Hope and Honor

by Marilee Brothers

  He looks disappointed. “Got it.”

  “Good.” I pat his knee and merge into traffic. “Now let’s talk about Paul Moen.”

  Our plan is finalized once we reach the pricey, well-appointed office of Paul Moen Consulting. I don’t expect Paco to stick to the plan. He’s an intimidating figure and uses it to his advantage. I just don’t want things to spiral out of control, resulting in broken bones, blood, mayhem and a subsequent 911 call. He reluctantly agrees. I hope I haven’t made a horrible mistake involving him in the Ziggy mess.

  “So,” he says, as we take the elevator to Moen’s office. “You think this creep is giving drugs to Ziggy?”

  “No proof yet, but that’s what we think.”

  I don’t tell him about the prostitution angle, knowing it’s a hot button issue. If the evil people who brought Aida to America hadn’t been busted, Paco’s currently not-so-sweet wife was destined to meet the same fate. I choose not to wave a red flag in front of the bull.

  An attractive blonde receptionist guards Moen’s inner sanctum. When we appear on the threshold, her eyes widen in barely suppressed horror. I look fairly harmless, so I assume Paco is the reason for her alarm. He often affects people that way.

  The door to Moen’s office is ajar and I hear his voice. I attempt a disarming smile. “We would like to see Paul Moen.”

  She stands to assert her authority. “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, but I can hear him, so I know he’s in his office. We’ll wait.”

  “Name, please?”

  “Melanie Sullivan. Mr. Moen and I have met.”

  She glances over at Paco. “And, this, er, gentleman is with you?”

  “He sure is.”

  Paco stomps over to her and thrusts out a giant paw. “Paco Morales. And, you are…?”

  For a moment, she appears to have forgotten her name. She stands at arm’s length, places a well-manicured hand in Paco’s, gives it a squeeze and steps back. “I’m, uh, Angela.”

  I say, “Is Mr. Moen with a client?”

  “I believe he’s on the phone. I’ll check and see if he’s available.”

  Paco’s brows draw together in a ferocious frown. “We already know he’s available.”

  Angela is a tall, willowy girl, her height unnecessarily augmented by four-inch stilettos. She spins, teeters a bit and goes into Moen’s office, shutting the door behind her.

  Paco beckons to me and we stand side by side outside the closed door. When Angela emerges, I see Moen behind his desk.

  Angela gives us a saintly smile worthy of her name. “I’m afraid Mr. Moen can’t see you right now?” She tries to pull the door shut, but Paco’s foot blocks it.

  “I think we can persuade him to change his mind.”

  As we move forward, Angela backs up, guarding the portal with outstretched arms. As Paco brushes by her, she loses her balance, cries out and falls on her butt. Paco, who’s barely bumped her, looks shocked and reaches down to help her up.

  She scoots away from him on her butt. “Don’t touch me!”

  Moen picks up his phone. “I’m calling security. Get the hell out of here.”

  Paco reaches his desk in two long strides. With a wicked backhand, he whacks the phone from Moen’s hand. It bounces off a wall and skitters under a chair.

  “Angela!” Moen bellows.

  “I’m on it.” She’s back on her feet, ready to dart through the door.

  I block the way. “We only need a few minutes of Mr. Moen’s time. No need to call security.”

  After a fearful glance over her shoulder at Paco, she hisses, “Who’s going to stop me? You?”

  I step forward until I’m eye level with her chin. “Don’t test me. I’m tougher than I look.”

  My threat becomes a moot point when Paco strides to Angela’s desk, rips the phone from the wall and tosses it into the wastebasket.

  He points at her desk chair and orders, “Sit. Stay.”

  Before she obeys, she turns and screeches, “This is so not in my job description, Paul.”

  Paco gives her another stern warning and leaves the adjoining door open.

  To his credit, Moen doesn’t appear intimidated. Glowering, he stands behind his desk, arms folded across his chest. He stabs a finger in my direction. “What’s this about?”

  Paco puffs up.

  I know he wants to jump in. I step in front of him so I can look in Moen’s soul. “It’s about our mutual friend. In case you don’t remember her name, it’s Ziggy. I believe she acquired some pills from you. Fentanyl.”

  His eyes shift to the side and back. “That’s bullshit. She probably got them from one of her sleazy friends.”

  He’s lying his ass off.

  “She got them from you. We’ll let it go this time. Don’t do it again. Ever.”

  Moen postures a bit, trying to save face. “If she said I gave them to her, she’s lying.”

  “Shut the hell up,” Paco thunders. He lunges at Moen, grabs him by the shoulders and hoists him in the air. Ashen-faced, Moen dangles helplessly in Paco’s grip. Paco says, “Listen up, asshole. You go near that little girl again and I’ll be paying you another visit. Trust me, you’ll be looking for a good plastic surgeon to fix your face when I’m done with you. Got it?”

  Moen nods.

  Paco says, “Say it.”

  “I got it.”

  After we exit the office, Paco and I exchange a high five.

  “Thanks, Unc. At least we solved half of the equation.”

  “Meaning?”

  “You scared the crap out of Paul Moen. I don’t think the same tactic will work with Ziggy.

  On the drive back to Paco’s house, I get worried. “What if Moen calls the cops and says we threatened him.”

  Paco waves a dismissive hand. “Guys like Moen don’t want to draw attention to themselves. Didn’t you tell me the cops were already checking him out?”

  “Yes, but he’s a good liar. He could make something up.”

  He looks over at me with a sly grin. “You’ve got connections. Billy.”

  “Yeah, Billy.”

  “I hear Mick’s gone. Billy’s a good guy.”

  I pull into his driveway and park. “Six months ago, you said the exact same thing about Mick. Make up your mind.”

  He levers himself out of the car. “Love the one you’re with, Chica.”

  Before he slams the door, I call. “Thanks, Unc.”

  He leans down. “Anytime, little girl.”

  As I pull into traffic, my cell phone chirps. Hitchcock.

  He doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Do you want to see the kids?”

  “Of course. When?”

  “Tomorrow. I’ll send a car for you at nine. First, you’ll join me while I interview a person who wants to move to New Dawn. Then, you can see the twins. Work for you?”

  Since I’m under his thumb, right where he wants me, I agree.

  He clicks off abruptly, leaving me to wonder what tomorrow will bring.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I’m seated in a four-wheel drive pick-up truck jouncing along the rutted mountain road leading to New Dawn. The damn pick-up has massively huge tires and has been jacked up so high, I needed a running start to launch myself into the passenger seat. My driver is eager to give me a boost from the rear, but I wave him off and manage to climb in, even while wearing my backpack and toting an overstuffed plastic grocery bag.

  It takes a while for me to remember who he is. After I check him out, I realize he’s guy number two, the camo-clad young man who so enjoyed frisking me when I went to New Dawn with the Rathjens.

  “I’m Chad,” he says. “I remember you. You’re the feisty chick who gave me a chewing out a while back.”

  I shoot him an unfriendly glance. “And don’t you forget it.”

  He grins at me. “You carrying a weapon?”

  “Just my evil tongue. It’s primed and ready to give you a tongue lashing if you attempt to frisk
me again.” After I utter the words, I think about what I said and clamp my lips together in horror. What if he interprets my statement as a veiled invitation to an explicit sex act? Oh, Mel, think before you speak!

  He looks puzzled for a moment, at least until he sees my forbidding expression. “No frisking,” he says. “But you’ll have to give me your cell phone.”

  He’s true to his word. We’re waved through the gate without the requisite frisking. Before I hand over my cell phone, it pings. Text message from Mick.

  —Arrived in Boston. Miss you. Have you changed your mind?—

  I hedge my answer, texting only,

  —Miss you too.—

  He drops me at the community hall where Hitchcock is waiting. I thank Chad for the ride, grab my backpack and grocery bag and leap from the truck, wishing I had a parachute.

  I climb the stairs and join Hitchcock. I can’t resist saying, “You’re actually going to let a female into the sacred portals of the community hall? Geez, who knows what might happen.”

  He doesn’t appreciate my humor, but gives it the old college try with a fake “heh, heh, heh.” Then, he corrects me. “FYI, females are allowed in the community hall except for the monthly meeting.”

  I know I’m screwing myself over but the words spill from my lips. “God knows we wouldn’t want excessive estrogen screwing up a perfectly good meeting. Especially when it comes to issues concerning all the residents of New Dawn.”

  His eyes narrow ominously. “You have a very bad attitude, Ms. Sullivan.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  He pivots toward the door. “Follow me.”

  We walk through a cavernous room where stacks of folding chairs are stowed against one wall. A few steps down a narrow hall, Hitchcock stops in front of a closed door and pauses with his hand on the doorknob. “They’re in here.”

  They? “How many?”

  “Just two. Is that a problem?”

  I shrug. “Probably not, unless they refuse to make eye contact.”

  He pushes the door open. A middle-aged couple clad in jeans and matching windbreakers sits on one side of a conference table. Two large backpacks are stowed beneath the table. The woman glances up as we enter before dropping her gaze. Her layered brown hair swings forward, partially covering one eye. The man swipes a hand through thinning colorless hair and checks me out, his gray-eyed gaze sweeping over my body. Ick.

  Hitchcock and I settle into chairs across from the couple.

  Hitchcock says, “Shirley and Conrad, this is Melanie, my assistant.” He points at a tablet and pen setting on the table. “She’ll be taking some notes and might ask a few questions. Shall we start from the beginning again?”

  Conrad’s mouth twists in ill-disguised impatience. Shirley looks up for a moment. Her eyes are hazel and red-rimmed with dark circles beneath. It’s a small window of opportunity, but the brief glimpse tells me she’s upset and angry. Shirley will be my challenge of the day.

  Conrad’s attitude does not go unnoticed by Hitchcock. “Conrad,” he says. “I know you’ve already explained your situation, but Melanie needs to be brought up to speed. “He slides the tablet and pen my way.

  It’s then I realize we should have made a plan. Even though I’m pretty decent at multi- tasking, I can either take notes or read souls. Since I really want to spend time with the twins, I choose the latter. I cut my eyes at Hitchcock, grip the pen and slide the tablet onto my lap. Hidden from the couple, I write, “Can’t do both.”

  His eyes widen in surprise, but he eventually gets it. After a brief nod of acknowledgement, he looks at Conrad. “Once again, I need to verify your social security numbers. Yours first, Conrad.” He pulls a small notepad from his shirt pocket, checks it out and rattles off the nine-digit number. “Correct?”

  I’m staring into Conrad’s eyes and see he’s telling the truth. Shirley’s a bit harder to read since she’s staring down at the table. When Hitchcock recites the number, she nods. Hitchcock looks over at me. I’m guessing the ball is in my court.

  “Shirley,” I say. “We need a verbal response. Is the number correct?”

  She looks up, but her gaze darts all over the place like she’s looking for an escape route. After a brief glance at me, she says, “It’s the correct number. Not sure why you need it, though.”

  Actually, I’m wondering the same thing.

  Hitchcock ignores her question and tells Conrad to start at the beginning

  “Like I said before,” Conrad begins. “We worked for a business in Medford, or I should say we formerly worked there. Due to series of unfortunate transactions, we felt compelled to pack up and leave.”

  “In the middle of the night,” Shirley adds, with a hateful glance at Conrad.

  The two drone on for another ten minutes. Bottom line, they were skimming money and about to be arrested. They cleaned out their bank accounts and departed Medford in haste, a couple of steps ahead of the law. I pretend to scribble a few notes, but their story is pretty straight forward and I see no attempt at a cover-up, at least until we get to the money angle.

  Conrad gets shifty when Hitchcock says, “Since you closed your bank accounts, you must be carrying a large amount of cash with you.”

  Conrad mumbles, “Not that much. We’re pretty strapped financially.”

  Despite my reluctance to take notes, I write LIE on the tablet in big, block letters.

  Hitchcock notice and sighs. He places his arms on the table and leans toward the couple. “Conrad and Shirley. The rules here are simple. If you take up residence at New Dawn, we will protect you. In return, you will turn over your assets and contribute to our community by donating your time and abilities. Our relationship must be based on absolute honesty.” He leans back in his chair and lets the words hang in the air.

  Shirley flushes and squirms in her chair. Conrad reaches over and covers her hand with his. She snatches it back, clenches her hands together and puts them in her lap. She’s one pissed-off woman.

  Conrad frowns and clears his throat. “I’d like to follow up on something you said earlier about our assets being an investment. You implied we would financially benefit at some point.”

  Hitchcock’s gaze sweeps across the couple. “When you start being honest with me, I’d be glad to be more forthcoming.” He pushes his chair back and stands. “I’ll let you two have a moment while I confer with my assistant.”

  He claps a heavy hand on my shoulder. I resist the urge to shake it off. I’m not budging since I need more answers.

  I fix my gaze on Shirley. “About a year ago, I got into some trouble and left my home in southern California. I moved to Oregon to stay with a friend. She died and I was on my own. No money. No job. I was so scared. You look like you’re scared too.”

  Shirley lifts her head and looks at me, really looks at me. “I have nothing of my own. Conrad controls the money.”

  The truth is evident in her soul.

  I stand. “You’ll figure it out. I did. Best of luck to both of you.”

  Hitchcock leads me to his spacious office and waves me into a chair. He leans against a rustic pine desk. The room has a musty odor, probably from all the dead animals mounted on three of the walls. A crouching bobcat occupies a large shelf behind Hitchcock’s desk and looks ready to spring. The heads of various and sundry animals stare down at us with glassy eyes.

  I want out of here, so I waste no time getting down to business “I detected no lies until the question about the amount of cash they’re holding.”

  “And their social security numbers?”

  Warning bells clang in my head about his extreme interest in the couples’ personal IDs, but it’s not like I have a choice if I want to see the kids. “Yes. They are correct.”

  He pushes away from the desk. “I’ll take you to the twins.”

  I scurry out the office, anxious to leave the hall of dead animals. Once outside, I start down the path to Jake’s cabin.

  Hitchcock takes hold of my
arm and leads me in the opposite direction. “This way.”

  “They’re not at home?”

  “No. They’re in Anna’s care. I’ll take you there.”

  I ask, “Are you going to accept Conrad and Shirley?”

  “No, but there are other options.”

  “Like what?”

  He doesn’t answer. His grip on my arm tightens. “Thank you for your input today. Enjoy your time with the kids.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The wooded trail terminates in a clearing. It surrounds a large log structure. A wide front porch spans the width of the building. A redwood picnic table with attached benches sets next to the entryway. As with the other log homes, the windows are covered with cheap mini blinds. Tire swings hang from the lower branches of the pine trees surrounding the clearing. A rope ladder leads to an elevated wooden platform next to an old fashioned Jungle Jim.

  Hitchcock says, “Anna is our teacher. She lives here. The twins are staying with her.”

  “She lives at the school?” I can’t keep the tone of incredulity from my voice. I set my backpack and grocery bag on the picnic table.

  Hitchcock leads me through the door. “No school today. It’s Saturday.”

  Once inside, all thoughts of an old-fashioned one-room schoolhouse disappear. The walls are off-white, the ceiling cerulean blue, and adorned with a half moon, planets and stars. Each planet is carefully labeled in a familiar-looking script. Sleek desks, each with a tablet computer, are lined up in rows. The walls are crowded with bookshelves and tall cupboards, overflowing with a variety of items designed to encourage creativity. A large flat screen TV is mounted on the wall over the teacher’s desk. Makes me want to go back to school.

  “This is nice.”

  “Nothing but the best for the kiddies.”

  Hitchcock’s statement sounds so cynical, I glance into his eyes to see if he’s lying. If so, I missed it. His expression is always difficult to read, since the scar on his lip transforms his smile into a sneer. Then, factor in his puffy, bloodshot eyes, the window to a truly scary-looking soul. Therefore, I’m not crazy about looking into his eyes.

  “Anna,” he calls.

  A door leading to what are probably living quarters flies open and Kimber appears. Her thumb is back in her mouth and she has a death grip on Blossom Bunny. Still dressed in boy’s overalls, she appears thinner. After a brief pause on the threshold, she sees me. “Mel! My beautiful Mel! Nobody told me you were coming.”