The Carson Springs Trilogy: Stranger in Paradise, Taste of Honey, and Wish Come True (42 page)

A
S
S
EPTEMBER GAVE WAY
to October, life in Carson Springs slowly settled back to normal. Television and newspaper coverage of the sensational arrest slowed to a trickle, and a weary relief began to set in. Doors remained bolted at night (by now the habit was too ingrained), but joggers began to appear once more in the park and on remote roads after sunset. The occasional nighttime hitchhiker could be seen as well, thumb cocked, blinking at oncoming headlights. Talk that had centered around the bizarre arrest of Sister Beatrice moved on to other things: the weather, which had turned uncommonly brisk, and the music festival just two weeks away.

When Ian Carpenter moved in with Sam Kiley, it caused only a minor stir. People had grown used to seeing them strolling about town hand in hand, or quietly conversing at the Tree House: Sam, with her newly rounded belly, and Wes Carpenter’s handsome young son, with his pierced ear and ponytail, looking at her the way every woman, young or old, dreams of being looked at. Even Marguerite Moore had to admit, albeit grudgingly, that the more you saw of them, the less you noticed the difference in their ages.

Alice could have told them as much. In nearly four months of marriage she’d never been happier. The only disagreement between her and Wes had been over whether or not to install a hot tub in place of the live oak their bedroom currently looked out on. Wes was in favor of it, she wasn’t. For now the hot tub was on hold.

Things were going equally well with her career. As the new executive producer of CBS’s
Shannon O’Brien Show
she was already making a name, with a six-figure salary to show for it.

Laura hadn’t been sitting still, either. The week following Sister Beatrice’s arrest she’d flown to New York with Finch, shepherding her through a round of questioning by police in another, unrelated case. A long discussion with social services had followed. When all the pieces had fallen into place Laura had been horrified to learn that since the age of two, when she was abandoned by her mother, Bethany Wells had been in no fewer than fourteen foster homes, the most recent that of a woman named Shirlee Stoeckle. It was Shirlee’s live-in boyfriend, Lyle Kruger, a drug dealer with a history of priors, who’d unwittingly set the girl free.

The matter of his untimely death, the result of a drug deal gone sour, was resolved with surprising swiftness. The police had already made their arrest—a pair of low-level runners brought in months ago on another charge. At the time no one had connected Bethany to Lyle’s death. If not for the duly filed missing person report, she might well have disappeared without a trace.

And now here they were, three weeks later, back in New York, this time on a wholly separate legal matter. They’d arrived the night before and by nine-thirty the following morning were in a cab on their way to the courthouse on Centre Street. All the preliminaries had been seen to. Laura’s lawyer in Carson Springs, a woman with the unlikely name of Rhonda Talltree—part Irish, part Navajo, part junkyard dog, as she liked to joke—had been working in tandem with an attorney here. Gary Bloom, a courtly older man who’d fiddled with his hearing aid throughout most of their initial meeting, had turned out to be a wonderful resource. He’d guided them through the shoals of social services and in remarkably short order had even managed to arrange for a hearing—to which they were on their way now.

Laura reached for Finch’s hand. “Nervous?”

She managed a faint smile. “A little.”

“Don’t be. Rhonda says it’s going to be okay.”

“What does she know?” Finch, slumped in her seat staring out the window at the gray buildings inching past, reminded Laura of a weary warrior buckling on a suit of armor for one more battle.

“She’s been on the phone with Gary almost every day, for one thing.”

“Yeah, well…we’ll see.”

“Look, the worst that could happen is that it’ll take a little longer than we expected.”

The girl shot her a weary look that seemed to sum up everything in a glance: waiting was all she knew. She’d spent her whole life waiting for a home that wasn’t just temporary. Why should this be any different?

At the same time, Laura wondered if Finch was aware of the profound change that had taken place in her over these past few months. She studied her out of the corner of her eye. Finch was wearing a simple navy skirt and cotton sweater in a lighter shade of blue. In her ears were the small silver hoops her new friend Andie had given her for luck. She looked more than just pretty; she looked like a young woman on the cusp of bigger and better things.

“I wish…” Finch caught her lower lip in her teeth. “Nothing.”

“What?”

“I wish we didn’t have to go through all this.”

Laura felt her throat catch, and thought,
You don’t know how often I’ve wished it, too
—
that I could’ve been there from the beginning.
She smiled, squeezing the girl’s hand. “After today it’ll be a cinch. Rhonda says…”

“I know, I know…Rome wasn’t built in a day.” Rhonda’s favorite expression.

Then the cab was pulling to a stop in front of the courthouse, a grandly imposing structure with its row of Ionic columns that seemed to echo the theme of ancient times. She’d seen photos, of course, but they hadn’t done it justice or conveyed just how intimidating it was. She felt like a tiny fish about to be swallowed by a whale.

Inside the vast marble foyer, they waited in line interminably before passing through a metal detector. Beyond was a domed rotunda with acres of polished marble against which their footsteps echoed as they made their way to the elevator. This time it was Finch who reached for her hand, holding on as if for dear life.

“It’ll only be the judge and the lawyer from social services,” Laura reminded her. “And Mr. Bloom, of course. He said it should go pretty quickly. In and out.”

Finch shot her a gently reproving glance. “You said that already.”

“Sorry.” Laura smiled. “Guess I’m a little nervous, too.”

“It gets easier.” The girl looked at her the way a big sister might, one with far more experience in these matters.

They stepped out of the elevator. The courtroom was halfway down a long circular corridor, and as Laura pushed her way in through the swinging double doors, she stopped short. Chatting with her lawyer were a familiar pair she never in a million years expected to see so far from home: Hector and Maude.

They spotted her and grinned, strolling toward her and Finch as if they’d come from around the block, not three thousand miles away: Hector looking uncomfortable in a suit and tie, and Maude in something demure for a change—a slightly used designer suit from Ragtime. Laura began to laugh softly, shaking her head in disbelief.

Finch, looking as stunned as Laura, whispered, “What are you guys
doing
here?”

“We came to show our support.” Maude stepped up to hug Finch.

Finch clung to her, then drew back. “How…?”

“I had a little bit of money saved up.” Hector slipped an arm about Laura’s waist. “I thought it was about time I saw for myself what’s so special about New York.”

“You could’ve said something,” Laura scolded.

“I wanted it to be a surprise.”

As if each morning she woke to find his head on the pillow next to hers wasn’t enough.

Then they were making their way to the front of the courtroom, Maude leading the way with her arm around Finch. The judge appeared a few minutes later, a stern-faced older woman who seemed to regard them incuriously, as if she’d seen and heard it all. Laura glanced at Ms. Hargrave from social services—dumpy and middle-aged, with frizzy brown hair—and felt some of the tension go out of her. If the attorney’s bored expression was any indication, this would be a cinch.

When the formalities were dispensed with, Gary Bloom rose to address the bench. “Your Honor, my client, Ms. Kiley, has instituted formal adoption proceedings. Miss Wells has been in her care for the past four months—on an informal basis. We request that she be allowed to remain with Ms. Kiley in California until the process has been completed.”

The lawyer from social services dragged herself to her feet, and Laura was stunned when she opened her mouth to say, “Your Honor, we appreciate Ms. Kiley’s willingness in this matter, but we can’t just hand out children like puppies to anyone who comes along. Miss Wells is a ward of state, and whether or not she or Ms. Kiley recognizes it, she’s entitled to certain protections under the law. I’m recommending that she remain in New York in the interim.” She paused to consult her notes. “We’ve arranged for a suitable, ah, foster home for the time being.”

Laura bristled. The woman was making it sound like a matter of days, when it could take
months
, and from a distance even longer. She could feel Finch trembling beside her and longed to put her fears to rest. But how? She felt utterly helpless.

Gary stopped fiddling with his hearing aid long enough to say it for them, “Your Honor, that would make
fifteen
foster homes in as many years. Hasn’t this poor girl been through enough? We’re not asking to cut corners—just that she be allowed to remain in Ms. Kiley’s custody. Someone who has proven herself to be a more than fit guardian.”

Ms. Hargrave injected sourly, “Your Honor, we won’t
know
that to be the case until an evaluation has been—”

The judge cut her off. “Thank you, Ms. Hargrave, your objection has been noted.” Her tone was firm, but when she looked at Finch, her hard expression softened. “I’m sure you have an opinion on all this, Miss Wells. Would you care to share it with us?”

The girl rose awkwardly to her feet, glancing about nervously, her dark-eyed gaze traveling from Laura to Maude then to Hector before settling on the judge. Shyly, she said, “I, uh, if it’s okay with you I’d like to stay with Lau…I mean, Ms. Kiley.”

The judge smiled. “Yes, I rather imagined so. But perhaps you can tell us why, in your own words.”

Flags of color appeared on Finch’s cheeks, and Laura was swept by a sudden fear that she’d freeze or retreat into her shell. But when the girl spoke her words rang clear. “She’s nice. I don’t mean, like, just nice. They’re
all
nice in the beginning. Laura’s really that way. Maude…and Hector, too.” She smiled at them. “They made me feel like I belonged. Like I
mattered.
That has to count for something, doesn’t it?”

Laura’s heart swelled. She could feel Hector’s hand on hers, squeezing hard, but his face was a blur. Then she blinked, and the world swam into focus. She realized a battle wasn’t forthcoming when she glanced over and saw Ms. Hargrave slumping back in her seat, as if impatient for this to be over. Laura felt both relieved and strangely saddened. Finch—or Bethany Wells, as she was known—was just another case in an already heavy load, not even worth fighting for.

“I’m going to allow your motion, Mr. Bloom,” the judge said. “I’m sure the California court will take your concerns into consideration, Ms. Hargrave, and see this through all the proper channels. In the interim, I believe it’s in the best interests of this girl that she remain with Ms. Kiley. I see too many kids who get lost in the system. A system,” she frowned at the frizzy-haired attorney, “that has failed most of them abysmally. Occasionally, when I come across someone like Ms. Kiley, I’m reminded of why we’re all here on this earth. Tonight, I assure you, I’ll sleep well knowing that.” She banged her gavel and declared, “Case dismissed.”

Laura looked over at Hector, who grinned as if he’d known all along how it would turn out. Maude was dabbing at her eyes with a crumpled tissue. Finch merely looked stunned. Months of worry and heartache had ended, not with a bang, but with a whimper.

Minutes later, they were making their way down the courthouse steps when Finch said in a voice soft with wonder, “I guess this means I’m staying.”

“If you don’t mind bunking with a dotty old lady,” Maude croaked, reaching into her purse for a fresh Kleenex. Had anyone been trailing them, Laura thought, all they’d have had to do was follow the shredded tissue in Maude’s wake.

Finch’s mouth hooked up in a little smile. “Beats a bus station bench. Even if you
do
snore.”

Laura squinted up at the tall buildings that surrounded them, at the people rushing along the sidewalks below. It was a beautiful day, clear and cool, a day that suddenly felt rich with possibility.

“Anyone in the mood for sightseeing?” she said. “I have a sudden urge to see the Statue of Liberty.”

Maude brightened. “I’ve always wanted to go to the top of the Empire State.”

“I’d be up for just about anything as long as food’s involved. I feel like I haven’t eaten in a week.” Hector draped an arm around Laura, and she brought her head to rest against his shoulder—a shoulder built to lean on. “What about you, Finch? What’s your pleasure?”

The girl looked uncertainly from one to the other. “If it’s okay with you, I mean if you don’t mind too much…well, I’d like to go home.” A tear made its way down one cheek. It was the first time Laura had seen her cry.

They’d have to change their tickets; they weren’t due to leave until tomorrow. But Laura didn’t hesitate. “Sure, why not? We can see Lady Liberty another time. After all, it’s not as if she’s going anywhere.”

“The Empire State can wait, too,” Maude warbled. “In fact, the view from here is just fine.”

When Laura looked to Hector he was already hailing a cab.

E
VERYONE AGREED
it was the finest festival in years. Situated on the grounds of the theosophy institute high atop Pilgrim’s Peak, it enjoyed three perfect days of sunny skies and temperatures in the low seventies. In the outdoor amphitheater overlooking the valley and distant Toyon Ridge, where in the early days of the institute Greek plays were staged, world-class musicians entertained the hundreds of people, sprawled on picnic blankets and propped in beach chairs, who’d come to hear them play.

Aubrey Roellinger, prematurely gray with a Toscanini-like mane, conducted the orchestra comprising musicians from around the world. Yo-Yo Ma, the featured soloist, played Bach and Prokofiev. The Gay Men’s Chorus performed Fauré’s Requiem to a standing ovation. And a handful of talented newcomers were showcased as well in a program ranging from early baroque to a symphony composed by Roellinger himself. One musician in particular, seventeen-year-old Korean violinist Yi-Jai Kim—a last-minute replacement—brought the crowd to its feet with her virtuoso performance of Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto in E Minor.