She shakes her head. “No. They say they do us big favor. Take care of us and babies.”
I pound my fist on the expensive granite countertop, causing the empty glass to dance along its surface. Aida grabs it before it falls to the floor.
“Dammit, Aida. This isn’t right. We need to find you another job, one that pays you money for the work you do. The Rockwells can’t make you stay here.”
A single tear rolls down her cheek. “Yes, my friend, they can. I have no papers. They say they will call immigration if I try to leave. Or, even worse, give me to big man.”
I mull over Aida’s information. Is Eddie the big man she refers to? Probably not. Eddie’s muscular but not that big, so maybe he’s involved in a different capacity. Like selling his baby daughter to the Rockwells.
I slip off the stool and take Aida’s hand. “I’ll try to help you, Aida. I’m not sure how, but I’ll talk to some people I know and we’ll figure something out. Okay?”
But Aida’s not listening to me. Her head is cocked to one side and her eyes roll in panic. “I hear garage door going up. Missus home. You must hide”
She grabs my hand with an amazingly strong grip and drags me across the kitchen to a closed door. She flings it open, revealing a large L-shaped pantry. The shelves are lined with enough canned and packaged goods to feed the entire city of 3 Peaks. She shoves me into the pantry, flaps her hands and, in a harsh whisper, orders, “Go, go, behind the brooms and mops.”
She slams the door and I’m plunged into darkness. Brooms and mops? I can’t see my hand in front of my face. I pull the cell phone from my pocket and search the home screen for the flashlight app. I switch it on and the interior of the pantry is bathed in brilliant light. Aida hisses, “Turn it off. She will see.”
I aim the light at the back of the pantry and spot brooms, buckets and mops hanging from hooks on the wall. I slither to the back, turn left past the cleaning implements and tuck into a small corner, bumping up against a plastic bin laden with empty aluminum cans that clatter noisily. I hold my breath, praying I’m out of sight if the door opens. I switch off the flashlight and listen.
A door opens and closes followed by the sound of footsteps. “Aida?” A woman’s voice.
“In the kitchen.”
“Addison sleeping?”
“Yes, Missus.”
Something heavy hits the floor. Her gym bag?
“When she wakes up, bring her to me. Dr. Reynolds says we need to bond.”
She says the word bond with scorn in her voice, like a teenager facing burdensome homework for which she sees no purpose. A wave of pity for Destiny washes over me and my hands curl into fists. Is it possible to bond with an iceberg?
I hear the clink of glassware, footsteps approaching the pantry and the sound of a hand twisting the doorknob. “Is there more Perrier water in the pantry?”
I shrink back into my hidey-hole as the light flicks on, my heart banging like a kettledrum. I wait for Nina Rockwell to march into her pantry, on a mission for her expensive water and, instead, find me among the mops and brooms. I have no script for this scenario. Spring from my hiding place and yell, “Surprise?” Punch her in the face and run? Short of making myself invisible, I’m shit out of luck.
Aida’s voice holds a tinge of panic and I sense she’s pushed her way into the pantry. “I look for special water, Missus. You go sit down. Rest. You look very tired after work-out.”
“I do?” Nina Rockwell says, a note of insecurity in her voice. “Maybe I should go lie down. When you find the Perrier, bring it to me.”
“Yes, Missus.”
At the sound of her receding footfalls, I resume breathing, gasping like I’d just run a marathon. A few seconds later, Aida pokes her head around the corner. Her face is pasty white, her eyes wide with fear. She holds a six-pack of Perrier water in one hand and grabs my arm with the other.
“We wait one minute to make sure she stays upstairs then you go. Okay?”
I nod vigorously, unable to form words. Though I want to burst from the pantry and run like the wind, I listen to my pounding heart for the allotted time period and then tiptoe to the front door followed by Aida.
I whisper, “Stay strong. I’m going to help you.”
Aida sets the Perrier water on the floor and pulls me in for a hug. Both of us are shaking. Her belly is pressed against me and I feel the baby move.
“You good friend, Mel,” she says and gives me a push. “Now, go.”
She didn’t have to tell me twice. I retrieve Blazing Saddles and pedal away from the Rockwell house like my hair’s on fire and my ass is catching. As I coast down the hill away from the mansion I try to figure out what to do next. Who ya gonna call, Mel?
Have I made a promise I can’t keep?
Chapter Sixteen
When I get back to Number Twelve, my legs are wobbly with fatigue. I flop down on the bed and mull over Aida’s situation. My first instinct is to go to the cops. Surely the Rockwells and the others involved in bringing the girls to the U.S. are breaking all kinds of laws. How did they get the girls into the country? Commercial flight? Private plane? Is it possible Aida and Larissa are only the tip of an iceberg? Are there more foreign girls in Oregon, pregnant and in servitude?
The girls would have to present passports and work visas. Could the documents be forgeries? Rockwell’s a lawyer and a smart guy. He probably has all his bases covered, his ducks in a row, paper-wise. He knows important people. Judges, etc.
When I go over the scenario in my mind, I realize Aida, the missing Larissa and possibly others have been neatly trapped. They’re scared, pregnant and alone, afraid they’ll be deported. There’s no way they’ll cooperate with the police. Proof. I need proof.
I look outside and see Nick and Myron unloading cases of food from the back of his pick-up. Nick usually knows what’s up in 3 Peaks. Plus people under the influence of adult beverages tend to talk a lot. Maybe he’s heard something. I scamper outside and catch him at the back door to the restaurant. Myron holds it open with his foot.
“Quick question, Nick,” I say. It turns out to be anything but quick when I realize he needs at least some of the back-story. I don’t mention names, but tell him there are at least two foreign girls working as housemaids/nannies for wealthy families in 3 Peaks. Both pregnant. Both claim they have no boyfriend.
Myron snorts. “Yeah, right. Two little Virgin Marys right here in beautiful 3 Peaks, Oregon.”
“Have you heard anything?” I ask Nick.
He sets the box down and scratches his head. “Not a word. You friends with these girls?”
“Sort of,” I say.
He grins and cuffs the side of my head. “Whatever it is, I hope it’s not catching. Don’t turn up pregnant. Ya hear?”
A flush warms my cheeks when I think about my recent encounters with Billy. I’m comforted by the following equation. Birth control pills + rubbers = no babies. Better safe than sorry.
“No worries, boss.” I say, walking away.
My cell phone chirps. I dig it out of my pocket, press on and hear, “Do you ever get a day off?”
I recognize Kendra’s voice even though she doesn’t identify herself.
“Yeah, but I haven’t been taking them because I need the money.”
“We need to talk. I’ll pick you up in a half hour.”
She clicks off before I can ask “Why?”
I stagger into the shower and stand under a stream of hot water until I feel the strength return to my legs. When I wipe the steam from the mirror, I see the mark on my neck where Billy nipped me last night. That whole scene now seems surreal; I’m unable to process it. I decide to file it away under, Things I’ll Think About Later. Yes, denial is my friend.
Kendra pulls up next to my front door and taps the horn. I lock up and jump into the mini-van. The back seat is empty.
“Where are the kiddos?”
“My husband’s working from home today. Craig’s a CPA. He manages acco
unts for a bunch of different businesses. Tax season’s over so he’s got a little more free time.”
“Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you to lunch. Someplace other than Nick’s.”
“Is this about Billy?”
“Among other things.”
Despite my persistent questions, Kendra clams up, so I fill her in on my visit with Aida. We get to the restaurant, a nice one with white tablecloths, cloth napkins, heavy, ornate silverware and a live pine tree in the middle of the dining room. Once we’re seated, she checks her watch, murmurs, “It’s five o’clock somewhere,” and orders two strawberry margaritas in gigantic fishbowl-like goblets.
After a few slurps, the alcohol hits my empty stomach and shoots through my body like a bolt of lightning. I push the drink away and try to focus my eyes. “Why are we here?”
Kendra holds up a finger and takes one more sip. “I’ve got an idea, but after what you just told me, I’m re-evaluating the plan.”
“Which is?”
“How to get solid information about the Rockwells and their apparent takeover of baby Destiny.”
“And your plan?”
Kendra uses her napkin to dab at the strawberry foam mustache on her upper lip. “Craig does the books for a catering service, one the Rockwells use when they entertain, which is frequently. The caterers often hire experienced waitresses looking to make extra money, and since you’re an experienced waitress, well, I thought maybe you could work one of Rockwell’s parties. You know, snoop around a little. See what you can find out.”
“But Nina Rockwell knows who I am. We met at Dani’s service. She might think it’s a little weird when I show up at her house.” Again.
Kendra nods. “I have a blond wig and glasses you can wear. Trust me, rich people don’t look at the help. To them, you’re just part of the landscape, the faceless hordes whose sole purpose is to make their lives easier.”
The idea of snooping around Rockwell’s house tickles my fancy. Tickles it a lot.
I take another slurp of the margarita. “Sounds interesting. But won’t I have duties? Waitressing duties?”
“Once people get liquored up, there will be some slack time. You’re a smart girl. You’ll figure it out.”
I remember my time in Nina Rockwell’s pantry and suppress a shiver. Something about the vibe in that house gives me the creeps. Then, I remember the mission. Destiny. “I’ll give it a try, but don’t expect miracles.”
Kendra offers me a fist to bump. “Right on.”
After I suck down a little more tequila (knowing I’ll regret it later), I recall her previous statement. “You said you were re-evaluating that plan, so you must have another option.”
Kendra grins. “Craig also does the books for the people who clean the medical clinic. And since you have experience cleaning motel rooms…”
“So I have a choice. I can either be a waitress or cleaning lady?”
“Or both.”
“Your husband’s okay with this?’
Kendra winks. “He likes to keep me happy.”
“So if there’s an incident, it won’t blow back on him?”
“Probably not. Those companies are always looking for good help. They don’t need to know I told you about it.”
Suddenly Kendra frowns and leans over the table, pointing at the bruise on my neck. Instinctively, my hand flies up to cover the mark.
“Did Billy do that?”
A flush warms my cheeks. I can’t meet her gaze. “He was, um, a little upset last night.” I glance up at her and try to smile. “Afterward, I tried to get him to tell me what was bothering him, but he took off. Guess I’m not very good at pillow talk.”
Kendra’s eyes sparked with anger. “Not your fault, girlfriend. He bottles up all those bad feelings and, boom, they erupt in a huge friggin’ mess. Inappropriately. I’ve seen it happen. That’s why he needs to go to counseling, even though he’s fighting it.”
She reaches across the table and takes my hand. “Believe me, I never dreamed he’d hurt you. I’ll talk to him.”
“No.” I snatch my hand away and duck my head, embarrassed. “We got a little carried away. I probably left some marks on him too.”
Kendra stays quiet for a long moment. I feel her studying my face. “You sure?” she says. “I can usually get him to listen.”
“I can handle it.”
When Kendra drops me off at Number Twelve, the man in question is leaning against my front door, looking relaxed. I thank Kendra for lunch and open the door of the mini-van. Kendra points at Billy and calls, “You be good to this girl or I’ll kill ya. You hear?”
Billy quirks a half grin. “I hear ya, sis. No worries.”
As she pulls slowly away, I see her looking in the rearview mirror.
Billy follows me through the door. “Let me guess. Strawberry margaritas and lunch.”
I nod and check out his expression. His eyes are red-rimmed but calm. The tension is gone from his body.
He touches the bruise on my neck with his forefinger and follows up with a brush of his lips. I sense he’s about to apologize again. “It’s okay, Billy. I’m fine.”
He wraps me up in his arms and presses his cheek against the top of my head. “Damn, Minnie. Sometimes shit, uh, I mean stuff gets to me. Didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
Since I never seem to say the right thing, I remain silent. This is Billy’s journey and all I can do is hope he’ll be able to rid himself of the anger and pain residing in his soul. I know a little about that journey since I’m travelling the same road.
He releases me and sits on the end of the bed, still rumpled from last night’s workout. “Got some good news today, though.”
I pick up the chair he kicked over last night and sit. “What?”
He runs a hand through his brush cut and stares at the floor. “Guess you already know I’ve been diagnosed with PTSD.” He glances up at me. “Not that I agree.”
Looks like I’m not the only one with denial issues.
“Okay.”
“I thought I had to go away to a treatment center, but they told me I can do outpatient here. So, I can stay in 3 Peaks and take care of it.”
“Sounds good, Billy.”
He stands. “That’s why I’m here right now. To tell you. I don’t know a whole lot about what lies ahead, but I might not be around as much. You okay with that?”
A stab of alarm steals the breath from my body. Why does this feel like goodbye? I manage to stammer, “Um, sure. Do whatever you have to do. I’ll be fine.”
He folds his arms across his chest and gazes down at me. “I know you and Kendra aren’t going to rest until you know more about Dani’s death. You need to be careful. There are some real bad dudes in 3 Peaks you don’t want to mess with. I’ll help when I can.”
“Kendra says you have a buddy in the 3 Peaks Police Department.”
He nods.
I tell him about Aida and Larissa’s situation.
His eyes widen in surprise.
“Do you know this person well enough to see if anybody’s filed a report about these girls?”
“I’ll check it out. Anything else?”
“Yeah, what about Dani? Did anybody question Eddie? He claims he wasn’t there when she fell. That he found her when he got home. Seems kind of convenient.”
Billy steps up close, cups my face in his hands and drops a kiss on my forehead. It feels like a brotherly sort of kiss. Is this what the future holds for our relationship? Not the time to ask, of course.
He says, “I’ll see what I can find out.”
After another brief hug, he’s out the door. I sink down on the bed and wonder if last night’s blaze is now a pile of dead ashes. Or, is it still smoldering and waiting for the right time to burst to life. Too many questions. Not enough answers.
My cell phone chirps. I glance at the screen. Sandra. I’m not in the mood for a mother-daughter chat, but why put off the inevitable?
“What time do you go to work tomorrow?” Sandra says.
“Same time as always. Half past three. Why?”
“I’m in a truck on my way to 3 Peaks. Abel is driving the Godmobile. I’ll meet up with him there. He plans to preach at a truck stop tomorrow morning at eleven. We’ll pick you up at ten.”
Knowing she won’t take no for an answer, I murmur, “Okay.”
So, unless the world stops spinning tonight, I know exactly where I will be at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning. In the Godmobile. With my mother.
Terrific.
Chapter Seventeen
My stepfather, Abel, is a successful businessman. He owns a fleet of trucks that cruise around the western half of the United States delivering goods. His books are in order. He provides a nice living for his family and donates money to his favorite charities. But running a trucking firm and making money is not his calling. He would much rather spread the gospel. So, once a year, he embarks on a crusade.
What my mother calls the Godmobile is actually an eighteen-wheeler retrofitted with an altar and permanently affixed benches for the congregation, mostly truck drivers. Abel pulls into a truck stop, usually on a Saturday night, and begins a campaign of what some would call harassment. He prefers to call it “recruiting for Jesus.” I’m not sure why, but something about his technique works and, come Sunday morning, the Godmobile is packed with hung-over truck drivers, more than willing to dig into their pockets to support Abel’s ministry.
But, this is where Abel deviates from the norm. He refuses to pass the collection plate. He wants nothing more than the privilege of preaching to the stalwart men and women who deliver the goods and services we take for granted. When I picture Jesus, he’s dressed in jeans and a work shirt and looks a lot like Abel.
The next morning, I’m showered, dressed and ready to roll when I hear a semi rumbling through the motel parking lot. It’s exactly ten o’clock. Consequently, I’m sure one of the passengers in the semi is my mother. My instinct is to leave my room, lock the door and hop into the truck, but I know it would be a waste of energy. Sandra will want to inspect my living quarters and, more importantly, inspect me. Because I know her agenda, I make sure Number Twelve is scrupulously clean and sweet smelling, with no obvious signs of the sexual activity recently visited upon the premises. I’m fresh from the shower and the shirt I’m wearing covers the mark on my neck. Anything else? Oh yeah, nutrition. Orange juice and microwave popcorn sound healthy.
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