“I know names.”
“That’s different.”
“I know who is stealing, when, and how. I feel great injustice not being able to tell someone.”
“I’m sure there are reporters here in the U.S. that would love to get their hands on that kind of information.”
“My father says no. I am not to speak to anyone except you, or my family could be in danger.”
“How long have you had this gift?”
“You mean my ‘curse’? My mother, she gave it to me when she died giving birth to me. My grandmother stopped speaking on that day. She only wears black. My father takes care of YaiYai and my sisters.”
“What was it like for you growing up?”
“My sisters—they love me. They played with me, talked to me. My father doesn’t say much to anyone. He works. Olive oil is his life. He is an artisan; YaiYai too. We grew up wanting for nothing.
“Except a mother’s love.” Misha bowed her head.
“Do you have family here…in the U.S.?”
“No, my father arranged for me to live with the Olsens. They have imported his oil for many years. Father considers them friends. They are nice. Mr. Olsen—not so much to Mrs. Olsen, but to me, he’s nice.”
“Have you spoken to anyone else about your abilities?”
“No. Who would believe me?”
Grace’s heart filled with sadness. Another client, Wilde DeFoe felt the same way. Grace didn’t believe he would be buried alive, even though he insisted it was his destiny—until it happened. “How often do you get these feelings?”
“Sometimes it doesn’t stop. The impressions come in waves all day long. I don’t like seeing the bad things, illness, and accidents, like the one your client had.”
Grace shivered.
“How terrible it must have been for him to be buried alive, but I do like seeing babies in the womb before the mother knows the seed has been planted, and I like knowing about birthday gifts that are on their way.”
Tiny bumps broke out on Grace’s flesh from head to toe.
“How did you know about—
“I’m sorry. See, Father was right. I shouldn’t speak.”
“You caught me off guard; that’s all. I was thinking about Wilde a moment ago.”
“He’s at peace. His grandfather helped him cross.”
“Cross?”
“Yes. His energy body wanted to stay here.” She paused to meet Grace’s gaze. “He was very fond of you.”
“Is he communicating this to you? Or is this your assumption?”
“He is telling me…in my ear. He says you liked to touch his hair.”
Chills raced up and down Grace’s spine. Tiny hairs stood up on her arms. “Yes,” she said in a voice that didn’t seem like hers. “His hair was…spiked, wild.” She cleared her throat and continued, “Let’s talk about you, shall we? This is your time to share what’s bothering you. We can’t do that if we’re talking about me now, can we? Last time we met you said you were depressed.”
“I want to go home. I miss my family, my Lhasa Apso, Gigi.”
“Do your father and sisters keep in touch?”
“My sisters email me when they can.”
“And how often do they write?”
“Father keeps them busy.”
“You said your father fears for your life. What would you hope to gain by divulging the information you’re getting?”
“I would stop the stealing! My people are suffering because of greed. It is not right!”
“Misha, greed has no boundaries. Is there something specific you can do to make things change?”
“I would like to think I can.” The woman relaxed on the sofa. Her composure reflected years of the best schools and social breeding. “There is a cell of people who control the economy. Then there are groups who want to disband the cell and stop the malignancy. Like the body, a disease is best remedied with a healthy immune system. My government does not want this. As long as my people are kept struggling, they cannot gain the strength they need to fight. The armies are like what you call antibiotics, but they too have their place and are controlled by another power. I know who these people are. I see their faces in my sleep.
“Have you ever thought about writing a book?”
“Who is the intuitive one now, Miss Simms? I am working on a manuscript. There are those advanced enough to read between the lines. Fiction isn’t always too far from the truth.”
“I think you may have better results with fiction. People don’t always want to know the truth.”
“Yes, I agree.” Misha’s pretty face became solemn. “Like your friend?”
“My friend?”
“Yes, the one who’s ill.”
Grace couldn’t speak.
Misha reached for the box of tissue and handed one to Grace. “I am sorry. I upset you.”
Grace dabbed her eyes. “I think it’s time for us to stop today.”
“Yes. I will see you in—?”
“Two weeks. Same time, okay?” Grace penciled the appointment in the appropriate place and closed the book. She rose to escort Misha to the door.
“I am sorry to say such words to you, Miss Simms. I’m afraid my truth pours like vinegar instead of honey at times. I will be more careful to hold my tongue.”
“You don’t have to worry about such things in my office, Misha. You come here to speak your mind. You pay me to listen and advise you, not to censor your thoughts and feelings.”
“Thank you for the opportunity, and, in that case, I will tell you another reason for seeking you out. I must warn you to be careful.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m afraid, Miss Simms, someone wants you dead.”
* * *
At 3 p.m. Grace stood outside the schoolyard, waiting for Buns to emerge from the sea of kids pouring through double doors. She felt like a stone until she heard the voice that moved her forward.
“Hey, Aunt Grace!” The boy called from the top of the steps.
Two pretty girls flanked his every step. When they reached the bottom, each girl turned and kissed Buns on the cheek. A couple of older boys began to yell.
“Hey, big balls!” One boy shouted. Buns ignored the cackling coming from the small group of bullies.
“Wow, you put up with that all the time?” Grace wanted to hug the boy but knew that was socially unacceptable at his age and didn’t want to make his situation any worse.
“They’re jerks.” The boy’s furrowed brow relaxed. “Can we stop for ice cream?”
“Sure.” Grace wondered if he was looking for a simple fix. “Are you hungry? We can grab a sandwich.”
“Actually, I’m supposed to meet Rainy Parks and Finley Jones at the ice cream shop in fifteen minutes.”
“Oh. Hot dates?”
Buns laughed. “Real hot. They have tomorrow’s history homework done.”
“I can see the attraction.”
“Yeah, besides, they’re pretty cute, too—for girls.”
Grace melted on the spot. This boy warmed her heart. How lucky Sal and John were to have this special little person to enrich their lives. She wanted a son just like him. She conjured conversations Paul might have with their son, and she smiled.
Suddenly her heart felt heavy. I miss him. He hadn’t called all day. Hope that cow comes quickly. I can’t bear to be without Paul much longer.
Grace and Buns stepped inside the ice cream shop to find the two girls waiting for him. Grace wondered where their parents were.
“I can take it from here, Aunt Grace.” Buns spoke very diplomatically.
“I’ll be right over there,” she pointed to a booth across the room. She handed Buns a five-dollar bill and moseyed to the counter to order coffee. Her back was to the door when disruption broke out at the back of the room. The group of boys who had been harassing Buns earlier, had entered, and were picking a fight. Grace waited to see if the issue would be resolved. Would she be called upon to help? Insid
e she was seething. No one messes with my kid.
When the bullies saw Grace approaching, they took off. As promised, Grace walked to the booth across the room and sat down. Buns gave her a wink and busied himself with his homework, his ladies, and Rainy’s caramel sundae.
* * *
Sal spoke to John convincingly as he eased himself into a tub filled with artesian water and mud. “Relax. Try to imagine yourself in a big bowl of oatmeal.”
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” he said grumbling. “You and your little soul journeys—”
The comment stung. “You could’ve stayed home.”
“Sorry. Me being insensitive—again.”
“Once the impurities are leached from your body, you will be thanking me.”
“Once the money has been leached from our bank account, I’ll be crying in my beer.”
“I’m worth it, John. Please, tell me I’m worth it.”
“Of course you are—just saying.
“And chemo isn’t a helluva lot more expensive?” Tears formed in Sal’s eyes. She turned away. “If you can’t be positive…”
“Damn, I’m an asshole,” he said reaching for her hand. “You knew that when you married me.”
“Yes, you are. Now sit beside me and stop your whining, or I may be the one to raise our sons alone.”
“I love you, Sal. Don’t say that.”
“Fine, but I have to do everything in my power to beat this thing, John. I believe cancer starts to grow in a place that can’t be reached with a scalpel. I have to find the cause and stop it before there is nothing left of me.” Her eyes pleaded with his. “Are you in?”
“Of course, I’m in.” John slipped his arm around her bare shoulders. “My God, this shit is slimy,” he said, grinning. “We could have some real fun in here.”
Sal gave his manhood a playful tug. “Save it until we get into the Roman pool,” she said, wiggling her brows, “I hear they’re very private.”
CHAPTER 4
NOTHING BUT LIES
J ess snuck out of the madam’s room, leaving her body to grow cold. A whore that caught his eye earlier met him at the top of the stairs. He spoke to her in pesos. She obliged.
“You’re a little beauty; you are,” he said, unzipping his pants. The little beauty smiled and got to work. When she finished satisfying Jess’s needs, he pulled her to his lap and cuddled her close. “Quiero un carro,” he whispered in her ear. “I need to get out of Dodge.”
“Sí,” she replied coyly.
“You want to come with?”
The whore giggled and shook her head yes.
“You don’t even know what the fuck I’m talking about do you?”
“Sí,” she smiled brightly.
He didn’t believe her. “Carro!”
“Sí!” She pretended to turn a steering wheel in her hands.
“Sí!” Jess stepped into his pants and donned his shirt. “Permite salir de aquí!”
The whore got the message that he wanted to get out of there immediately and hurried to dress. When she finished, she held out her hand. “Carrro,” she purred. Jess peeled two hundred pesos from the wad of bills in his pocket. His lips spread into a toothy grin. His eyes went flat like a shark. “Rapido. Let’s go.”
* * *
The next few leads didn’t pan out. At one point, Paul felt they were chasing smoke. Four women, murdered. One from San Diego and a restaurant mogul from Puerto Madera. The madam they had spoken to less than twenty-four hours ago lay strangled in her bed, and now, a whore police thought connected to the Madam’s murder had been found gutted like a pig in an alley outside Pergamino. If Paul didn’t return to Sacramento victorious, it would take an act of God to find Jess again. His only comforting thought: Jess was out of the country, away from Grace.
“The authorities will catch him soon enough,” Raphael said confidently.
“Soon enough isn’t good enough.”
Raphael looked away. Paul questioned Skip, “Where are we off to now?”
“Mendoza,” said Skip, exchanging a glance with Raphael.
“What’s in Mendoza?” Paul asked.
“Jess will most likely try to cross the border into Chile,” said Skip. “He can’t stay in Argentina. The whore he killed? Happens to be the niece of a commandant.
Paul shuddered. “Raphael, what are his chances of getting across?”
“This dude’s slippery. He must have passports up the olho do cu. It’s the only way he could be moving so freely. I’ve contacted border patrol,” he shrugged, “but who knows?”
“Yeah,” Skip interjected. “Depends how he plans on crossing, too. There are flights three times a week into Santiago, but airfare is out of sight, and if he takes a bus, he will have to purchase a ticket ahead of time.” Skip shielded his eyes from the sun and surveyed the sky. “At this time of year, the pass may be closed. Raphael can check the weather report. If there’s been any snow, he won’t make it over.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I have a buddy in Puente del Inca. I’ll put him on detail. If our boy doesn’t morph into Lady Gaga, we may be able to snag him there.”
Paul checked his watch. Tiny spots flooded his vision. Thirty-six hours on no sleep. “How long would it take him to get into Chile by bus?”
Raphael pulled his phone from his pocket and began to scroll through his contact list. “Seven hours if he gets a ticket right away.”
“Okay, let’s do it. Skip, call your buddy. Raphael, check the pass. I need to call Grace. I don’t want her to think I’ve fallen off the face of the earth.”
Paul half expected a razzing, but none came. Both men took to their cells, following his orders. When Grace answered her phone, Paul stepped away from the men. “Hey, beautiful, did I wake you?”
Grace thought at first she was dreaming. “Paul?”
“I woke you, didn’t I?”
“What time is it? Are you home?”
“No, sweetheart, I’m going to need a few more days. Things aren’t going well. I’ll spare you the gory details.”
“I’m sorry to hear. I miss you.”
“You haven’t replaced me then; that’s good to hear.”
“No, you have a few more days, and then I must consider moving on. I wouldn’t be a good therapist if I didn’t follow my own advice.”
“I swear this separation doesn’t qualify as desertion. I wish I could be there next to you this very moment.”
Grace twirled her hair, ready with a sexy quip when she noticed Buns standing in the doorway. With sleep-filled eyes, he questioned, “Is that Mom?”
“No, honey. It’s Paul. Want to say hello?” Grace handed Buns the phone.
“Hi, Paul,” he said, disappointed.
“Hey, buddy. You watching out for my girl?”
“Yeah. She’s fine. Thought you were my mom; here’s Grace. Bye.”
“Uh, oh.” Grace watched Buns droop as he hurried out of the room. “I better do a little intervention. When do you think you’ll be home?”
“Hard to say. I’m hoping by the end of the week. If it’s any sooner, I’ll let you know. Everything okay?”
“I believe so,” Grace said. “Sal should be home in a few days. Buns is getting home sick.”
“Anything else?”
“Like what?”
“No one bothering you, giving you a bad time.”
“No, I’m—” Just then her phone beeped. She checked the caller ID, the screen flashed “Unknown.”
“Hang on. I’m getting another call. Hello?” Silence. “Hello?” Dread danced along her spine. “Hello!” She heard his sigh.
“Hey, babe.”
“What do you want Jess?” The sound of his voice made her want to retch.
“Why are you being such a bitch? Can’t you say hello?” He lowered his voice a notch. “You know what I want. I want you, babe. Always have, always will. It’s just a matter of time.”
“Try never, Jess. I want nothing to do with yo
u.”
“Oh, I think you’ll change your mind once loverboy is out of the way.”
“What are you talking about? Jess, where are you?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know? What’s the matter, Grace? Don’t think loverboy can take care of himself? What do you know about him anyway?” he chuckled. “Face it, we—you and I— have something special. He’s an impostor.”
“You know nothing about him, Jess.”
“Oh, don’t I? Ask him, Grace. Ask him where he is, who he’s with.” Grace heard Jess pucker his lips and blow a kiss before she heard >click<. Her hand shook as she switched the line back to Paul. “Where are you, Paul?”
By the tone of Grace’s voice, Paul could tell she was upset. He rubbed the phone along his shirt pocket, creating static on the line. “Grace? Can you hear me? Are you there?”
“Paul?” Grace’s frustration mounted. “The call was from Jess, Paul. Where are you?”
Anger burned in Paul’s soul. When I find him, he’s a dead man. He rubbed the phone on his thigh this time, causing havoc with the reception. “Grace? Can you hear me? I think I’m losing you. I’ll call you when I get back to town. Damnit,” he grumbled, “Grace?”
Tears welled in Grace’s eyes. She hated being afraid. She hated not knowing, not being able to be sure about life. She threw her phone down on the bed, rose, showered quickly, and dressed. One person she could count on was herself. Right now, there was a little boy who needed her.
Paul slipped his phone into his pocket and climbed into the car. He wanted to tear Jess’s lips off his face. How dare he contact her! Upset her! How much did he tell her? What did he say? “Let’s get to Mendoza. I want to get that bastard before he hits the border.”
Skip’s meaty hands gripped his sides. “We’ve got the bus stations covered. Raphael called his buddy in airport security. We’ll get ’im.”
* * *
Grace moved to the edge of the bed where Buns lay curled into a ball. “I can’t imagine your mom getting up this early when she’s away. She’ll probably call later, maybe after school. Do you want one of my famous pancakes for breakfast? I can have one ready in no time.”
The Black Dress Page 4