I forced down the lump that was growing in my throat. Graciela’s children deserved both parents, too—as did the children of all the other workers. I would just have to be careful. Wishing for a helmet and a bulletproof vest, I said, “I guess so.”
“I’ll go first. Stay behind me.”
I stumbled over and grabbed a handful of Jess’s soft shirt. He smelled of tobacco and soap.
“I’m going to stay on the right side of the hall,” he said. As we pressed ourselves against the wall and sidled down the hallway, a gunshot cracked in front of us. “How far?” he whispered.
“Just a few more feet, I think.” A moment later, a doorknob rattled, another gunshot sounded, and something whizzed by my head. It was followed by two reports I recognized as Jess’s shotgun.
“It’s locked,” he said.
“Let me do it,” I hissed. “There’s a deadbolt above the knob.”
I fumbled past him and snicked the deadbolt back. Then the door swung open, releasing the fetid smell of unwashed bodies and fear, and we tumbled into the room.
The room was dark, but we were surrounded by whimpers and urgent whispers. “What do we do now?” I asked Jess.
“Wait for them to come to us.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s only one shooter.”
“How do you know?”
“Because of how far apart the shots are. This door locks from the outside. If we bide our time, I’m betting our friend will try to lock us in.”
“Then what?”
“We shoot him.”
“Kill him?” The thought turned my stomach. Hadn’t I spent the last five years telling my children that guns are bad? What was I doing here?
“You got a better idea?” Jess asked.
“Can’t we just use the stun gun?”
“Too risky.”
“Jess, I don’t want to murder someone.”
“They’ve been keeping these folks here prisoner, and God knows what they were gonna do to you.”
“We’ll know it when he goes to close the door, won’t we?”
“Yup.”
“Well, when that happens, why don’t you give it a hard kick? When he goes down, I’ll get him with the stun gun.”
“It’s too risky.”
As he spoke, a squeak came from the direction of the door.
There was no time to think. I tightened my grip on the stun gun and hurled myself toward the noise. With a crack, my shoulder connected with the door. The door swung open sharply, then stopped with a thud. At the same moment, a gunshot sounded. I thrust the stun gun out and down, making contact with something soft. Then I punched the button, and something thumped to the floor.
“Shit!” It was Jess’s voice from behind me. “Margie? Margie? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I croaked, feeling numb. “The guy’s down.”
“He could have killed you!”
“Yes, but he didn’t.”
Jess had reached down and was helping me stagger to my feet when another gunshot rang out, and he groaned in pain.
TWENTY-SIX
“Jess!” I yelled, fumbling for him in the darkness. As I crawled back into the room, pulling him behind me, another shot rang out.
I fumbled with the safety on my gun. It was bad enough having to use the thing at all, much less in a pitch-dark building with innocent lives depending on my accuracy.
I aimed at what I hoped was the hall, said a small prayer asking for forgiveness, and was about to squeeze the trigger when a volley of shots rang out from the direction of the loading dock.
I’d forgotten about Peaches.
“Hang in there, guys! I’m comin’!” she called.
The shooter returned a few rounds. Then Peaches let off another volley of shots, and somebody cried in pain.
“Put down the gun!” Peaches hollered. “Now!”
A moment later, harsh light flooded the hallway. I flinched, then edged toward the hallway and squinted. One man lay next to the door. A few steps further on, another man slumped against the wall, holding his side. Blood oozed from between his fingers.
Peaches strode down the hall, her gun trained on the wounded man. “Is there anyone else here?” she asked.
The man responded in Spanish. She rattled something back to him, then turned to me. “He says only three of them were here. All the other guys are out looking for you.”
“Thank God you know how to use that gun.”
Peaches walked up to the bleeding man. His gun lay beside him, and she kicked it out of reach. “Margie, can you cover him for me? I’ll make sure Jess is okay.”
“I’ll be fine,” said Jess in a weak voice as I stepped forward and held my gun up with a shaking arm. I glanced back at him. Blood leaked from his left arm.
“You will be once we get you to a hospital,” Peaches said. “First, though, we got to get these guys out of here.” She motioned to the men and women huddled behind us in the dim room.
“But they’re going to need to get in touch with their relatives. How are we going to manage that?”
A tall, thin man stepped forward into the light from the hallway. I recognized him from the puckered skin on the side of his face: Eduardo. For a moment, I forgot about the two thugs lying in the hallway. “Eduardo! Thank God you’re all right! Graciela and the girls will be so happy to see you!”
“Thank you so much for coming to help us, Miss Margie.”
I surveyed the crowd behind him. Their faces were scared and tired, but there was hope in their eyes. I wanted to send them to their families… but how were we going to be able to prove what Bitsy was doing?
I turned to Eduardo. “Now what do we do?” I asked. “I don’t want to turn them over to Immigration. They’ll just try again with another coyote, and who knows what will happen the next time.”
“I will take them to my house,” he said. “I know where this building is. I recognized it when they brought us here. It is near La Victoriana. Graciela and I live on Eleventh Street, not far from here. They can telephone their families from our house.”
Bitsy would likely escape prosecution if that happened, but at least these people would earn their freedom. I didn’t like it, but didn’t see any other options. And after all, that’s why we’d come here in the first place, rather than calling the cops an hour ago and avoiding the whole gun battle thing. “Are you sure that’s okay?”
“It will be fine. Everyone has a contact here, waiting to hear from them.”
“I hate for you to have to walk. I don’t even have my car keys, though, and there are so many…”
“It is no problem. My house is only ten or fifteen blocks from here. A short walk. I will lead them, and you can call the policia.”
Peaches nodded. “Good idea, Eduardo. Then, when they get here, they’ve got witnesses, but we can just say everyone escaped in the commotion.”
I hugged Eduardo. “Tell Graciela I said hi.”
“I will. And thank you for helping us.” He turned to Peaches and Jess. “All of you.”
“Our pleasure,” Jess said softly. Peaches nodded. Eduardo turned and said something in Spanish, and everyone hurried past us out of the squalid room, touching us lightly in gestures of thanks and murmuring to each other in Spanish as they jostled each other down the hallway. The loading dock door squeaked open, and in less than two minutes, the men and women who had been enslaved for months—years, maybe—disappeared into the night.
“We’ll give them ten minutes,” Peaches said. “Anyone got a cell phone?”
I grimaced. “Maria took it from me when she caught me.”
Peaches sighed. “I left mine out in the car.”
“I’ve got one,” Jess said. “The holster’s on my belt, if you can find it.”
After a bit of fumbling that I suspect neither of them minded, she held up the phone. “Ready?”
“Give it five more minutes,” I said, “and we’ll call.”
“I’m w
orried about that fella over there,” said Jess.
I glanced over at the man in the hallway. His brown face had an undertone of gray, and the pool of blood beneath him had grown alarmingly.
Peaches said, “Forget him. What about you?”
“I think Jess is right,” I said. “We need to call for help.”
“I hate to put those poor people at risk on his account.” Peaches jabbed a finger toward the guy in the hall.
“Better to call now,” Jess said. “I don’t know how long that stun gun works.”
She sighed. “I guess you’re right. Let’s just hope Eduardo gets a move on.” She dialed, and a few minutes later, sirens wailed in the distance.
“I don’t think you need to worry about Eduardo and the others,” Jess said. “Those sirens will put a spring in their step. Besides, we’ll just put off telling the cops the details for as long as possible. Give ’em a chance to get away.”
“I hope you’re right,” I said. “Peaches, why don’t you stay here, and I’ll go out and meet the police.”
“Don’t forget your stun gun,” she said. “Just in case that guy by the door wakes up.”
#
When the firefighters and paramedics arrived, the man by the front door was still passed out. The police rolled up as the paramedics wheeled stretchers into the ambulances, and we spent the next hour repeating the story about everyone scattering into the night when the doors opened. The fifth time Peaches and I went through it, they finally gave up and let us go home.
“So they’re going to question the president of the Junior League about using slave labor,” Peaches said as we pulled away from the warehouse in the Buick. The keys to my minivan hadn’t materialized, so she was taking me home. “I’ll bet that’ll raise some eyebrows when the next society page comes out.”
“And her assistant. I hope Maria doesn’t take the fall for her, but I’m betting that’s what’s going to happen.” I glanced back at the warehouse, which was still swarming with police. Jess’s gunshot wound was minor, but the paramedics had insisted on taking him to the hospital anyway, along with the guy Peaches shot. “It’s a shame, really,” I said. “The organization could have done a lot of good.” I shivered. “She ordered Carlos to ‘take care of me.’” I didn’t want to think of what that would entail. Mexico? Or something more final? “I think she’s got a few screws loose.”
Peaches rolled her eyes. “You can say that again. Charity is one thing. Keeping people locked up in a disgusting warehouse so you can look good in the papers is nuts. Besides, I’d be willing to bet a good portion of the cash went right into her little Donna Karan purse.”
“I hope the police figure it out when they finish the investigation.” I’d told them I thought Bitsy was involved, but I was betting she’d claim ignorance and say it was all Maria’s doing. I leaned back into the Buick’s seat. “I’m glad that guy you shot is going to be okay.”
“Yeah, it’s too bad, isn’t it?”
“Peaches!”
She reached over and patted my knee. “You know, I was right about hiring you. You’ve been working what—two weeks?—and you’ve broken up a high-society slave ring that’s been going on for years. Pretty damned impressive, if you ask me.”
I slumped into my seat. “Thanks. Too bad I can’t figure out what’s going on with my husband. Or who killed Maxted, for that matter.” I sighed. “Maybe I should have stuck with gardening.”
Peaches pursed her lips. “There may be a few rocks you haven’t turned over yet.”
“What do you mean?” I’ve been to Maxted’s apartment, Maxted’s office, the Rainbow Room, Miss Veronica’s Boudoir…” I ticked them off on my fingers. “I tried to talk with Maxted’s boyfriend, but they locked him up on drug charges before I got to him.”
“Well, you’ve been to Maxted’s apartment, but the way I hear it, you didn’t get much of a chance to look around.”
“Yeah, but how am I going to get back in? Even if Willie believed the story about the cat, why would she let me in a second time?”
Peaches shrugged. “I don’t know. Make something up.”
“I did that last time. Now I’m stuck with a homicidal cat, my new couch is destroyed, and I’ve got a week’s worth of dirty clothes stacked up in my kitchen because can’t get into my laundry room.” I sighed. “Still. I guess it couldn’t hurt.”
“We’ll go tomorrow.” Peaches turned left onto Laurel Lane. “What number?”
“It’s two down from the corner, on the left.” A moment later, the Buick rolled to a stop in front of my house. “You want me to pick you up at ten? I’ll swing by the hospital and check on Jess, then I’ll come here.”
“Oh, that’s right. I still don’t have a car.” I bit my lip. “I know you’re busy… are you sure?”
She rolled her eyes. “Honey, I just helped you storm a warehouse full of armed men hiding illegal aliens, and you want to know if I’ll give you a ride to an apartment building?”
I hugged her impulsively, breathing in her musky perfume. “Thank, Peaches. You’re the best.”
As I hobbled up the front steps past the lavender, she rolled down the window. “Nothing dangerous though, you hear? I’ve got a date at the Spoke this Friday night.”
I laughed. “Good thing Jess didn’t get shot in the leg. I’ll do the best I can.”
#
My husband leaped up from the couch, his white face drawn with worry, as I closed the front door behind me. “Margie! Where have you been? What the hell happened to you?” His eyes lifted to my hair. “And why is your hair purple?”
I sighed. “I found out Bitsy McEwan was running a factory on the east side of town.”
Blake’s brow wrinkled. “What are you talking about?”
“She was using slave labor—illegal aliens held against their will—to do it. I found out about it, but her assistant caught me before I could go to the authorities.”
He blinked. “Bitsy McEwan? The president of the Junior League?” He narrowed his blue eyes at me. “You’ve been drinking your mother’s weird concoctions, haven’t you?”
My temper flared. “Do you really think I’d be making this up? She decided it was cheaper to use slaves than to pay workers in Mexico ten cents an hour for labor. She’s a criminal.”
Blake paled. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“No, I am not.”
My husband took a step back. “But she’s in the Junior League… And Herb is a partner at Jones McEwan…”
“Look. I don’t care what she is. She had me tied up and stuck in a truck headed for Mexico, or God knows where. I managed to escape before they killed me, or whatever they were planning to do. Then Peaches and I headed back to the warehouse to get Eduardo and the other people out—she was keeping Graciela’s husband hostage, you know—before we called the cops.”
“I don’t believe it.” He stood looking disoriented for a few seconds. Then with a hurt-sounding voice, he said, “You called Peaches instead of me?”
“I called Peaches because I knew she’d believe me,” I said, suddenly feeling very tired. “Anyway, the authorities will hopefully be arresting Bitsy shortly. Maybe Herb, too.”
“I just can’t believe it. Bitsy McEwan.” He shook his head. Then he suddenly pulled me into a fierce hug that stirred an ache in my heart. “I don’t know what to think of all this, but I’m glad you’re okay,” he whispered.
“Me too,” I murmured, tears pricking at the backs of my eyes. I didn’t know what to think of my husband right now either, but I still loved him. After a long moment, he stepped back and studied me. “That still doesn’t explain why your hair is purple.”
I smiled weakly. “I needed a change.” This wasn’t the time to discuss my incognito visit to Evan Maxted’s funeral. Or why my husband’s “client meeting” was being held at a memorial service. The clock in the front hall chimed four. “Look, I’m beat. Can we talk about this tomorrow?”
He was surprisingly solicito
us. “You go take a bath. I’ll just call my parents and let them know you’re okay. By the way, your mom called. Wanted to know if you’d tried some tea she sent you, and said something about our auras and karma, and coming to town next weekend…” He rolled his eyes. “Lord only knows what she was going on about. I’m not sure she knew. Anyway, I didn’t tell her anything, because I didn’t want her to worry.”
“Thanks,” I said, and trundled down the hall to the bathroom, where I stripped off my clothes and threw them into the trash. Then I filled the claw-footed tub with hot water, poured in a capful lavender bubble bath, and sank into a mound of fragrant bubbles. A half hour later, my feet bandaged and my hair still dripping, I slipped into bed beside Blake and fell asleep.
#
I woke up at nine-fifteen the next morning and hurried downstairs, cursing under my breath. I’d overslept, and the kids were late to school. I was tossing PopTarts into the toaster when I noticed a note on the kitchen table; Blake had taken the kids to school, and Prue would pick them up for me. My eyebrows shot up in surprise. Had my husband had been replaced by an alien during the night? If he had, I was thinking I might be able to get used to it.
After putting on a fresh pot of coffee, I headed upstairs to throw on jeans and a t-shirt. My hair was still the color of an eggplant, but today, that was the least of my worries. Peaches honked her horn at ten-ten. I took a last swig of coffee and headed out the door.
“Your hair’s still purple,” Peaches said when she saw me. She had traded in her green dress for purple hot pants and a close-fitting white top.
“Thanks for noticing,” I said. “According to the bottle, I’ve got about nine more washes to go. Then again, the bottle said my hair was supposed to turn black, not purple, so who knows? Maybe I’ll start a new trend.” As I closed the Buick door behind me, Peaches pointed to the Mexican Sage, whose cascade of velvety purple blooms was a perfect foil to the jewel-like orange flowers of a butterfly weed. “Nice place you got here. You’re quite a gardener.”
“Thanks,” I said, looking back at the stone cottage nestled among leafy ferns and pale impatiens, honeysuckle clinging to the chimney. Despite the overgrown lawn, it looked idyllic, like a fairy tale house. It was amazing how much had changed. Two weeks ago, I was happy, secure, relatively content, queen of my little domain. Now, everything had been turned upside down. I watched the house until it slid out of sight. Then, I turned to Peaches. “I called the police this morning and left a message about the warehouse. And Bitsy.”
Karen MacInerney - Margie Peterson 01 - Mother's Day Out Page 25
