last minute instructions to Tracy.
“When you walk out, don’t look around. Keep your face straight ahead. Same thing after you’re in the car. Just keep your face turned to the front. Don’t look out your window. If he’s out there, we don’t want him to see your face.”
Diana hugged her. “Don’t worry about things here, we’ll take care of what we can. The main thing is, get out of danger, then worry about straightening out this mess.”
“I know.” Tracy hugged her friend as much as she could with all that padding between them. “Thank you for everything, for being there. You too, Greg. I don’t know what I would have done...” she broke off, fighting tears.
“Hey,” Greg said, “don’t keep everyone waiting while you two blubber at the door.” He put his arms around Tracy and gave her a hug. “We’ll see you when we can. Like Suzy said, it’s not a good idea for us to come there, but you know how to reach us.” He picked up the box with Ritchie inside. “Let’s go.”
Diana held the door open as each prearranged grouping of two women stepped out from the back of the house. First, Suzy and Karen, each going to a different car, then, holding the box securely, Greg trailed slightly behind them. Two steps behind him, Tracy started out, with Margaret on one side, Gail on the other, and Joyce in back. Suzy opened the back door of her car and Greg quickly slid the box in. Tracy started to get in beside the box, but Suzy blocked her.
“Get in front,” she hissed. “I’ll explain inside.” Once they were settled with the doors locked, Suzy explained. “Don’t you think it would look strange if a pregnant woman sat in the backseat by herself?”
“Of course,” Tracy said. She placed her hand on the box, steadying it for when they started moving.
But no one moved except the last car in line. It slowly backed out of the driveway. The rest sat idling. Let’s go, she shouted in her head, let’s get out of here. What if he runs to the car?
“Why are we waiting?” she asked, holding herself rigid, her teeth tightly clinched.
Suzy reached over to squeeze her shoulder.
“I know this is torture, but just hang on. We’re moving now. If we’d all taken off with tires screeching, we wouldn’t look like normal folks.”
Tracy nodded and tried to relax. She fought the urge to look. Was he out there? More important, had they fooled him?
Chapter Thirty-One
The next morning, Reese sat at his kitchen table sipping coffee and reading Anna Mae Foster’s file. He didn’t notice the coffee had cooled or that the cup was leaving wet brown circles on the table.
According to the original investigator who interviewed Anna Mae’s neighbors and co-workers, she was, “nice, friendly, kind of shy, didn’t have a lot of friends. She dated occasionally,” he’d noted, “not a lot, seems she lived pretty quietly. But everyone agreed she was “friendly, and,” Reese turned to the last page, “always had a nice smile for people she knew and liked.”
He compared her date of employment to the dates Fang Security sent Karlton Wolfe on assignment. Sure enough, during that time, Wolfe had worked at a nightclub a couple of miles away.
But the proof was still circumstantial; he needed a positive ID. From Tracy. He’d swing by the Golden home, tell her about Anna Mae, leaving out her name, of course, and go over some options available for her and her son’s safety. At least she’d spent a couple of peaceful days.
The phone rang. He picked up the black cordless. “Your dime.”
“Sanders, what the hell are you doing at home?”
Cooper. Shit. She was supposed to be back on the job today and he’d forgotten to leave word for her.
“I suppose it’s a little warm,” she continued, “so you decided to stay home.”
“Uh, Cooper, I’m glad you’re feeling bett—”
“I give up on you,” she interrupted. “I’m going to Captain Tate and tell him I’m through. I’ve got enough headaches without worrying whether or not you’re following up—”
“You sure do,” he cut in, “and I wouldn’t blame you a bit.”
Silence.
Go with it, Reese thought. At least she was listening. “I wouldn’t want to babysit some asshole who screwed up all the time.”
“Sanders, I just tried to reach Tracy Michaels. She left the hospital without authority and Mrs. Golden says she’s not at her home. So where is she? You’re supposed to be on top of this.”
Holy shit. Tracy left the Goldens’? No, she wouldn’t do that, not with a baby and no place to
go. Mrs. Golden probably told Cooper that just to keep her away.
But he’d better check it out. Damn. He’d slipped up. He should have picked Tracy up as soon as he knew where she had gone. What the hell was wrong with him? Was his head in his ass?
“Don’t worry,” he said. “She’s okay. She was getting threats from that asshole and I know where she is.” He prayed he was right. “Let me take care of it. I’ll get in touch with you later. Someone’s at the door.”
“But—”
Reese slammed down the phone and opened the door to Carly Shuler, his neighbor on the third floor, who was a deeply tanned bleached blonde with boobs the size of melons. Her clothes were like Loni Anderson’s, every top cut low to exaggerate her cleavage. Today she wore a pink tank top and white shorts tight enough for him to see little indentations at her crotch. Glossy red lipstick outlined her lips. She stood with one leg cocked like a model’s pose, and held out a plate of cookies. She smiled and he had the urge to suck in his gut.
“Hi, big boy,” she said, her voice low and sexy. “Want something to eat?”
He flushed all the way up to his faded blond roots. For some damned reason, she always made him feel like a schoolboy.
She grinned and edged her way into the apartment. As she passed him, he smelled warm peanut butter. His favorite cookie.
Reese was reluctant to close the door, knowing that she might take that as an invitation to stay. Maybe he was a macho pig, but he sure felt uncomfortable around a hungry woman.
How to get rid of her without offending her? Might just come a time that he’d want to take her up on it. But not now, not when he was right in the middle of a mess.
“Got a drink for a neighbor?” She headed for the kitchen, swinging her ass so he could get a good view. He’d have to be blind not to see everything she offered. A good three inches of rounded cheeks hung below the shorts. Pushing some papers aside, she set the plate of still-warm cookies on the table.
“Well, I tell you, Carly,” he said, “this isn’t a good time. I’m right in the middle of something.”
“Oh, I can see that.” She glanced at his piled kitchen table, then turning, she took in his dismal apartment, the functional sofa and barren coffee table, the green shag carpet matted at her feet. A couple of months ago, she had brought him a shiny green plant. It died from lack of water.
Ignoring it all, she sauntered over to him.
“If you change your mind, just let me know.” With her index finger at her lips, she blew him a silent kiss, then slipped out the door.
Whew! Grinning, and mentally kicking himself in the ass, he shut the door and picked up the phone.
***
Tracy sat in the kitchen, feeding Ritchie breakfast and talking to Amy and Wendy. They arrived last night at a two-story brick bungalow on Federal Boulevard, just south of I-70. A large treed lot surrounded the house and it appeared neat and in good repair, just like the other homes in the neighborhood.
“That’s it?” Tracy had asked when she first saw it. Pushing strands of the blonde wig away from her eyes, she peered through the windshield of Suzy’s car. Inside the screened front porch, rectangles of yellowed light glowed behind drawn shades. “But it looks like any other house.”
“That’s the idea.”
The ride to the house had been perfectly planned, with two cars stationed at different intervals along the way. The first car had been parked just a couple of blocks away from Diana’s, and the second waited at a motel parking lot on Federal Blvd.
“They’ll stay for about ten minutes and when they’re sure no one is following, they’ll come along,” Suzy explained.
They pulled into the long driveway on the south side of the house and Suzy stopped the car before a high wooden fence. Like magic, the gate opened. They eased forward and stopped in front of a closed double garage. Suzy shut off the engine.
“You’ll be safe here.”
Tracy wondered if she’d ever feel safe again. Would she always wonder if he was out there, watching, waiting?
Thankfully, Ritchie was still asleep. She got him from the box and held him close.
“Thank you, Suzy. I don’t know what I would have done...”
Suzy smiled. “Let’s get inside.”
A heavy woman in her late forties held the back door open for them.
“Welcome, Tracy,” she said. “We’ve been expecting you. I’m Amy, the unofficial housemother.” In contrast to Suzy, Amy wore no jewelry or makeup, and her grey hair hung to her shoulders. Inside the roomy kitchen, Ritchie woke and Amy reached for him. “Let me take this little fellow and give him some juice.”
Tracy yanked off the wig and ran her fingers through her hair. She looked at her new home for the next few days. Or weeks.
At the far end of the long kitchen a cozy eating alcove was fitted into a bay window overlooking Federal Boulevard. Next to the back door, a coffee can half-filled with quarters sat on a small snack tray.
“When anyone goes out, “Amy explained, “they take two quarters in case they have to call here. In an emergency. It doesn’t happen very often, mind you, but once in a great while, a husband tracks his wife down. She sees him, calls here, and we all make a beeline to get her.”
“And if the quarters aren’t needed,” Suzy said, “they’re put back into the can. We hope one day to afford cell phones, but right now we use the old-fashioned way. It still works.”
Tracy felt comforted by their system, but hoped she’d never have to use it.
“I’ll take you upstairs to put your things down, then we’ll take the tour,” Suzy told her.
“I’ll come along and get fresh linens.” Amy, still holding Ritchie, followed them.
Upstairs were four bedrooms and a full size bath. Amy led them to a tiny room with a cot, its metal springs supporting a bare, sagging mattress. An old-fashioned oak baby crib with small nicks in the wood hugged the wall, and a white three-drawer chest with a table lamp on top stood next to it. A reddish oval braided rug lay in front of the crib.
“Not very luxurious, I’m afraid.”
“Right now, the Waldorf couldn’t look any better,” Tracy told her.
“I’ll get the linens.” Amy left and Suzy showed Tracy the rest of the house.
The attic held a large room with four cots and assorted chests of drawers. Two of the cots held personal items. Downstairs, mismatched furniture filled the house. Hardwood floors showed scuff marks from many feet, but like the furniture, were free of dust. A screened porch held assorted lawn furniture. The back yard vegetable garden and garage were all enclosed in an eight-foot wooden privacy fence.
After Suzie left, Tracy got Ritchie ready for bed. Her eyes watered and burned. She yawned, and once started, she couldn’t seem to stop. Maybe it was because she was starting to relax. She was surprised to feel a little more safe in the house, even if it was full of women in similar circumstances.
“Why don’t you go on to bed,” Amy suggested, arms full of sheets and towels. “You must be absolutely exhausted.” She opened the top chest drawer. Inside was a small packet filled with assorted hygiene items: toothbrush, paste, comb, a generic deodorant, and motel-size soap, plus assorted baby items such as baby powder and shampoo.
“How thoughtful.”
“Some of the women come here quite suddenly. We try to provide some of the necessities.”
Later, Tracy gave Ritchie a big hug, then put him into the crib with his blanket and stuffed dinosaur. She noted with relief that he did not seem to mind all of the changes, just as he had not minded staying with Diana when she had been in the hospital. He was an adaptable child who seemed to love everyone. Thank God that what had happened recently had not, apparently, left a mark on him.
Tracy covered him, then, she collapsed. Like a puppeteer letting go of his puppet’s strings, she simply folded. All of the energy she’d used to just get through each day left so quickly she barely made it to the cot. She fell into such a deep sleep she didn’t eve
n hear Amy cover her with a blanket.
Now, in the bright light of the morning, Tracy sat at the kitchen table and spooned oatmeal into Ritchie’s mouth, who wanted to play and kept grabbing the spoon. Amy sipped coffee and Wendy munched on toast.
Gail entered the kitchen, poured a cup of coffee and joined them at the table.
“Everyone’s been so nice,” Tracy said. “I never even realized places like this existed. Especially when they look so normal.”
“Maybe that’s why husbands don’t find us.” Gail remarked.
Wendy pulled a pack of crushed cigarettes and a book of matches from her sweater pocket. Everyone’s eyes went to her as she lit up. Tracy caught a sudden whiff of sulfur. Wendy inhaled, then glanced up. And froze. “What?”
Amy frowned. “You know you can’t smoke in here,” she said. “Use the smoking room.” With a nod of her head, she indicated the back yard.
Wendy sighed. “All right, all right.” She looked for something to crush out her cigarette, finally going to the sink to run water over it. She threw the sodden mess into the garbage.
“Suzy’s wonderful, isn’t she?” Tracy put Ritchie on the floor with a yellow plastic truck from the toy box. “I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone like her.”
Everyone laughed. A woman about twenty entered, robe buttoned to her throat. She poured a glass of Coke and sat at the table.
“You talking about Suzy? I’m Kim, she said to Tracy, then joined the conversation. “Suzy’s one of a kind, all right. She’s nothing like my family. Maybe if I’d had a mother or grandmother like her, I wouldn’t’ve married the first jerk that asked. Then maybe I wouldn’t be here.”
“Maybe none of us would be here if we’d had someone like Suzy,” Amy mused.
Later that morning, Suzy called.
“I’ve got a message for you from Diana.” In order to keep tight security at the house, relatives and friends of the women didn’t have the telephone number. Information and messages had to be relayed through Suzy or one of the other social workers connected to the house.
