Heaven to Betsy (Emily #1) (14 page)

They stood there.

“When was the last time you two ate?” Wallace asked. “I’m buying you a quick lunch before we do anything else.”

The boy stepped forward, pulling the girl with him. They headed toward the door, and Wallace followed them out. I fell in behind them. When we reached the back door to the house, the boy suddenly pushed the girl through the door and pulled it shut behind him. The two teens sprinted across the yard, catapulting themselves up and over the fence around the cemetery. By the time Wallace wrestled the door open and the two of us were outside, they’d disappeared from sight, back into their secret world.

I thought back to the sign at the end of the block:
Undead End
. Well, yes, in a way it was undead. As in two real live kids living feral in a cemetery. It hurt to think about it.

“Dammit.” Wallace snapped his head forward and then back, punctuating his frustration. He pulled out his cell phone and typed rapidly, then put the phone to his ear. “Marsha, hi, this is Wallace. I’m at Twenty-seventh and Olive, by Llano Cemetery. I saw two youth, a boy and a girl about fifteen years old, who came out of an abandoned house. They were filthy and malnourished. When I tried to talk to them, they claimed to have escaped an abusive foster home and bolted into the cemetery. I didn’t get their names, but the boy had a big scar on his neck and the girl had different colored eyes. They were both white, I think.” He paused. “Yes, thank you.” He hung up and put his phone in his pocket.

I pressed my hand into my aching abdomen and said, “Wow.”

“Yeah. It breaks my heart to see kids like that, to hear what they’ve been through.”

“What do we do now?” I asked.

“Nothing we can do. The cops will try to pick them up for us, and we’ll move them. I’ll see if I can figure out who they are, what family they were placed with, and arrange for a little visit with the foster parents.”

We walked back around to the front of the house. My thoughts ricocheted between the two waifs we’d just seen and Valentina, whose situation was even more dire.

“Do you see stuff like this a lot?” I asked.

“Too much. There are so many good foster parents, but there are some who are in it to milk the system, or to take advantage of the helpless. Sometimes I hate people.”

I walked through the gate first, and he shut it behind us. I put my hand on his arm. “I had no idea it was so bad. I mean, you read about this stuff, but it’s never touched my life before. What you do, well, Wallace, you’re one of my heroes.”

He started to smile and then his face collapsed into trembling lips and blinking eyes. He pulled me to him in a long hug.

“Thank you.” He held me back out again. “What about you, Ms. Asskicker? Charging into that house alone with nothing but your good looks to protect you? You’re
my
hero.”

He slung an arm around my shoulder, and we walked back to the car together.

It turned out that “quick” to Wallace did not mean eating in the car. But by now that didn’t surprise me. Because we were running behind, we skipped the GoldenLight Restaurant in favor of a counter order at Wienerschnitzel. Wallace: chili cheese dogs. Me: two orders of large fries.

I got a text from Jack:
Back at office. Status?

Had it only been that morning that I’d talked to Jack and met Clyde? I tried to remember if I’d told him when I’d return. I knew how badly he wanted me to move on to other clients. I glanced at my phone. One-thirty p.m. Well, Wallace and I only had one more stop. I could be in my chair and working on Johnson by three p.m., at the latest. How mad could Jack be? Pretty mad, probably. That called for emergency measures.

Me:
On the road to last witness. Stopping by office in 15.

I added on two chili cheese dogs and a large fry for Jack.

“Wanna meet the hot enigma that is my boss before our next stop?” I asked.

Wallace wiggled his eyebrows. “Do bears wear fur?”

We planted ourselves in a yellow and red laminate booth where I scarfed down my fries as my stomach did happy cartwheels.

Wallace gave me the stink eye. “You don’t do mystery meat?”

“I don’t do meat at all.”

He pulled his mouth into a moue. “Vegetarian?”

“Yep.”

“Huh. And I thought it was hard to be gay in Amarillo.”

I pulled a skinny, yellow highlighter from my handbag to mark the names of Sofia’s references for her work persona: Sofia Perez—using herself as a reference for her fictitious work identity, that made me snort—and Liliana Diaz. Both numbers looked familiar, and I rifled through the big Redrope file I’d brought with me from the office, an almost-red accordion file that was simply known in legal circles as a Redrope. The phone number for “Sofia” matched the number of the phone the police found on her at the time of her arrest. Well, she was certain to get a good reference there. More interesting, the phone number given for Liliana Diaz turned out to be the number I’d called to speak to the real Maria Delgado on Friday.

I lifted my eyes from the page and grinned. “Like hell Maria knows nothing.”

“Oh yeah.” He shimmied his shoulders and torso in a chair dance as he bobbed his head. “She can run, but she can’t hide.”

I recalled that Sofia had given one more name in her paperwork. I’d seen it in there somewhere, earlier. I flipped past the application to the new hire paperwork. Bingo.

“Emergency contact: Victoria. No last name given,” I said. “Wanna call it?”

“Sure.”

Wallace punched in the digits as I read them aloud. He held the phone to his ear, eyebrows raised at me while he waited.

“What do you want to bet it’s out of service?” He said. Then his expression changed. “Yes, hello, my name is Wallace Gray, and I’m calling about Maria Delgado—” His mouth dropped into an O. “Hello?” He shook his head at me as he lowered his phone. “A woman answered and then she hung up on me.”

“Let me try.” I dialed from my own phone. Three rings. Five. Ten. No answer, and no voice mail. “Well, that sucks.” I stuck my wadded up napkin into my empty, nested fry holders and drained the last of my iced tea. “I’m ready when you are.”

We threw away our trash and pushed the doors open into the bright midday sun. After we got back out to the Altima, Wallace handed me a Handi Wipe and we repeated our cleaning ritual like raccoons. We drove downtown with the bag of food for Jack after we had everything to Wallace’s satisfaction.

When we reached the office, I rang the bell on my desk immediately.

Wallace dropped his head and looked at me under furrowed brows. “What in God’s name are you doing?”

“Jack likes his privacy.”

Wallace gasped, a hand over his chest. “OMG, he’s naked back there, isn’t he?”

“I sure as heck hope not.” I rang again. “Jack, it’s Emily. I have Wallace from CPS with me.”

Heavy boot steps sounded in the hall. Wallace adjusted his posture. And damn me to Hades, I adjusted my girls, too. I would have been ashamed of us both, if I’d had time.

Jack sauntered into the lobby, his hand extended. “Wallace from CPS, nice to meet you. I’m Jack Holden.”

Wallace’s voice came out deeper than it had with me. “A pleasure. I’ve heard your name many times. And, of course, our interests overlap now with your client Sofia Perez, and CPS looking for her missing daughter, Valentina.”

I held up the bag. “I brought you food. In case you hadn’t eaten.”

Jack shifted his eyes from my face to the bag and back again. “A peace offering? Do I even want to know why?”

Wallace busted out a gut laugh, and I hurried to speak before he finished. Jack didn’t need to know
everything
.

“Just being considerate,” I said. “Agatha’s training.”

Jack took the bag and rustled through it as he said, “My new paralegal is trying to expand her duties to law practice manager—not that I don’t need the help—but she has her heart set on working the family law angle, Wallace. I keep trying to tell her that our focus is the criminal defendant, that we can count on CPS, the police, and the ad litem.”

He snared a chili cheese dog, wrapped it in a napkin, and peeled back the paper wrapper.

“I can attest that she had a laser focus on Sofia today.”

Jack took a bite and chewed, eyes twinkling in a way that said he wasn’t convinced Wallace was telling the whole truth. He got a little chili on the left side of his mouth, so when he half-smiled around his mouthful, the chili rose toward the dimple. My stomach fluttered, and an urge to lick it off came out of nowhere. I never had thoughts like that, especially not about married men. It had to be the pregnancy hormones. It had to be. Well, surely it was okay just to
look
. I forced a dry-mouth swallow.

“Laser focus,” I said.

Jack finished his bite. “When do you think you’ll be finished with the interviews?”

“I should be back around two-thirty,” I said. “Three at the latest.”

“Okay, then,” he said.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Holden.” Wallace nodded.

“Jack, please. You, too.”

We exited the office, and, as we walked to the elevator, Wallace fanned his face with his hand. “The chili on his mouth,” he said. “Oh, honey, to be that napkin.”

“Tell me about it.”

A few minutes later, we headed north toward Sofia’s little, nameless apartment, which appeared to be three blocks west of Maria Delgado’s place, according to Siri.

“This is it,” Wallace said, as we approached a dumpy block of buildings. “Help me find the manager’s office. Last time I was here, the guy was already at Sofia’s place with the police.”

“I’ve got my eyes peeled,” I said.

Wallace drove slowly around the block. Two-story four-plexes with white siding squatted on scraggly turf, one after another. Gaps in the siding revealed black liner, making the complex look like a mouth full of bad teeth. There were no balconies or patios. No grassy lawns or playgrounds. No parking lots. A worried cat slunk between two of the buildings with an underfed dog hot on its tail. Cars in a rainbow of colors—but similar in their states of dilapidation—lined the streets.

“There it is.” I pointed to a ground floor unit with a sign in its window that said Manager.

Unfortunately, there was no parking space near his unit, so we circled again and parked along the street on the opposite side of the complex.

“We’re right by their apartment. I saw it last week. Want to go there first?”

I nodded. “Sure.” I kept my Redrope and handbag under my arm and followed Wallace between the buildings, placing my feet carefully amidst piles of dog poop. “Nice place.”

He snorted. “It’s worse than you think. Most of these units house multiple families. It’s like little Mexico City.”

Residents had strung clotheslines from window to window between buildings and their clothes and linens waved like flags.

I pointed to them. “No laundry room.”

“No nothing.” Wallace stopped in front of unit 1C, an interior ground floor apartment. “This is where Sofia lived.” He knocked. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the manager has already moved in another family. It appears to be a high-turnover business.”

There was no answer.

“Want to try some neighbors?” Wallace looked around at the nearest ground floor units.

I smiled and jiggled the doorknob. The lock felt flimsy, like interior doorknob locks. I used to unlock the door to my parents’ bedroom when I was a kid, using just my mother’s hairpins. I’d put my hair up over lunch, securing the runaway strands with bobby pins, so I pulled one out. I slipped it in the lock and wiggled it gently until I heard a click. I pushed the door open and walked in.

Wallace shook his head. “She graduates to breaking and entering.”

“Does that mean you’re the lookout again?”

He sighed and followed me, closing the door and relocking it behind him. “You’re an incredibly bad influence.”

“You should have known me in high school.”

“Were you one of those wild Amarillo girls who drank Boone’s Farm wine and snuck out to spy on the devil worshippers at the Marsh estate?”

I winked at him. “Don’t make me lie to you.” I walked into the kitchen. A crayon drawing hung from the refrigerator by a magnet. “Is this the drawing you told me about?”

“Yeah. I guess the cops didn’t consider this evidence.”

I snatched it down and slipped it in my file. “Good. I do.”

“Lord, woman. Do all paralegals act like you?”

“It seems criminal law has already had an impact on me.” I reached for a drawer.

Wallace stopped me. “At least use a towel to keep your fingerprints off stuff, okay?”

“Good idea.” A dishrag hung over the kitchen faucet. I picked it up, then started opening drawers and cabinets with that hand. I found a few pieces of silverware, some plates with daisies in the center, and a stack of plastic tumblers. The only food to speak of was a bag of rice and one of beans.

“Not much here,” I said.

Wallace shook his head, his face soft. “Yeah, a pretty meager existence.”

I walked the confines of the apartment with Wallace watching me. I checked under the couch, between and behind cushions, in closets, cabinets, and every other nook and cranny. No jacks, candy, or colors. No nothing.

“You were right,” I said. “No sign of a child living here, except for that drawing.”

Still, though I didn’t know how to explain it, I felt Valentina’s presence. I sat down on the worn, silvery blue sofa, pulled the drawing back out, and studied it. A lone man stood in front of a hill. The man had on shorts, or maybe it was a short skirt. The artist had scribbled all over his brown body in white crayon. On his head were big ears, sort of like animal ears. His nose was big, too, but more like a snout. Brown scribble over the face. Black for the hair. The man smiled back at me, and in the crude drawing, I thought I saw affection on his face. The man wasn’t scary, but he wasn’t familiar either. I put the drawing away and stood up.

Wallace was sitting at the kitchen table checking his phone.

“Onward,” I said.

He jumped to his feet. “Manager’s office?”

I shook my head. “Let’s chat with the neighbors while we’re over here.” I pried a space between the slats of the plastic white blinds. “Coast’s clear.”

I opened the door for Wallace and he exited. I relocked the doorknob and headed to unit 1B, adjacent to Sofia’s place. I heard children’s giggles and a happy squeal.

“
Niños, parada
,” a woman said, which I translated automatically to “Children, stop” in my head. I knocked.

Silence.

I sensed a presence on the other side of the door. Possibly the woman who I had heard talking to the kids?

“Hello, ma’am. I’m from Sofia’s attorney’s office. She sent me to talk to you.”

Silence.

Going on a hunch, I added, “Victoria, please?”

Silence.

I said all of it again, in Spanish. This time I heard the sound of a hand lock turning, and the door opened three inches. Narrowed black eyes regarded me from the slit behind a security chain.

I smiled. “
Tu hables ingles
?”

“
Si
. Yes.”

“Good. Hello, Victoria. I’m from the office of Jack Holden. He is the attorney who represents Sofia. We’re trying to help her. Could I talk to you for just a minute? Maybe we could walk outside, or my colleague Wallace—” I gestured back at him, “and I could come in for a minute?”

She stared at me.

I saw movement behind her, and one little hand appeared around her knee. Then a face. Then above it, another face. And by her waist, a third one. Three little girls.

“Not him. I talk to you
solamente
. Five minutes. You come in.”

I turned to Wallace and whispered, “Maybe you could knock on a few more doors?”

He nodded and left.

I turned back to her. “Thank you.”

She opened the door, revealing a small woman with long, dark hair in a low bun. She tugged at her purple velour shorts. Her T-shirt said Amarillo Sox on it.

“Beautiful little girls,” I said.

I smiled at them, and the cuties giggled and ran to the couch—a threadbare number in a silvery blue, like Sofia’s. The fibers were so synthetic looking that if I’d thrown a match on it I wasn’t sure if it would melt or catch fire. Each of the girls held a doll, and the littlest girl’s doll looked homemade, with long, brown yarn hair, a blue dress, and a piece of ivory-colored lace over her shoulders. I winked at her, and she held the doll up for me to see, grinning so wide my heart melted.

“Thank you,” Victoria said.

She pointed at her wooden kitchen table, and we took seats adjacent to each other. My chair wobbled at its joints, so I held very still. There were no lights on in the apartment, and I struggled to adjust to the dim atmosphere.

“Victoria, what is your last name?”

She paused. “Jones.”

I nearly laughed at the obvious lie, but instead I nodded with a serious expression on my face. I didn’t want to spook her or insult her.

“Thank you, Ms. Jones,” I said. “Now, you know that Sofia is in jail, for shooting a man, right?”