Devil's Spring

by Aaron Lazar

  Miss Lollie was no help and had even lost interest in the children. She’d retreated to her bedroom, crying constantly, sleeping with the help of her fancy pills, and pretty much acting like a robot.

  What was the word they used for her? Catatonic?

  Yes, that’s what the doctor murmured a few times. She guessed it meant she didn’t respond with her eyes or say much. She’d have to remember that word.

  She began to chop onions, which cleared the room a little. With a smile, she watched the big, powerful policemen squint and back away. Well, that was okay. She could handle the fumes just fine and after all, somebody had to make food for Miss Lollie. Today was Thursday, cornbread and chili day.

  Detective Ritchie had been at the house almost the whole time, and had spent hours trying to get information about the adoption from Lollie, who spoke only a spare word here or there. But Rosita knew the workings of the house, and found the adoption papers in the Mister’s office for the detective.

  She’d started to respect the detective a little more now. She was small and wiry, but she was tough. And those big lugs really jumped when she shouted directions at them. Rosita liked that she was a black woman, too, because there weren’t too many folks in this little town on the Maine coast that weren’t white. Except for her Mexican family and a few other tenant farmers, it was ninety percent pure Yankee heritage you’d see in the stores or driving on the streets.

  She’d endured listening to heated phone calls, dealing with annoying news reporters who called or knocked on the front door, and watching neighbors who queued on the edge of the lawn by the sidewalks, craning their necks to get a glimpse of the activity. Today the FBI had contacted the family from Vermont and they were already on their way to come get their children.

  She felt so bad for those little babies, and especially for their mothers, fathers, and grandparents. What hell they must have been through. She could barely imagine it.

  With a resigned sigh, she tossed the onions into sizzling oil and stirred them around. Better make a triple batch in case the Vermont family needs dinner when they arrive.

  And all these coppers will be eating like crazy. Maybe she should quadruple the usual ingredients? Bring out her biggest stockpot?

  She rummaged under the sink and dragged out the monster pot, setting it on the stove.

  “Rosita?” Detective Ritchie approached from the living room, wiping her eyes from the onions. “Looks like you’re cooking for an army in here.” She actually smiled at her, which made Rosita relax.

  “Si. I am making my usual chili and cornbread today, but lots of it. Your men will be hungry, and the Vermont family is coming. I hear there are quite a few of them already on the way?”

  “That’s right. They’re driving out here. Two sets of parents and some of the grandparents. They’re pretty anxious to see their children, as you can well imagine.”

  Today they’d finally gotten past all those awkward questions and now had moved on to the adoption issues. So far, it seemed they believed that the Belvederes were fooled by this awful Miss Gilly, and no charges were being brought on Miss Lollie for murdering her husband. They believed it was an accident, plain and simple.

  Rosita was still wondering a little bit about that, but she pushed the thought away. It wasn’t her place to speculate. She just had to keep busy, take good care of the children, and try to stay calm.

  “You don’t have to cook for my team, Rosita.” Detective Ritchie touched her shoulder. “I can have food brought in.”

  “I know. But I need to stay busy, anyway, Miss Luce.”

  “Miss Luce?” Her eyebrows shot up. “Well, thank you. I didn’t think you’d ever call me by my first name.”

  Rosita flashed a half smile. “Me, neither. You were pretty mean to me yesterday.”

  Luce barked a laugh. “Sometimes I forget how I come across to normal people. Sorry I had to put you through that.”

  “It’s okay. You were just doing your job.” Rosita dumped two pounds of stew meat into the skillet and stirred it around with the onions. “What will happen to Miss Lollie?”

  The detective grimaced. “I’m not sure, to tell the truth. We need to have her evaluated more fully. She’s in deep shock. But I guess it’s to be expected, right? You lose your husband in the morning, and find out later that you’re going to have to give up your two new babies, too? That has to be pretty tough to take. It’s a lot of losses.”

  Rosita nodded and added huge handfuls of chili powder, garlic powder, and onion powder to the mix. “I know. I have never seen her like this. She doesn’t even want to see the children any more. She doesn’t talk. She’s like a zombie.”

  “She needs time. We’ll have our local doctor do a complete work up on her before we leave you alone with her, don’t worry.” Ritchie moved closer to the stove. “Oh, that smells so good.” She leaned over to inhale the aroma. “It’s possible we might have to bring her up to the psych ward for a little while until she stabilizes.”

  “Psych ward? Isn’t that where they put the…um…crazy people?”

  Detective Ritchie snorted a laugh and lowered her voice. “Well, we don’t use that term these days. We might refer to those folks as mentally unstable, although the politically correct terms change daily, so I never know if I’m saying it right.”

  Rosita stopped what she was doing and stared at Ritchie. “But if she goes away to a hospital, and the Mister is gone, and the children go away…” Her complexion paled. “Where will I go? Will I lose my job?”

  The detective put up a hand to slow Rosita’s flow of words. “It’s too soon to know any of that, so don’t worry yet. I think they’ll need someone here to take care of the house anyway, assuming your lady is going to get better and come home soon. I’m sure it’ll all work out.”

  “Okay,” Rosita’s shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch. “I will stay until she is better. And then she will really need my help. She will be sad for a long, long time. But I can help. I know how to help sad ladies.”

  Ritchie got up. “I’ll bet you do, my dear. You are one in a million. I wish I could have you taking care of my sorry place. Cooking me cornbread and stuff. It gets pretty barren in our house. Dried up pizza and stale beer. That’s my dinner tonight.”

  “You married?” Rosita cocked her head and stared at her, noting no wedding ring.

  “Living together,” she whispered. “He keeps proposing, but I haven’t quite decided.”

  “Is he a good man?” Rosita wiped her hands on a dishtowel, and then reached for a huge can of kidney beans.

  “He is. He’s kind. He’s strong. But he worries too much about me.”

  “You have a dangerous job. Of course he worries.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Do you love him?” Rosita asked.

  “I do. Yeah. I definitely do.”

  “Then marry him, for Heaven’s sake.” Rosita trilled a laugh. “Love is hard to find in this world, detective. And you can’t let your job stop you from embracing a gift from God.”

  The detective pulled out her cell phone. “Point well taken. I need to call him, anyway.”

  Rosita smiled. “Say ‘yes.’ Tell him Rosita told you to say ‘yes.’”

  Ritchie barked another laugh that seemed too big for her petite body. “Yeah, sure. Okay. I’ll think about it.”

  “Good. Now go call him, Miss Luce.”

  The detective gave her a quick grin and raised the phone to her ear, heading out the kitchen door to the side garden.

  Rosita shook her head and spoke quietly to herself. “Sometimes life is just too simple for people to follow. But you ask Rosita, and I’ll tell you what to do.” She put her hands on her hips. “Now, where did I put that can of tomatoes?”

  Chapter 32

  Boone wound the truck into the Belvedere’s driveway, snaking through the crowd of news vans parked along the entrance. He reached for Portia’s hand when dozens of reporters leaned into the windows and flashed their c
amera lights at them. A policeman waved them through, keeping the reporters in the street. “You ready for this?”

  “More than you’ll ever know.” She squeezed his hand and shot him an excited, bright-eyed glance. “I can’t believe we found him again. Our boy is in there, Boone.”

  “I hope he remembers me,” Boone muttered. “It’s been weeks.”

  Portia’s voice caught in her throat. “Of course he will, honey. You’re his Daddy.”

  Four police vehicles were parked by the porch, so he pulled in behind them and turned off the engine. The mansion by the sea glimmered white in the twilight. Its lawns sloped downward in gentle hills, as if inviting a walk to the ocean’s edge.

  “Come on. Grace and Anderson just pulled in.” Portia flung open the door and jumped down, waving her arms at Anderson’s Jeep, motioning for them to pull up beside her.

  Grace leapt out of the Jeep and raced to Portia’s side. Anderson unfolded himself from the driver’s seat and followed with long-legged strides to join them.

  Portia craned her neck. “Where are Mom and Dad?”

  Grace linked arms with her. “Mom’s feeling a little peaked. We suggested they check in at the hotel and we’ll bring the babies to them.”

  Portia nodded, walking with Grace toward the mansion. “Good idea. Then they can avoid the reporters, too.”

  “Ladies, you ready?” Anderson held a hand out to Grace, who accepted it and bounded up the porch steps beside him.

  Portia and Boone stood next to them, and Boone lifted the brass knocker, letting it fall three times.

  A petite black woman in dark slacks, a white shirt, and a black jacket opened the door to them. “Mr. and Mrs. Hawke? Mr. and Mrs. Rockwell?” She opened the door wide, gesturing for them to come inside. “I’m Detective Ritchie. We’ve spoken on the phone several times.”

  Boone could tell Portia wanted to get past the formalities and simply rush inside to find their boy. After a few quick handshakes, he spoke up.

  “Ma’am? We’ve come a long way and waited forever to reclaim our children. Can we just get right to it?”

  Detective Ritchie smiled. “You bet. Your babies are right in here with Rosita. She’s done most of the childcare for your two children, and has taken excellent care of them.”

  She led them to a sunny room where the babies sat on the couch with Rosita, who was reading to them from The Very Hungry Caterpillar in Spanish.

  They stopped for a split second in the doorway, and then rushed inside, laughing and crying until it all merged into one joyous sound.

  Grace picked up Caroline, crushing her to her breast, kissing her cheeks over and over again. Anderson enfolded his arms around them both.

  Joey’s head shot up when he heard his mother call his name. He jumped down from the couch and toddled to his parents, arms held high. “Mama! Dada!” Boone scooped him up and cradled him between them, kissing the boy’s soft cheeks and stroking his curls.

  Tears flowed, shoulders heaved, and laughter filled the room for a long time. Even Detective Ritchie had tears in her eyes.

  Rosita sat quietly on the couch, trying to hide the fact that she occasionally had to wipe tears from her own eyes.

  Portia finally gained control of her happy weeping and led Boone and little Joey to the couch, sitting down beside Rosita. With Joey on her lap, she reached over to take Rosita’s hand. “Thank you so much, Rosita. You’ve taken such good care of our boy.”

  Rosita reached over to caress the child’s cheek. “El es un niño pequeño dulce. I will miss him very much.”

  Boone looked around the room. “So, where’s Mrs. Belvedere? I thought she’d want to say goodbye.”

  Rosita lowered her eyes. “Miss Lollie is not well.”

  Detective Ritchie joined in. “She lost her husband in a freak accident just a few days ago, guys. She’s a wreck. But she told me to say how sorry she is that this happened.”

  Grace looked up from the floor, where she and Anderson still cuddled Caroline. “She had no idea?”

  Ritchie shook her head. “None. She and her deceased husband thought it was a legit adoption.”

  Rosita sighed. “Si. We didn’t know until I saw your babies on the television, on the news program.”

  Anderson heaved a sigh of relief. “I never thought I’d say this, but thank God for those reporters. If it weren’t for them, we’d never have found the children.”

  Ritchie cleared her throat. “When you’re ready, we’ve promised a short press conference on the front lawn. Think you guys can handle that?”

  Boone received a nod from Portia, and answered for them all. “Yes. We’re fine with that. We need to thank them for helping us find the babies, and warn everyone else about those crooks who are still out there.”

  Rosita turned to the detective. “Miss Luce, you need to find those bad people and put them in jail. Forever.”

  Detective Ritchie grimaced. “We’re trying. Real hard, Rosita. But these two are slippery. Awfully slippery. We traced them to Taiwan last week and then lost the trail.”

  “Si, but you need to work faster. Think of all the poor little babies out there who might be taken next.”

  A solemn silence fell over the room.

  Rosita stood, brushing tears from her eyes. “So, I made a nice big pot of chili and there is fresh cornbread in the oven. You are all invited for a bowl before you leave.”

  “Oh, thank you, Rosita.” Grace beamed at her. “Can we take you home with us?”

  The group laughed, and Detective Ritchie put an arm around Rosita’s shoulders. “Sorry, folks. I already put my dibs in on this fine lady. If she ever leaves Mrs. Belvedere’s service, I’m snapping her up.”

  Rosita blushed and made a fussing motion with her hands. “Oh, stop that, now.”

  Fifteen minutes later, a tall policeman leaned into the doorway. “Uh, Detective Ritchie? The reporters are ready for you.”

  Ritchie stood and looked out the window where the lawn was covered in photographers, news anchors, and techs, cameras at the ready, eyes gleaming with excitement. “No kidding. I guess they are.” She turned to face the families. “What do you say? Shall we face the world now?”

  “Let’s do this.” Boone took Joey into his arms, settling him on his hip. Portia linked arms with him.

  “Ready,” Grace said, cuddling Caroline. Anderson stood close beside her, one arm draped over her shoulders.

  Together, they walked out onto the porch.

  Part III

  Lollie

  Chapter 33

  In the Shady Oaks Sanitarium, Lollie sat in the corner of the crowded sunroom in a rocker, pushing back and forth, the sounds of the creaking wooden runners hidden under the noise of the other patients’ chatter and cries. Her eyes were trained on nothing. Her skin stretched pale over gaunt cheekbones. She’d dropped ten pounds in the past four months, but barely noticed. Food no longer held appeal for her. Nothing did. Life was flat, broken into get up, take meds, move to the sunroom, take meds, go to the lunch room, take meds, and go to bed.

  Some days Rosita came to visit, and that was nice.

  She stopped her motion suddenly with both feet planted on the scarred linoleum floor, glancing at the door where the visitors entered. Will she come today?

  Disappointed not to see a friendly face yet, Lollie went back to rocking.

  A baby cried in the distance, and she jerked to attention. “Scarlett? Rhett?” With surprising speed, she shot to her feet and grabbed the nearest room attendant by the collar, screaming at him. “My babies! My babies are crying.”

  Rocco, a colossal black man in a pressed white uniform, backed up a step, even though this was nothing new. “Hold on there, Lollie. Just hold on.”

  She looked up at his impassive face, recognizing him. He was there most days, and he was okay. Panic hit her again. “Rocco? You listen to me.” She pummeled at his chest, crying out with anguish. “My babies. They took my babies!”

  “Lollie, now listen
, you hear? You know those babies belonged to someone else. You remember what happened. We just talked about it this morning, not an hour ago.” He wrapped one arm firmly around her waist and the other clamped her wrist, propelling her back to the rocking chair. “Why don’t we sit a bit and settle down? Then I can get you a nice puzzle.”

  Shuffling reluctantly toward her chair, she twisted out of his grip. “I don’t want a fucking puzzle!” With a malicious laugh, she tipped over a nearby table where a grizzled old man was putting together his own puzzle. Her face contorted in anger. Pieces flew everywhere.

  The old man began to cry, raising his fists in the air at her. “Why’d you do that, Lollie? I was almost done with the castle.”

  Lollie stuck her tongue out at him and turned back to Rocco, who tried to herd her toward the window. She tugged on his sleeve. “Didn’t you hear me, you big moron? The babies are gone!”

  “Hey, now,” Rocco said. “We don’t name call. You know the rules.” He forced her into the rocker and stood tall and menacing in front of her, arms crossed. “You might hurt my feelings.”

  She spat a hysterical laugh at him. “You don’t even care that my children are missing! You ignore me as if I’m crazy. Well, I’m NOT crazy!” She kicked him in the shins then, and it felt good to feel her shoe connect with his shinbone.

  “Lord almighty, Lollie.” He hopped back and reached down to rub his leg. “What the hell? You gonna be this way again today?”

  She felt the tears coming now.

  “I’ll have to take away your visitation privileges again, and you won’t see your Rosita today if you don’t pull yourself together. You don’t want to miss her visit now, do you?”

  All emotion drained from her. She felt flat again, and her mind pulled back, retreating to her childhood. “No, Rocco. I’d like to swing now.”

  “Well, now, you know we don’t have swings inside. Maybe later if we go out in the yard.” He waited a few minutes, watching her resume the rocking routine. “That’s a good girl. Now, if you just hang in there, it’ll all be good. And we’ve got fried chicken for lunch today. You like that, don’t you?”