Hope House (25 page)

She ushered them into the huge entranceway and had their coats off and in the closet before they could say hello back. They followed her into a great room.

“Mrs.
Murray, thank you so much for meeting us on such short notice.”

“Oh, call me
Laura. It’s no bother. My husband is always at work and I love company. Can I get you a drink?”

“I’m fine,” Gloria assured her.

“Me too,” Kurt added.

Laura
Murray sipped a cup of tea. “So you’re doing a book about adopted children?”

Gloria felt guilty lying to this pleasant stranger, but it was the only easy way to get information. She’d learned from her job that people would tell you anything if it meant they might see it in print someday.

“Yes.” She spoke the rehearsed lines. “Well really it’s about the adoptive parents and any struggles they may have in terms of conflicts with the role of the biological parents.”

“What kinds of conflict?”
Laura put her bone China cup down in its saucer.

“Well if you knew the mother was a high school drop out or a drug addict as opposed to a college student, would it make a difference?”

She didn’t answer.

Kurt spoke. “We’re trying to see how much information various agencies give the adoptive parents, and whether that influences your decision to adopt. We’ll change the names in the books of course.”

She frowned and got up. “A healthy baby is a healthy baby. That was all my husband Robbie and I cared about. But we were happy that our Riley’s mother was a college girl.”

Laura
walked over to the large roll top desk and used a key to open it. From there another key opened a drawer below. She pulled out a manila envelope.

“I’m not sure how much information other agencies give but we got quite a lot about
Riley’s mother.” She put on her reading glasses and pulled out the sheets.

She sat on a large burgundy leather couch and summarized. “Her name was Hannah Parker and she was from Sacramento, California. Hannah was an English Lit major. They didn’t say what school. Full academic scholarship so she must have been really bright. She got pregnant and didn’t think she could handle a baby so contacted the New Age Adoption Agency early on.  A few months later, when she was six months along we got a call from New Age. We were so excited. The baby was due in August. I
planned to fly out there and be allowed to witness the birth.”

Gloria and Kurt looked at each other. There was no way to fake that, Gloria thought.

“But then in her eighth month Hannah was in Florida visiting friends. It was too late for her to travel, so she ended up almost losing the baby. We were crushed of course. Mr. Puglisi called and said he had her in a small clinic in Florida where she’d have to stay until the end of her pregnancy. Complete bed rest. It would cost us a small fortune but the only alternative was to let someone else pay the tab and take the little girl we had been waiting for.  So we borrowed against our retirement and agreed to pay the hospital Hannah’s bills.”

“And so the baby was born in Florida?” Gloria asked.

“Yes.” Laura handed her a paper. “In Windy Key, Florida, a place called Hope House. Don’t you just love that name? Hope House. It’s a birthing center and from the photos a beautiful medical facility.”

“Ought to be for what you paid right?” Kurt asked.

She nodded. “Riley was worth every penny. We have a gorgeous, healthy smart little girl.”

“Couldn’t your insurance pay for that?”

“No. We tried. There were some adoption provisions in the policy but Hope House wasn’t in the network. Damned insurance companies. Mr. Puglisi had such fights with them!”

Kurt chewed his lip. “Not in the network huh? But you saw bills from the hospital, or was that just tacked onto the fee?” Masking sarcasm wasn’t his strong suit.

“Of course. I don’t know where those are now. Perhaps with the financial records if we saved them. Hannah needed a month of bed rest plus an emergency C-section.  They sent itemized bills.”

Kurt shrugged.

Gloria thought back to the old house in Windy Key and the scarred woman who merely watched over the babies when they were brought in. It was not a medical clinic or birthing center by any stretch of the imagination, but the photos of a real clinic sent to the Murrays did look first rate indeed. She shared them with Kurt whose face pinched with a frown.

“I don’t see what this has to do with the book idea you were talking about.”
Laura’s rosy cheeks blushed red. The crimson was spreading. “I just thank God Hannah happened to be on Windy Key when she started bleeding.  She could have been somewhere else and then I wouldn’t have my Riley.” Tears sprung to her eyes. “Think about it. Hannah was only a mile from a top notch birthing center when her problems started. That was God stepping in.”

Kurt got up and walked to the window, bunching his hands into fists.  Gloria was miffed by New Age for manufacturing the story of Hannah’s expensive plight. Generating medical bills to prove the fictional tragedy of surely a fictional person was even more shameful. But Gloria had to hide her irritation. 

Gloria held the woman’s hand. “I agree, Laura. That was God stepping in. Beautiful. Do you mind if I use that in my book?”

Laura
softened. Her guard was back down. “I’d be flattered.”

“We should go now. It’s a long drive back,” Kurt said.

“Thank you so much for your time.”

“Oh it’s no bother. I’m sorry
Riley’s not here tonight. She’s at her grandma’s in Old Orchard Beach.”

“That’s all right. This book is about the parents anyway. And she’s awfully young. Does she even know she’s adopted?”

“No. We’re going to wait until she’s older. She resembles Robbie and me enough so there’s no reason for her to think otherwise. ” Laura got up again and handed them a framed picture.

Gloria froze. Little
Riley looked so much like Alison! Not an exact likeness, no, yet they could be sisters or even fraternal twins. Except that their ages didn’t allow for that. Alison and Riley were about a month apart. Gloria traced her hand over the dimple on the girl’s cheek in the photo.

My dimple
, she thought. 
But she’s not exactly me. Or exactly Alison.
If there were a tactful way to ask for a DNA sample for Riley, she’d ask. But what would it prove? What if she were a twenty-five percent match too? What then? It didn’t get them any closer to the answer of who the mothers really were, nor precisely and where these kids were born. Riley Murray was no more her child than Alison Gander but their faces haunted her. Somehow they were connected to her. She was reminded of the frightful book and movie
The Boys From Brazil
by Ira Levin.

Gloria handed
Riley’s photo. “Isn’t she a stunner, Kurt?”

Kurt had seen a photo of Alison Gander and now this. His eyes grew wide. “Yeah, pretty kid, but we’d best get going, Gloria.”

Laura Murray handed them their coats as they walked to the front door.

“Will you send me a copy when it’s done?”
Laura asked.

“Of what? Oh yes, the book. Of course. Of course I will. And thank you so much for having us by. If we have any follow up questions I have your number.”

“Anytime.”

Kurt and Gloria walked out to the car and got in before they said a word to each other.

Kurt turned on the car and cranked the heat. It blew cold air on Gloria. Welcome home from Miami, she thought. She shut the vent until the car warmed up.

“So Puglisi makes up identities for the mothers.  A college girl with an academic scholarship.”

“English lit,” Gloria said. “Just like me.”

“Big surprise there,” Kurt grumbled.

“And he pretends the mother has some kind of distress when she happens to travel to Windy Key. And the parents who have already invested a few months of hope in this mother and their future baby are going to make sure nothing happens. They’ll empty their pockets if need be.” Gloria tested her vent but the air blowing from it was still cool.

“It’s sick,” Kurt said. “The Puglisis just using people this way. Parents who can’t have their own kid and are desperate to do anything, and he has to push the envelope, squeeze even more money out of them.”

“At least now we have something concrete. New Age is making dummy invoices. Fake medical bills from a center that doesn’t exist. Isn’t that enough to go to the police and have them shut down?” Gloria asked.

“It’s a damn good start. But let’s see what the other family has to say. Strength in numbers, you know.”

“Their daughter looked a lot like Alison,” she said. “Ooh, nice.” Finally the heat kicked in. She put her fingers against the vent to warm them.

“She looked a lot
like Alison and
you.”

To hear Kurt say that released a jolt of paranoia. “Why? Why does she look like me?”

“That’s the biggest piece. Once we find that out, this is all going to fall into place.  Tell me how to get to your place from here. Tomorrow we’ll go to New York and be one step closer.”

She gave him directions and then closed her eyes. In little more than an hour, they’d be back to her house where her bed awaited.  But she knew with Kurt there, sleep wasn’t going to be on the agenda. Not if she had anything to say about it.

Gloria needed to rest up for the night ahead. She smiled and rested her hand on his leg. Just close enough to his groin to make him jumpy.

He picked up her hand and moved it back to her own lap.

“Tease,” he said as he laughed. “Sleep while you can, Gloria. Because once we get back to your place, don’t even think about getting any shut eye.”

“Great minds think alike,” she said. She bunched a stolen airplane blanket under her head and leaned against the window. Within seconds, she was asleep.

Chapter Eight

1.

Gloria’s home, Bradfield, MA, February 11
th
morning

After stepping from the shower, Gloria wanted to wrap herself in her soft chenille purple robe and put on her pink Happy Bunny socks. This had always been her ritual as a single woman. It was all about feeling comfortable and happy when she was home alone.

But she
had company today. Kurt had spent the night and early morning  ravaging her in the most delightful sense of the word. She felt raw, tired, and sexy. Not the right mood for the Happy Bunny socks.

Kurt remained fast asleep. He’d earned it. She walked by the bed and searched through her closet for something to wear. She didn’t own any sexy sleepwear. No satiny, sexy lingerie.

Inside her walk-in closet, Gloria scanned the shelves and racks. Business clothes, and jeans for casual Fridays. A couple of fun outfits for nights out with the girls. That snazzy little black crepe dress she’d worn too many times to formal functions. But nothing sexy to wear around the house.

She dug through her drawers. Slips. They would almost substitute for lingerie, but no.  It was too cold to wear those without an accompanying satin robe, which she didn’t own.
Been lonely too long.
Words from a song wafted through her mind.

She finally decided on jeans and a gray sports bra with a black tank top over it. Goosebumps covered her arms and despite rubbing, they weren’t budging. February in Massachusetts wasn’t tank top weather no matter how cute she looked. Oh hell. She had casual blazers but for around the house, first thing in the morning? She had three baggy hooded sweatshirts. Warm for sure but they were just more comfy clothes to wear in the house alone. Not very attractive but she was freezing.

“What are you doing in there?” Kurt called to her.

“Just throwing some clothes on.”

She reached for a zip-up hooded light blue sweatshirt.  No need for him to see her bumpy arms.

“You look cute.” He yawned and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Thanks. So do you.” Why was it men could just roll out of bed, throw on last night’s boxer briefs, and look adorable?

“Mind if I take a shower?”

“Of course not. Want me to throw your clothes in the wash?”

“I can do it.”

“No that’s okay. Let me have all your stuff and I’ll wash it. Then you’ll be good to go for a few more days.” Kurt had a duffle bag of clothes, and he’d told her he always had a few changes of clothes because in his line of work he had to be “prepared for every eventuality.”  Unlike him, Gloria hadn’t been prepared and had been in the same clothes for two days. She wondered when she could ever get her stuff back from Kurt’s apartment in Miami.  At least now she was showered and fresh. Wherever they were going next, she was packing for every contingency.

“I’ll do my laundry after I shower. I feel kind of funny having you handle my underwear.”

Gloria raised an eyebrow. “I handled what was in the underwear and you had no problem with that. Come on, hand them over.” She put out her hand.

He took them off and gave her the shorts. “Will you handle what was in my underwear later?”

“You know it. But for now I’ll just do laundry and go make us some breakfast.”

He got in the shower and Gloria loaded the washer. She’d wait until he was out before turning the machine on. Much as he might need a cold shower right now, robbing him of hot water as the washer filled would be cruel.

On the way downstairs to the kitchen she paused at the door to her office. She didn’t want to go in there. The ultrasound picture was tucked in the file drawer. It had been a year since she’d looked at it. Every February 10th she looked at the picture. She knew it was a self-destructive ritual but on her due date annually she opened the drawer, took out the ultrasound picture and cried. That today was February 11
th
, merely a day from her yearly meltdown, was just a sick coincidence.

Today wasn’t about sadness though. Today was about closure. Or the path to it at least. She pushed the door open
, stepped inside, and went to the desk.  As she opened the drawer, she sighed. The brown envelope peeked at her from the hanging green folder.  She pulled it out and opened it. There she was. 

A glob of gray with fingers and toes, and a bowling ball head with a gumdrop for a nose. She sat on the floor and stared at the picture. Tears sprung to her eyes. 

Maybe it would have been easier to accept her daughter’s death if she could have had another child. It wouldn’t have replaced the baby, but it would have eased the hollowness.

“You okay?”

She wiped her eyes and looked up to find Kurt—standing beside her in a towel, body still glistening wet. “The ultrasound—” She sniffed and handed it to him. “I-I always get a little torn up when I look at it.”

“I should expect you would.” He studied the photo. “Age of fetus is sixteen weeks, just like you said.” He counted on his fingers. “Dated six weeks before your miscarriage. It proves they’re lying.”

“So we can add tampering with medical records to the list.”

He nodded. “Why don’t you put that away now. Come on, let’s get something to eat. You must have a breakfast
joint around here or something.”

“I can make us something.”

“I want to see your town. We’ve got a busy day but I’d like to see what you see every day. Your grocery store, the library, where you go for coffee . . .”

She got up from the floor. “Part of your investigation?”

He laughed and kissed her cheek. “I’ve only seen you in Miami running for your life, trying to defend your story, interacting with your scheming ex-husband. I’d like to see the other Gloria, the happy, relaxed one. I don’t know her yet but I want to. I want to know all about her.”

More tears.
God, I’m turning into such a sap.

She pointed out the window. “In the warm weather, over there by the duck pond, sometimes I bring a blanket out and have a picnic. I feed the ducks and pick myself daisies from the meadow behind that building. You can’t see it from here.”

“Daisies huh?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Nothing. Sounds like a great place to go.”

“It is. I really love living here. With all the hours I work, coming home and going outside is my retreat. I know that’s silly. It’s just in my backyard but it’s my peaceful place.”

Kurt hugged her. “Maybe in the spring I can go on a picnic with you out there.”

He was sticking around. He’d be here in the warm weather. She hugged him back then wiped her eyes.

He laughed. “I thought that would make you happy.”

She laughed too, still dabbing at
her eyes. “I am happy. This is how I show it.”

“So how about breakfast
? I’ve got one more change of clothes in my bag. I don’t want to trek through the snow to the duck pond in a towel.”

She took his hand and led him down the hall. “I know the perfect place. It’s a bakery that has some amazing breakfasts. Just give me time to dry my hair and throw on some makeup
, and then I’ll start the washer.”

“You don’t need makeup. You’re beautiful.”

“Maybe I don’t but it makes me feel better.”

“Fair enough. I’ll wait in the living room—catch up on the news of the day.”

She watched him walk down the hall. This guy was a keeper, she thought as she headed for the bathroom to spruce up. Maybe she didn’t know enough about him but she liked what she did know. How could a guy with this much character have done anything really bad?
He couldn’t
. It must have been some kind of mix up he couldn’t explain his way out of.  A misunderstanding. Or maybe he hadn’t done anything and someone wanted to kill him for no good reason and he was just an innocent refugee.

Unlikely or not, that’s what she was going with.
Innocent refugee.

Until he told her otherwise, that’s what wished to believe. 

“Innocent refugee with a damn cute butt,” she whispered at her reflection. She put on some lipstick, blush, and eye makeup plus a little concealer to mask her lack of sleep since she met Kurt.

She smiled at herself as she did every morning. They were going to New York today to see another of the families from the files. She was grateful they were willing to see her and felt guilty feeding them the “I’m writing a book” line. But maybe this family would tell them something new. Something that would answer the questions once and for all, and perhaps it would be enough to take to the police. Then they could jump-start a formal investigation with the help of the District Attorney’s office.

If not, Kurt said they were going to Maison D’Espoir. The last thing she wanted to do was go to Haiti. It wasn’t a safe country under the best of circumstances; walking uninvited into a business there run by the Mafia was insane. What possible chance of success had they? What kind of fools were they?

“But a girl has to do what a girl has to do,” she told her reflection. She opened the drawer of her vanity and grabbed a bottle of sunscreen. “Prepare for every eventuality.”

2.

New Age Adoption Agency, Miami, afternoon

Mick carried the three-week-old infant girl toward the large conference room. She was the last of the batch in Miami. The rest were in Windy Key.

He had already decided he’d wait until tomorrow to fly to New York to chase down those interlopers, Gloria and Kurt. That moron Tommy said Gloria was off track but Angela proved otherwise once she went through the files. There were five charts missing all told and Gloria and Kurt had already gone to see a family in Maine. New York was the next rational choice. The other three were on the West Coast. Angela made an appointment for Mick to meet with the Clarkson family late tomorrow morning. Hopefully he’d get there before Gloria did, before she could get information from them or poison their minds with her suspicions or convince others that her years’ long paranoia was justified after all.

Mick planned to pack his weapon. The first chance he got he’d gun those two pains in the asses down.

But not today. And not tonight.

He wanted to be with his kids this evening. 
Wizard of Oz
was on and Mick wanted to watch it, wanted to shut off the phones and just watch TV. He could just buy the movie but there was something special and nostalgic about watching a movie when it aired on TV and having to sit through commercials. Mick had a black and white TV in his room with a UHF and VHF dial and no cable hook up. He only got four stations but it made him happy to watch TV in there.

Of course he also had a plasma TV in the room with digital cable and surround sound. No need to dwell in the past all the time.

Anyway, he wasn’t up to the long round trip drive to Windy Key tomorrow and was in no mood to see his meddlesome mother and hear her blather on about her loneliness. She should be thanking her lucky stars that Daddy hadn’t killed her after she’d cheated with the old man’s best friend. But did she consider herself lucky? No way. She floated around that big house probably telling the infants how unfair it was that she was sequestered there on the island, not allowed to talk to anyone outside the family, not permitted to leave Windy Key. “Oh, I used to be so pretty,” she probably told them, “before
he
did this to me.”

Yeah well, what goes around comes around, Mick thought. The baby moaned and he released his arms a little. “Sorry, cutie. Bad thoughts.” He kissed her forehead and opened the conference room door.

The Milners were waiting at the table. A dumpy forty-two-year-old woman, with acne skin covered by too much blush, leapt up when he came in. She was too skinny but had on a nice outfit. Her husband, a stockbroker with a plum position on Wall Street, stood up too. Mick noticed Mr. Milner’s Rolex catch the light as the man extended his hand to shake.

Mick required that the parents submit a statement of assets as part of the adoption process. He claimed this was so he knew the child would be taken care of. In truth it was so he knew how many extra medical expense
s he could get away with.  This couple paid for five straight months of bed rest plus extra surgical time to remove the woman’s spleen because it was damaged in the delivery. Plus the standard C-section of course. He always charged for that. It was rare one of Maison’s girls ever had a C-section but that was neither here nor there. Maison D’Espoir didn’t incur any extra costs. Tad got paid a flat rate no matter what procedure he must follow to get the babies out.

Mick handed the baby to Mrs. Milner and shook the husband’s hand.

“Oh, she’s just gorgeous!” the wife said.

Of course she was. All the babies were. Bright eyes, creamy skin, shiny hair.

“Look, Larry. Look how beautiful.”

“She looks like you,” the husband told her.

Right. In your dreams.

“Well the little thing sure put up a fight to get into this world,” Mick said. “But thank God she’s none the worse for wear.”

The husband opened his briefcase and took out an envelope. “I’m just glad the mother’s okay. Thank God she happened to get sick when she was so close to a birthing center. What are the chances?”