Severed Relations

by Rebecca Forster

  "I didn't think you'd ever get home. It's so late."

  "Gotta work."

  Cori shed her blazer and didn't share news of her day. Amber wouldn't be interested for one thing. For another, Cori was superstitious. She didn't want to talk about dead children with two sleeping under her roof, so she tossed her keys on the table near the door and said:

  "How's Tucker? Did you get him to the doctor?"

  "Yeah, but I had to wait. I was half an hour late getting him to daycare and an hour late for work. Mr. Anthony is going to dock my pay. I might not be able to make the rent this month. Okay?"

  "No, it's not okay," Cori said and she wasn't sorry for it.

  It wasn't okay to have an adult daughter and her two-year old living with her while the baby's father was MIA. It wasn't okay that Amber was satisfied being a waitress in a third rate Italian restaurant. It wasn't okay that she didn't worry about Cori being tired and lonely. It wasn't okay that everyone thought Cori was tough and able to take care of herself no matter what came down the pike. It wasn't okay that Cori had managed to raise a daughter who believed everyone should be responsible for Amber except Amber. It sure wasn't okay that Amber chattered on and ignored Cori's objection to the rent lapse.

  "Anyway, I made you a cheese sandwich. It's in the fridge. Bread and butter pickles on the side, just the way you like it. Oh. Oh. I bought some brownies at the grocery while I was waiting for Tucker's prescription."

  Amber hooked her thumbs on her jeans and smiled gloriously. She looked just like her father. That man had stolen Cori's heart with that same smile, the bastard. He had flashed it again when he walked out on her when she was twenty-four and Amber was six. That was long ago but Cori remembered it like it was yesterday and those memories still ticked her off. The least he could have done would have been to leave her with a completely horrid child so she could hate them both and be done with it. But he didn't. Her ex gave her Amber, and Amber gave her Tucker, and now she had a cheese sandwich and brownies waiting.

  "Thanks baby." Cori smiled wearily. Even when so much wasn't okay in her life, a lot was, and she needed to remember that. "Pay me back next month. Come on. Let's have dinner. I could use some company."

  "Oh, well, see, the thing is–" Amber began.

  "If you've eaten, come sit with me anyway."

  Cori took the gun out of her purse and locked it in the breakfront. She looked over her shoulder in time to see Amber tossing her hair, rolling her eyes, getting ready to make Cori's life just a little more insane.

  "Actually, I was thinking that maybe you could lend me twenty dollars just until my next paycheck."

  The cheese sandwich was explained; it came with strings attached. Cori worked her jaw looking for the right words to tell her daughter that she was at the end of her rope. Instead, Cori headed for the kitchen taking her anger with her. Amber, never one to fully appreciate body language, dogged her mother into the kitchen.

  "I swear, I'll work overtime and–"

  "I only make loans if it's to help Tucker. That's the deal, remember?" Cori opened the fridge.

  "Well, it sort of is to help him." Amber hung on the door. She was a fine talker but when Cori stood up and looked her in the eye she crumbled faster than a teething biscuit on numb gums. "Okay, it's not. I was going to grab something to eat with that guy I told you about."

  "The one from the beach? Amber, get a clue," Cori wailed. "A man doesn't hang out at the beach picking up a woman with a baby in the middle of the week unless he's a loser."

  "I know it doesn't seem right, but he works for his dad. That's why he was off that day. But just to be sure he's a good guy, I want to go slow. You know, pay my own way so he doesn't think he should expect anything. That's why I need the twenty."

  Cori dove back into the fridge, grabbed a can of soda and her food and closed the door with her foot. She went back to the living room with Amber still on her tail and that was when Cori turned on her. If the kid didn't have the sense not to follow a skunk's behind she deserved what she got.

  "What about what I expect, Amber? Or what Tucker is going to expect? You're not married. You're a waitress. You're a mother and you're living with your mother. Don't you think you should worry about what you've got going on without bringing some guy into the mix? Your track record with men isn't exactly good."

  "And yours is? You didn't marry daddy either," Amber threw up her hands. Tears came to her wide, beautiful eyes. Unfortunately, they weren't tears of regret or shame. They were tears of resentment. "I don't want to just work all the time. I'm not going to dry up holding out for a guy who's already taken like you do with Finn. He's never going to think of you like that. Never. Ever. Even if he did, you'd just be the bimbo on the side until he found someone beautiful or smart or both."

  "Hey! Hey!" Cori slammed the plate and the soda on the table and squared off with this beautiful girl who was both Cori's failure and her pride and joy. "Finn is my partner, and I am a professional. If I work all the time it is because I still have to be responsible for you and Tucker. I didn't beg for money when it was just you and me. I didn't pick up men. When you were growing up, I didn't drop you with anyone so I could go out and have a good time."

  "You didn't have anyone to drop me with. Grandma lives three thousand miles away and she wouldn't have wanted me anyway."

  "Stop it." Cori held up a finger on one hand and planted her other hand on her hip. She took a deep breath and counted to ten. "Seriously. Stop."

  Amber was wise enough to hold her tongue while her mother considered her options. There weren't many. Cori rounded the coffee table and sat on the sofa. She couldn't bring herself to look at her daughter, so great was her disappointment in both of them.

  "There's money in my purse. You will be home at a reasonable hour. If you're living in my house, you're going to act decently. Midnight, or I swear I put the call out on you and that guy's going to find himself in cuffs in the back of a patrol car."

  "I promise. Earlier. Really. Thank you. Thank you."

  Cori looked up just as Amber swooped in and kissed her cheek before dancing off. Her blond hair swung down her back, her rear end was tight under her low-slung jeans and Cori knew it wasn't her brain that this guy from the beach found so darn fascinating. She sank back into the couch and flipped on the television. She had half of the sandwich in her hand when her daughter passed the living room on her way out the door.

  "Amber?"

  "Yeah?"

  Those blue eyes were wide, innocent, and so affected. Her jacket was in her hand; her hobo bag was slung over her shoulder. She just wanted to be away, and to be young, and Cori couldn't blame her.

  "Did you forget something?" Cori asked.

  "I don't think so."

  "Tucker?"

  "Oh. Yeah. Well, no I didn't forget. He's sleeping. Must be that stuff they gave him for the pain. He'll sleep all night. You know I wouldn't leave if he needed me."

  She fussed with her jacket, avoiding her mother's eyes. It was a game they played, telling lies, fooling no one, least of all themselves. Amber left the lie and her baby with Cori and was none the worse for wear because of it.

  In the suddenly quiet house, Cori left her half eaten sandwich on the plate, kicked off her shoes, and padded down the hall to the room that Amber and Tucker shared. She went to the crib, touched the baby's soft hair, put her finger against his open hand and felt her big Texas heart swell when his little fist closed around it. Maybe Tucker would fare better than Amber had. Maybe not. Still, Cori would try hard to see that he did. Unable to look at the sleeping baby any longer – knowing he represented too much false hope and too many failures – Cori left the door of the bedroom ajar, went back to the living room, and stopped only long enough to take her notes out of her purse.

  The television played in the background and while she read Cori ate the worst cheese sandwich she'd ever had. When she was done with dinner, she clicked off the TV and put her face in her hands. It was time for bed but she w
as too tired to get off the couch. She was too old to be running around after bad guys and too young to be saddled with a daughter and a grandchild. She wasn't lonely enough to go trolling even if she had the time; but she was so lonely she would have given thought to hooking up with the wrong nice guy just to ease the burden.

  Eventually, she dragged herself up, did her dishes, and went to her room. She pulled on the old t-shirt she slept in, sat on the side of the bed, took a minute and then picked up her phone and dialed Finn. He didn't answer and Cori didn't leave a message. Amber was right. Finn wasn't waiting on Cori Anderson to take care of his life; he was probably out somewhere doing it himself. He was probably with Bev making up for lost time.

  Turning off the light, Cori got into bed and hugged a pillow tight. She kept one ear tuned to the telephone while the other listened for the baby down the hall, and in her mind she said her bedtime prayer. It was a simple one. Cori Anderson thanked God that she had the troubles she did. She could, after all, be Elizabeth Barnett.

  Finn was pleased when he saw the light on in the small office far in the back of the hospital. It had been a long shot thinking someone might be working this late, but since he wasn't going to be packing his things to move back in with Bev that night, and the hospital was on his way to Mick's, Finn decided to check it out. The clinic was housed in a tiny building, outcropped from the main complex. The adjacent parking lot was small and empty except for a minivan. Finn parked, got out and went to the door of the clinic. Surprised to find it wasn't locked, he walked through it and found a woman sitting behind a thick glass partition at a desk that looked like it had been swiped off the street. She took off her glasses and glared at him.

  "We're closed. Go through the emergency room, or come back at seven. We open at seven. Do you understand me?"

  "That I do, ma'am, but my problem isn't of a medical nature." Knowing he must look a sight if she took him for a man in need, Finn reached for his credential.

  "Don't even bother waving a gun around trying to rob me. I don't have a cent, and this is a free clinic, so just turn around and get your hinny out of here."

  "Detective O'Brien. Homicide." Carefully, he reached in the breast pocket of his jacket and withdrew his credential.

  The woman pushed her chair back and came close to the window, checking him out – shaved head to booted toes and everything in between. She held her glasses up and looked over his I.D.

  "You look like a biker or something. Most detectives I've seen wear a shirt and tie. You should wear a shirt and tie so you look presentable," she clucked. "Well, come on in."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  Finn put his badge back and thanked her when she opened the door. She led him down a short hall to an office no better than the one they had just left. She took a chair behind the desk.

  "I'm Henrietta."

  "A fine name." Finn sat across from her, thinking that she had the look of a nun who has left the order.

  "How long have you been in the states?" she asked.

  "Since I was fifteen."

  "Too late to lose the accent or the blarney. Henrietta is a horrid name, no need to pretend it isn't. Etta is better, so feel free to get familiar." Her eyes sparkled and that made her look quite nice.

  "I appreciate the invitation."

  "So, what brings a good looking guy like you to a hole like this when you should be home having dinner with the little woman?"

  "No lass at home." Finn gave her his best woe-is-me look. "I am here about a woman, though. Do you know Elizabeth Barnett?"

  "Elizabeth's dead."

  "You aren't surprised."

  "Nothing surprises me. I work in a place where people hear voices, eat out of garbage cans, and call a refrigerator box home if they're lucky. Besides you said you were from homicide. You asked about Elizabeth. One plus one." She offered a look that dared him not to answer 'equals two'.

  "A reasonable assumption but, no, Mrs. Barnett is still among the living. Her children were murdered," Finn said. "Her children and their nanny."

  "Oh, Lord." Etta's chest raised with quick breaths as the woman in her absorbed the shock; the professional didn't miss any more beats. "What can I do?"

  "Mrs. Barnett's husband thinks it was someone from this clinic wanting to hurt his wife and getting the children instead."

  "Well, that's a gruesome thought. One I'd rather not have since I'm here alone catching up most nights, I might add." Etta pulled at her ear as she thought of ways to help. "Look, I'm the administrator. From what I hear, Elizabeth Barnett is beyond competent, reliable, and very compassionate, but that doesn't mean she's a bleeding heart. At the first sign that one of our clients might be too much for us to handle, we get them off our books as best we can. If any of our volunteers or staff is uncomfortable with a patient, they don't see them again. I'm sure Elizabeth would have said something if she was in that position."

  "So you think Mr. Barnett is overreacting?" Finn asked.

  "Unless Elizabeth is bringing stories home, I don't see how he would know what was going on here. Did you ask her about it?"

  "By the time I heard of it, she was played out," Finn said.

  "Understandable, considering."

  "All I know is that she was adamant that he was way off base. I guess I wasted a trip."

  Finn started to get out of the chair, but Etta stopped him.

  "Hold on. I didn't say it was impossible that there was a problem. If you've got the time, I'll try to track down some people who work with Elizabeth. The coffee pot's empty, but I've got a couple of little bottles of bourbon that I took from the plane last time I went on vacation. It should be well aged considering I haven't been on vacation in a while."

  "I only drink when I have something to celebrate."

  "You must not drink a lot," Etta noted. "Can you give me thirty minutes?"

  "I'll give you all night, if you're up for it."

  "Best offer I've had in a long time." Etta waved her way out the door. "I'll be back."

  "Detective O'Brien? Detective?"

  Finn opened his eyes to see Etta beside him. He smiled, not because he was happy to see her but because he had been dreaming of a woman leaning over him just the way she was. His dream woman, though, was not Etta in her too long, shapeless floral dress, but Bev, naked and tall and willing. When Etta touched him, Bev had morphed into Sister Mary Gertrude ready to whack him on his head for entertaining prurient thoughts while Father Michael listed his penance off camera.

  Finn pushed himself up in the chair and drew both hands down his face, happy to be awake now that his dream had gone south. He couldn't remember slumping down, crossing his arms over his chest, and splaying his legs in front of him. He couldn't remember falling asleep.

  "Sorry. Been a long day."

  "No worries. I catch the 'Zs' whenever I can, too." She handed him a manila folder and then perched on the desk. "I got what I could for now."

  "You're an amazing woman, Etta. Let's take a look then."

  Finn flipped through the folder. Inside were handwritten notations, Xeroxes of two grainy photos, and all the information she could pull together in thirty minutes. Etta plucked one of the pictures out of the file.

  "There are two people who showed an inordinate interest in Elizabeth according to Mary Billings, the volunteer coordinator. Her contact info is in the front of the file. She was horrified when I told her what happened, but she thinks you're barking up the wrong tree too."

  "It's not our only tree," he assured her. "It's a place to start."

  "Alright. Anyway, this is Olive." Etta turned the picture in her hand toward him. "She's about sixty years old as far as we can tell. She's been on the street forever. Olive saw a picture of Elizabeth's children and got very angry when Elizabeth wouldn't bring them in to meet her."

  "I should have mentioned we are thinking it is a man Mr. Barnett is worried about. Still, this sounds promising," Finn said.

  "Not really. Olive's hands are swollen, her knuckles are
gnarled, and her feet are as big and hard as bricks. She can barely get here much less all the way to Fremont Place. Still, she had shown an interest in Elizabeth's children and that's why Mary mentioned her."

  Etta tapped the second photo in the file then crossed her arms and knit her brow.

  "This guy might be another matter. Stephen Grady. He's bipolar and he won't take his medication from anyone but Elizabeth. Mary heard him say that he loved Elizabeth. When she started taking him to lunch at the food truck, I put a stop to it post haste. There are agencies to mainstream these people, and we're not one of them. I don't think Stephen is ever going to be ready for that."

  "Nice looking man from what I can tell."

  The photo the Xerox was made from was of poor quality, but Finn could see there was something about him. He wasn't better looking than Sam Barnett, but women were funny that way. It wasn't always about who was the most handsome or the richest, but who needed rescuing.

  "He doesn't look this good most days. He was quite accomplished before he got sick. Graduate school. Worked as a research scientist. It's a shame. Such a promising young man."

  "Did he come in while she was gone?"

  "He did, but he was upset when she wasn't here. It was a bad call not to prepare him for her absence. A lot can happen to a person like that if they don't take their medication for ten days."

  "Any idea where I can find him?" Finn asked.

  "He could be in a flop house or curled up under a freeway. These people have to come to us; we don't go to them."

  Finn closed the folder. "This is more than I expected, Etta. I appreciate it greatly."

  "Listen, I'll go home and have a hot bath and break open one of those little bottles. Maybe I'll think of something more," she said. "Got a card so I can get a hold of you?"

  Finn handed her one and they parted: Etta to her hot bath and Finn to Mick's where he ordered an ale and shot the darts, missing the bulls eye by a bit each time. No matter. He would hit it in good time. With a 'good evening' to Geoffrey Baptiste, The Beanie Man of Trinidad, the fourth owner of Mick's Irish Pub, Finn went home. He took with him more company than he liked: Sam Barnett and his weepy terror and sly eyes, Elizabeth Barnett and her shattered heart that would cut her to shreds from the inside out, Bev relieved that Finn and all his woes were now set aside, and Cori, his firewall against the blaze of hatred he ignited in those at Wilshire Division. As always, sitting solidly in the middle of his brain, were the two people whose deaths he was responsible for: Alexander, his brother, and the cop he, Finn, had killed.