“What did you do to me?” Marlee couldn’t take her eyes off herself. She perched on the ottoman she’d dragged in from the living room. Her shoulder-length auburn hair, typically tousled and often downright messy, now had control and less volume. Marlee’s hair had a tendency toward big and fluffy, making her look like an aging contestant in the Miss Texas pageant. Soft curls framed her face with the bangs swept to one side. Her green eyes sparked under the purple and brown contoured eye shadow. Kelsey had expertly applied foundation and concealer to hide Marlee’s acne and age spots.
“I told you I knew what I was doing.” Kelsey smiled, knowing she had proved her point. Her own hair stuck out in odd directions, as curls often do.
“You did a great job. You really did. But I’m not exactly a good measure of your skill. I wear very little make up, and I rarely do anything to my hair. Any extra effort is going to make me look tons better.” Marlee was trying to be as gentle as she could with Kelsey, wanting to give her praise for her skill, but also remind her that she was hardly the ideal specimen.
“Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph! Would it kill you to give me a compliment?” Kelsey snapped as she collected the makeup implements from Marlee’s bureau, slamming them into a zebra-print cloth bag.
“What I said wasn’t meant to be a slam. I just want you to keep things in perspective. Yes, you made me look so much better than I regularly do. But keep in mind that the stars in Hollywood look good most of the time. It’s one thing to take a Plain Jane and make her look great, but quite another thing to take a natural beauty and make her even more beautiful,” Marlee said.
“It must really kill you to give me any praise,” Kelsey snarled, throwing the last make up brush into her bag.
“Not at all. I just don’t believe in insincere compliments or giving people false hope. I think you did a great job with my make over. Really. My main point is that you need experience and training to get your foot in the door. Without that, you’ll just be working on sheer luck, and luck doesn’t work for most people.”
Nodding her head, not so much in agreement but more in an attempt to finish the conversation, Kelsey moved from behind Marlee and walked to the guest room. For once she closed the door rather than slamming it.
Nonetheless, Marlee was steamed and had enough of Kelsey and her temperament. She walked to the guest room and rapped lightly on the door before opening it a crack. Marlee hadn’t prepared herself for what she witnessed in her own home; her guest sitting on the sofa sleeper with several white pills in the palm of her hand. “Kelsey, what the hell are you doing?” Marlee shrieked, lunging toward the Irish house guest. “Stop, I don’t want you to start taking pills!”
A sharp laugh erupted from Kelsey as she set an unmarked white bottle down beside her on the bed. “Start? That’s a laugh. I’ve been doing this for months.”
“You’ve been using pills for months?” Marlee asked, her head buzzing from the new information about Kelsey, which all of a sudden explained quite a bit about the young woman’s mood swings and erratic behavior. “Why?”
“Pain killers to ease the pain of life,” Kelsey said with a shrug.
“How did you get your drugs through security at the airport?”
“I didn’t want to risk it. When I went for a walk yesterday, I met up with someone I connected with online. They supplied me with what I needed,” Kelsey said as if buying pain killers was an everyday occurrence in everyone’s life.
“What? Who?” Marlee stuttered as she searched for the words to catch up to her thoughts. Kelsey had been in Elmwood for only a few hours. How could she already have a drug dealer?
“I made a connection before I left Dublin. As a criminology professor, you should know that anyone can find what they want pretty much anywhere in the world.” Kelsey picked up a glass of water and threw the pills into her mouth, taking it all down with one big swallow.
“Look, it’s no big deal,” Kelsey said as she stood and started rustling through her suitcase. “All my friends do it. It’s just something people in my age group do. Kind of like how people your age have a glass of sherry at night to relax.”
Marlee ignored the comparison, not sure if it was a dig or just a young person’s attempt to normalize the situation. “It’s not something everyone does. It’s an addiction, and now I have a better understanding of why you act the way you do. Did your parents know about it?”
“What Ma and Da know about me is none of your business.” Kelsey tossed her curls, looking away from Marlee.
“Let’s get a few things straight right now!” Marlee barked. “Anything that goes on in my house is my business. And there will be no more drug usage here. I’ll help you get into rehab if you want it, but there’s no way I’ll turn a blind eye to your drug habit.”
“You sound like this American television show I watch called Intervention. People try to get their relatives off drugs and into a treatment center. It’s a riot because so many of the families are as messed up as the person they’re trying to ship off,” Kelsey said.
“You didn’t answer my question. Did your parents know about your drug use?”
“Not at first, but they figured it out a few weeks ago. Ellen and Maureen were snooping through my stuff in our room and found my stash. They didn’t know what it was and took it to Ma.” Kelsey hung her head, reliving the moments when her parents realized she was a drug user and took steps to prevent her from further abuse.
“And? What did they say?”
“They’re from your generation and thought it was awful. I tried to explain it to them that using drugs occasionally for me and my friends is just like them getting drunk once in a while. It’s really no big deal,” Kelsey replied, her head held high and shoulders back, but her eyes now glassy and unfocused.
It was doubtful that Kelsey had reliable insight into her usage. Most people abusing drugs tend to downplay the frequency and amount of the substances they used, according to Marlee’s recollection of recent academic studies on drugs. “Before today, when did you last use?”
“I used yesterday when I went to meet with the dealer. Before that I hadn’t taken any Oxy since right before I left Dublin.”
“So, you used the same day you left on the plane to come here?” Marlee asked, realizing that not only the time change but Kelsey’s drug use had thrown her off kilter.
“Right. That same day, but then not for a day or two before that,” she said, hurriedly as she realized her drug usage sounded more like an addiction to someone in Marlee’s age bracket who didn’t know what it was like today. “I don’t have a problem with it, and I can stop whenever I want. It’s just that I was stressed about coming to the U.S. and the drop off with Mr. Thayer, so I used a little something to help me out. Some days, I don’t use at all.”
Marlee knew a classic sign of drug addiction is the attempt to minimize the need for said drug. If the user can convince others that the use is only recreational or situational, then sometimes the accusers will lay off and allow them to medicate in peace. She recognized the patterns of an addict, having dealt with them one-on-one for years as a probation officer. She was upset with herself for not picking up on the cues Kelsey demonstrated earlier. The Irish teen was volatile one minute and then within a short time she was back to her normal, calm demeanor. Kelsey was grounded and logical at times, but that would fade into grandiose beliefs about her ability to make it big in the world of celebrity makeup artistry. Initially, Marlee chalked up Kelsey’s behavior to youthful optimism and naiveté. Now she realized Kelsey’s beliefs and behaviors were a direct reflection of the amount of drugs in her body.
“Have you ever overdosed or been hospitalized because of your drug use?”
“Not really,” Kelsey hedged. “I was in the hospital once for a dislocated shoulder, but that was because of a fall. It happened when I was high, but not because of the drugs. On the night it happened, I was walking home and tripped over an uneven part of the sidewalk.”
Marlee nodded, w
illing to give Kelsey the benefit of the doubt, even though she thought there was more to the story than an innocent fall. “And have you been in legal trouble at all?”
“The coppers were out to get my friend, Liam, and I got caught up in a situation,” Kelsey said.
Clearly, Kelsey didn’t want to talk about it. That was of no interest to Marlee because she wanted answers and details. “What happened to Liam?”
“It was an illegal search, but the coppers found drugs in Liam’s kitchen and took him off to jail. I was in his flat, so they searched me. I had Oxy in the pocket of my jumper, so I was hauled in too. They cut me loose after I told them what I knew about another guy who was dealing. Liam was still in jail, the last I heard.”
“Was Liam your pill supplier?” Marlee asked.
“One of them. I’ve known him since I began secondary school when we were twelve but didn’t buy from him until last year. He wasn’t hardcore. Liam just dealt enough so that he didn’t have to work at a real job. He never sold to kids or people who couldn’t afford it,” Kelsey said.
Again, Marlee couldn’t discern if Kelsey was that obtuse or was trying to soft-peddle a farfetched story. Either way, Marlee wasn’t buying it. Liam as a good-hearted drug dealer who only sold to adults who could afford it just didn’t ring true.
A thought popped into her head as she pondered the connection between Kelsey and Liam. “How did Mr. X know Liam?” Marlee asked, suspecting there was some sort of link between the two. Dublin was a large city, but much of the illegal activity was linked. A single drug dealer would know of and most likely work for a larger drug ring. That drug ring would be connected to a multitude of other illegal activities; from extortion to prostitution to blackmail. From her study of the prison systems in Ireland, she’d found out that most crime could be traced back to offshoots of the Irish Mob unless the person was operating independently. If they were acting alone, they would soon be forced to join one of the few remaining crime families or be eliminated in one way or another.
Kelsey scrunched her face in an expression that Marlee couldn’t readily interpret. “They knew each other, but I don’t know how they met.” She averted her eyes, telling Marlee that she continued to lie about her connections to Mr. X, her drug usage, and any number of other things. To think Marlee had pegged Kelsey as a nineteen-year-old still wet behind the years with little experience. In fact, the young Irish woman had nebulous connections to the drug world in Dublin and was now an international jewel smuggler.
Marlee knew one thing. She was in over her head and needed to contact the local police for help. If nothing else, she could keep herself from being charged with any crimes related to Kelsey. She waited for Kelsey to go to bed and then made her move.
She walked to the landline phone in her living room and took a deep breath. She didn’t want to do it, but Marlee dialed the number from memory. Hector Ramos, her former boyfriend, who had cheated on her and had a child with another woman, was a detective at the Elmwood Police Department. Even though she despised him with everything in her being, she needed his help.
And the plot thickens. Four more days and I’ll be out of here. I hope.
Chapter 12
“Hello?” A male voice, familiar yet unsettling, answered the call.
“Hector? It’s Marlee, and I need to tell you something about a crime. At least I think it’s a crime. I don’t know.” She hated the way her voice sounded, so insecure and unsure of what was going on. Hector had taken up with a deputy at the Sheriff’s Office, and they had a little girl, all the while Marlee thought she and Hector were headed toward sharing a home and maybe even marriage. Life is funny like that.
They agreed to meet at a local coffee shop to discuss Marlee’s concerns. She thought it was because Trish, Hector’s new love and mother of his child, would throw a fit if she knew Hector was talking to Marlee.
Whatever, she thought. It’s not like I want to lure him away from his family. I just need someone to help me figure out what to do with Kelsey.
An hour later, the parking gods were looking down on Marlee as she pulled into a spot right in front of Cool Beans. She found a spot toward the back and set her belongings all about the booth, marking her territory. It was such a hassle to come to a new coffee shop and figure out the rules. Did you order and then go back to your table? Did someone come to take your order? Did they deliver it to your table, or did you have to come back and get it? The criminology professor was all about rules, yet she never understood what she was supposed to do at coffee shops. Had Hector not suggested this newly opened business, she never would have set foot inside. The two shops she’d frequented in the past were more than adequate. She knew what to do there and felt comfortable. Now, she felt a lot of things, but comfortable was not one of them.
Caffeine was the last thing she needed, but the one thing she craved. Marlee shuffled back to her booth with a large, black, drip coffee. She pulled a Ziploc baggie from her purse containing vanilla caramel sugar-free non-dairy creamer and shook a generous amount into the Styrofoam cup, stirring it with her finger.
“Still bringing your own version of creamer with you, I see?” Hector asked with a grin as he sat across from Marlee. His hair was slightly grayer at the temples than she remembered. It had been nearly a year since she last saw him when she’d hurled an orange at him in the produce section of a grocery store. He wore new glasses, more rounded and with tortoise shell frames which brought out the caramel flecks in his brown eyes. Hector still had the same good looks and warm smile.
“I didn’t ask you here to catch up on old times,” Marlee said in an attempt at keeping the meeting formal. Her relationship with Hector came to an end two years before, and although she wished him no ill will, Marlee really didn’t want to be friends with him either. A business relationship was the best either of them could hope for, given their past. If she had trusted any of the other detectives in the Elmwood Police Department, she would have contacted them. Bettina Crawford, one of her good friends, was a detective in the department and would’ve been Marlee’s first contact, but she was currently honeymooning in the Bahamas.
Hector raised his eyebrows, which said more than any words ever could. He sat across from Marlee with a stoic expression, his hands clasping his hot drink in front of him. She tried not to look but look she did and realized that Hector was not wearing a wedding ring. A few months ago, she’d heard through the grapevine that Hector and Trish were getting married. They had been living together for months and had a baby daughter. Yet, here he sat without a ring or any imprint of a ring.
Taking a deep breath, Marlee put Hector’s relationship status out of her mind and gave him a quick narrative of her trip to Ireland, meeting Kelsey, and all the problems Kelsey brought with her when she came to the United States. “She’s in a mess, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t want her to get into trouble, but if she’s a drug addict then I can’t trust anything she says. And I don’t want to get into hot water because of her. Regardless of what’s gone on with us in the past, I know you’re a decent person and will help me figure a way out of this.”
Tilting his head, Hector said, “Of course, I’ll help. I just need to know all the facts.”
“I told you everything I know. Kelsey seems to tell me details bit by bit. I don’t think she’s involved in a drug conspiracy or part of a big smuggling ring. She’s a young girl who turned to drugs to deal with her teenage angst and got involved with the wrong crowd. At the same time, her parents got in over their heads financially and turned to a loan shark. Kelsey tried to help them, and now she’s in more trouble than ever,” Marlee said. She felt a calm in talking to Hector that she hadn’t experienced since their breakup.
“Do her parents have more of an involvement than just trying to pay off a debt?” Hector asked, sipping on his coffee. “It’s hard to believe that their only connection with the loan shark was because of their over-extended debt at the B&B.”
“Crap! I hadn’t thought
about that!” Marlee shouted, before realizing she was in a public place. She lowered her voice to a loud whisper. “Maybe Kelsey’s parents are more involved than they let on.”
Hector shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t think you can take Kelsey’s word on any of this. She’s a drug user, and probably an addict. She’s already shown a propensity for trying to help her parents out of their troubles. My guess is there’s much more to the Rafferty family’s involvement than you know. I mean, how many people know a loan shark to contact if they need money? They must have some type of dealings with the criminal underground to begin with.”
“So, what do I need to do to protect myself? I want to help Kelsey, but I don’t want to get into legal trouble. That’s why I called you,” Marlee said, looking into Hector’s sympathetic face. “I trust that you’ll give me sound advice on how to deal with Kelsey and her issues.”
Hector furrowed his brow, squinting his eyes in the dim light of the coffee shop. “Of course, I’ll help you in any way I can. You can call me any time for the rest of our lives, and I’ll help you.”
In spite of Hector’s heartfelt pronouncement, Marlee laughed in spite of herself. “It’s fine, Hector. I’ve forgiven you. I don’t hate you anymore.” She paused and thought about her words. “Well, I don’t hate you as much as I did before,” she corrected. “You’re a good detective, and I wanted your perspective on this whole mess.”
“I was a shit, and I know that, but you have to admit that you were stringing me along. You couldn’t seem to make up your mind. One minute you were with your old boyfriend and then the next minute you were back with me. How did you expect me to handle this? Do you think most guys would wait around while you tried to figure out who you wanted to spend your life with?” Hector lowered his voice and looked around, making sure no one he knew was within hearing distance. “I had a fling, and I know it was wrong, but I don’t think you can hold that against me for the rest of my life.”
Sinner or Saint Page 7
