Web of Deceit

by Peggy Slocum

  “Well, yes, of course. OK, we’ll be following you to your granddaughter’s house then?” Beth asks. What’s up with this lady?

  “Do you need any more information before we go?” Mrs. Freedman politely asks, as if oblivious to her spectacle.

  “No, we have enough information for now. Elliot took time to review it as well. Ready to go?”

  Mrs. Freedman smiles and reaches from the chair to grab her purse which is resting on the floor to the right of her. With her left hand, she grasps tightly to the arm of the chair while lifting her weight up and out. Now standing, she proceeds to smooth any wrinkles that may have formed in her black skirt during her long wait. Next, she pulls on the bottom of her suit jacket as if to make certain she is completely covered with no skin showing whatsoever. Finally, she touches the white collar of her blouse making sure each button is securely fastened. With that, she is ready to go.

  “After you.” Beth motions to the door.

  Beth watches the slender, petite woman walk gracefully towards the waiting room down the hall. She’s so sweet with her round face and silver hair all up in a perfect little bun. Yet when she uses that sarcasm, her ice-blue eyes pierce through to my inner layers like a fierce-cold chill. Beth bites the inside of her lip, causing wrinkles to form between her eyebrows. Hmm …

  “Thank you for the kind hospitality, Symphony.” Mrs. Freedman leaves the building.

  As Beth passes Symphony, she notices her big brown eyes are uneasy. “Is everything all right?”

  “Uh-huh.” Symphony seems to be intrigued with the little old lady getting into the large gray Cadillac.

  “We should be back after lunch. If Frank calls, tell him I have my cell,” Beth says.

  “’K.”

  * * *

  Elliot is standing by the Corvette with the passenger door opened, and Beth gets in. “Wow.” He settles in behind the wheel. Mrs. Freedman is already leaving the small parking lot. His Vette’s tires chirp as he punches the gas to catch Mrs. Freedman before she pulls into the street. “Didn’t you say Mrs. Freedman was a sweet old lady? If I was her daughter, I would come up missing too. Judge Freedman gives me the creeps. We need to keep our eyes open on this one.”

  “I agree. Something doesn’t feel right,” Beth says as her phone rings and she checks the caller ID. “It’s Frank.” She lifts it to her ear.

  On the other end Frank says, “Beth, you aren’t goin’ to believe this, but Kelly’s apartment is cleaned out. I got a pretty good look through the window from the fire escape. The downstairs tenant has never seen her before. He said the landlord doesn’t get home till five, and the neighbor is usually home by one. We’ll swing back after lunch to check it out.”

  “I’m currently with a client. If I’m done by then, I’ll be there.”

  “Call me when you’re done. I’ll let you know what’s goin’ on. Oh, ‘n we’ve got nothin’ on a Freedman kid.”

  “Really? You better check again.” Beth presses the end key.

  “Should we be following up with someone to get a report started?” Frank says before realizing she is gone. Ugh, I hate it when she does that.

  “Elliot, there is no missing Freedman kid.”

  “Isn’t that Mrs. Freedman’s daughter’s kid? We don’t know the daughter’s name, let alone her father’s. She’s playin’ her hand pretty tight.”

  “Yeah, she’s not sharing much. Good thing I chose my large purse today.”

  “We’re gonna need a lot more information if we are gonna be any help.” Elliot says as they pass the Boston Skyline reflecting the low midwinter sun. Elliot exits onto 93 South following the Gray Cadillac to Dorchester. Figures, she’s doing exactly the speed limit.

  Chapter 3: Vicky’s House

  Mrs. Freedman pulls in front of the little gray house on East Cottage Way. Elliot parks the Vette behind her Cadillac. He notices she is still straightening her dress while walking up the sidewalk.

  “Any last words you want to say to your car before we go in and it disappears?” Beth laughs.

  “No.” Elliot pulls a felt pad and police siren from the rear compartment. He sets the felt pad on the glass top and then carefully rests the siren on it.

  “You have got to be kidding me.”

  “Can’t be too careful. I don’t want it to scratch.”

  “If someone wants ‘Precious,’ that siren is not going to scare them off.”

  Holding her large purse close, she hurries to catch up with Mrs. Freedman who is already at the door waiting to go in.

  “After you, Ms. Doyle,” Mrs. Freedman says.

  “Thank you.” Beth saunters through the doorway.

  Elliot hurries to catch the door and follows Mrs. Freedman inside.

  It is a small, quaint house, too-well kept for the South Side. No sign of chipped paint, dented drywall, or broken windows. The housekeeping is immaculate.

  Elliot is crouched on the floor searching for anything that might have fallen under the couch.

  “Find anything?” Beth asks.

  “No. Not even a dust bunny.”

  “Really.” Beth bites the inside of her lower left lip, causing her lips to pucker while wrinkles form between her eyebrows. Something is not right. “Let me know if you need me. I’m going to go check out the kitchen.”

  Mrs. Freedman follows close behind and asks, “Can I help you with anything?”

  “Not really.” Beth opens the refrigerator door. She scans it quickly. An unopened container of milk. A half gallon of milk about three quarters gone. Next to it was a jug of orange juice. Holding it, she realizes It’s mostly full. Opening the drawers she finds apples, grapes, a bag of premix salad. Cheese, bologna, jelly. They have a few more days before they have to go shopping, if not longer. She closes the refrigerator door.

  “This seems unnecessary. Shouldn’t you be searching for evidence?” Mrs. Freedman asks.

  “Yes—how long did you say your daughter lived here?” Beth asks as she opens the freezer. Wellstocked.

  “It’s hard to keep track with her. But I believe about a year this time. She uproots that poor girl all the time. She only cares about herself …” Mrs. Freedman continues to rail her daughter.

  Uninterested, Beth tunes out Mrs. Freedman. It’s amazing what you can learn by snooping through someone’s fridge. So far, the priority seems to be on eating nutritiously. The house seems to be in above- average order. It’s not filthy--no bugs, no sign of alcoholism or drugs. Should I share this information with Mrs. Freedman, or do I even trust her?

  Elliot enters the kitchen and notices Beth biting her lip. That can’t be good. “Ready to go upstairs?”

  “Yeah, I’m through here. Are you coming, Mrs. Freedman?”

  “Oh, yes. The truth will be shown now,” Mrs. Freedman says with a sneer.

  “You know, Mrs. Freedman, maybe your daughter isn’t as bad as you think she is.” Beth snaps at her.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Freedman. I am only suggesting that maybe the trouble she is in is not her fault.”

  “Ms. Doyle, you do not know my daughter the way …”

  “Beth,” Elliot speaks in a calm yet direct voice as he places his hand on her shoulder. “I’m gonna check outside. I’ll take Mrs. Freedman with me so she can show me around. Is that OK with you, Mrs. Freedman?”

  “Yes, of course, and we can meet Beth upstairs afterwards.”

  Elliot and Mrs. Freedman leave through the back door off the kitchen. Beth goes through the door connecting to the living room and up the stairs. A small bathroom is accessible to the left of the upper landing. A hallway connects two bedrooms to the right.

  Beth opens the door to the first. This must be the girl’s room. Beth observes the porcelain doll lamp on the dresser. She opens each dresser drawer. Clothes are nice enough. Next, she opens the closet. Everything’s well organized. A jacket, sweaters—a winter coat, snowsuit. Hmm, on the floor, sneakers, dress shoes, winter boots.

 
Beth takes out her notebook and pen. She jots down everything she’s discovered. She puts her hand on her chin. Hmm … well-fed, well-clothed—not adding up. Bending down, Beth searches under the bed. Nothing. In hopes of finding something, she lifts up the mattress. Aha, a small purple notebook.

  On the cover is sketched, in black ink, a picture of a woman with stick arms and legs wearing a skirt and blouse. A round face encompasses razor sharp teeth and squinty eyes. The hair is tight to the head in a bun. Beth opens the notebook and reads, “You will never find us!” That’s disturbing.

  The outside door shuts as someone enters the kitchen. Wanting to read more, she drops the purple notebook into her purse and rolls the mattress back into position. Until I know more about Mrs. Freedman I’m keeping this to myself. She sweeps the bedspread with her hand to remove the wrinkles. Hurried, Beth opens the nightstand drawer next to the bed with a squeak. Hoping she isn’t heard, her eyes dart over the contents. Her attention narrows on a small golden heart- shaped locket. She grabs it and drops it into her purse. I’m pushing it, but I’ve got to know what’s in that other room. I hope Elliot can stall.

  Beth slips quickly down the hall into the mother’s bedroom. Two windows with lace curtains face the street. She starts her search with the dresser first. The voices seem louder, echoing throughout the stairwell. Come on, Elliot. She feels around in each drawer. Nothing … oh, what’s this. Beth pulls a five-by-seven photo album from amongst the conservative undergarments.

  * * *

  Out of nowhere, a loud commotion erupts from downstairs. THUD! The front door is thrown open and slams against the wooden siding. Elliot bursts through the door pulling his .38 Special from his shoulder holster and continues at a dead run toward his Vette parked by a three-quarter ton white work van.

  Zit—zit—zit--clang! A lug nut drops into a pan near the twenty-pound jack under the rear of the car.

  “Hey—what are you doin’?! This ain’t NASCAR!” Elliot yells, waving his gun like a madman at four guys in blue overalls surrounding his car. “Get away from my car!”

  Each man grabs a tire and lunges for the open side door of the van already in motion, leaving their equipment behind. The van door slams shut as blue smoke bellows from the screeching tires.

  Elliot chases on foot with his gun leveled at the van, barely considering the consequences of firing his weapon. His training takes over, causing his eyes to automatically focus on the license plate before the van rounds the corner and disappears onto Dorchester Avenue. T-H-X-4-R-B-R—got it, I’ll be seein’ ya soon.

  * * *

  Beth gazes through the window, watching Elliot bolt across the front lawn. Not what I had in mind, but it’ll do. Beth opens the closet. She reaches for the boxes stacked on a shelf above the neatly hung clothing. Opening the boxes, she finds one with letters and two half photos. Beth takes a picture of the top item inside each box with her phone’s camera. She retrieves three rubber bands out of a zippered pocket and then takes the contents from each box, bands them and stows them in her purse. After closing the closet door, she checks the bed. Nothing under the mattress. Beth smooths the wrinkles again and checks under the bed. “Nothing,” Beth says, sighing. “Not even a cobweb.” I better go check on Elliot.

  “Did you get the plate?” Beth asks approaching Elliot at the curb.

  “Yeah, take it down so we can run it.”

  Pulling out her pad, Beth asks, “What is it?”

  “T-H-X-4-R-B-R.”

  “Hey, do you realize what this says when it is written down? Thanks for rubber.” Beth tries to ignore the humor for Elliot’s sake.

  Elliot kicks the curb.

  “Where’s Mrs. Freedman?”

  “She went back inside to get you and lock up.” Elliot circles his car, inspecting for damage. Left the siren … figures. The felt pad was still in its place. “She offered to give us a ride back to the office,” Elliot says, emotionally disconnected.

  The mirth vanishes from Beth’s face unnoticed as she screams inside. I’m not riding anywhere with that woman!

  “I called the dealership, and they can’t make it out here until four.”

  “Elliot, why don’t you use the Triple A card? I’m sure if I slipped them extra cash they would take the car wherever you want,”

  “Are you kidding? No one touches this car but Howard.”

  “Who’s Howard?”

  “My car’s mechanic.”

  “Unbelievable.”

  Mrs. Freedman comes out of the house and approaches Elliot to comfort him.

  Surprised it is possible, Beth feels her frustration rise a level.

  “There is nothing more we can do here,” Mrs. Freedman says. “Your car will be fine; let me take you two back to your office.”

  “We hate to burden you—I will phone a cab. It will be no problem,” Beth says in a calm, sweet, yet genuine voice.

  “I insist.”

  Elliot nudges Beth’s arm. “Isn’t that Sarah pulling onto this street?”

  “Yeah,” Beth answers in awe. “How does she do that?”

  “I don’t know,” Elliot says. “But it never fails.”

  “Thank you for the kind offer, Mrs. Freedman, but it appears a friend has arrived,” Beth says, shaking Mrs. Freedman’s hand while bidding her a good day. Elliot can finish dealing with her.

  Sarah parks her truck and jogs across the street to meet Beth. Her long blond ponytail bounces as her radiant smile beams below her bright blue eyes framed with bangs. She is wearing an oversized blue sweatshirt and blue jeans. “Need a lift?” she asks in a crisp New England accent.

  Beth gives her a curious grin. “OK, ‘fess up. You’ve got a GPS tracking device on us somewhere. Right?”

  “Yeah, that’s it. Like I’ve got the money for that.” Sarah laughs.

  Beth considers her friend. She could have lots of money if she would take any of my advice. But no, not Sarah, she’s got to give it all away.

  “Hey kid!” Elliot says as he approaches Sarah and gives her a hug. Elliot nicknamed Sarah “Kid” because she has a sweet innocence about her. Usually, it is only found in children. “How’d you find us this time?”

  “Normally, I stay on Columbia, but today I felt an urge to turn right onto Dorchester,” she explains. “Out of the corner of my eye I saw a shiny red car, and I had to check it out.”

  “Wow, you must have ESP or something,” Elliot says.

  “No, it’s God’s divine appointment.” Sarah’s smile widens. “He keeps showing himself to you through me.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that, kid, but you definitely seem to be there when we need you.”

  “I hope you don’t mind. I need to make a few stops before goin’ back to Boston,” Sarah says.

  “Not at all,” Beth and Elliot say in unison.

  “Oh, one of you will need to hold my new friend, Fleshling.” Sarah grins.

  “Cute.” Beth picks up the fuzzy brown puppy and sets him on her lap.

  Chapter 4: Sister Sarah

  The three friends are packed into the front seat of Sarah’s Ford F150 pickup.

  “Why did you name her Fleshling?” Beth asks, sandwiched between Sarah and Elliot, holding the six-month-old, brown, fuzzy Cocker Spaniel.

  “Well, without a master this little dog would get into all kinds of trouble, right?”

  “Actually, dogs find trouble even with a master.”

  “Exactly!” Sarah says. “And that’s why I call her Fleshling.”

  Beth, sensing a “Sarah lecture,” nudges Elliot. He is as curious as her this time so he gives the nod: OK, ask her:

  “I know this is probably another hidden sermon, but you’ve got our curiosity piqued on this one.” Beth says while nuzzling the puppy.

  “Why, Beth, what do you mean?” Sarah’s eyes twinkle as she glances at her captive audience. “Say you are at a party or a bar and you’ve had a little too much to drink. Your brain says, ‘That’s enough,’ but you have a smiling fr
iend come over and they hand you a couple more. Your first thought is, ‘I can’t drink this. I’ll be sick,’ but after you notice all the fun your friend is having, you forget about it till the next morning—when you realize that you should’ve listened to your brain. It would’ve saved you from your severe headache and more.”

  Elliot sticks his finger down his throat and feigns the gag reflex. Beth rolls her eyes.

  “Well, that’s your flesh. Its motto is, ‘If it feels good, keep doin’ it.’ ”

  Beth throws Sarah an uncertain scowl. “Hence the dog.”

  “Exactly,” Sarah says. “And don’t scowl at me that way. I know that you know what I’m talkin’ about.”

  Elliot and Beth cheer, saying, “Sarah to the rescue!” in unison.

  All three laugh.

  “All right, kid, you better finish up, because you are starting to lose my interest.”

  Sarah hits the lock button as she raises her eyebrows at Elliot. “You’re not goin’ anywheres.”

  He pounds on the truck window and mimes screaming. Everyone laughs again.

  “All right. So we’re all in agreement what flesh is?” Sarah asks.

  “Yes!” Elliot and Beth say in unison again.

  “I named my dog Fleshling because she needs my help, or she would find all kinds of trouble. And it’s the same with me. Before I let God into my life, my flesh lead me into all kinds of trouble. But now that I have God, he has changed my wants and desires. Do I get tempted? Absolutely, but, as I am master and friend to this little puppy, so is my God to me.” Sarah stretches her arms wide to illustrate, “only a lot more.”

  “Sarah!” Elliot says as the truck drifts toward oncoming traffic.

  “We get it.” Beth says. “Keep your hands on the wheel.”

  Beth and Elliot help Sarah deliver supplies to the shelters on her route. On the way back to Boston, Elliot receives a phone call from Howard, his car’s mechanic. Howard tells Elliot that it will take three days to order the wheels and that the dealership can hook him up with a loaner till then. Sarah gives Elliot a ride to the dealership and takes Beth back to her office.