Lord, help Greene Gully. And help my sister while she helps him.
I woke up the third screen in front of me, where the surveillance had gone on while I slept. The last sighting of Rod J. Sebastian at the Bellissimo was dark and early Wednesday morning. From behind a marble fountain, and with great interest, he inconspicuously watched the west entrance from behind the cover of eight feet of babbling water. I looked at the time, compared it to the last times and locations of Bootsy Howard and the brothers Sebastian on the first two screens, then changed screen shots to see what Rod J. was so interested in.
He was interested in Bootsy Howard holding Butch and Brutus Sebastian at pink gunpoint.
I found the brothers.
I knew where they were. And for the time being, they could just stay there.
I dialed transportation. “This is Mrs. Cole. I need a jet to Houston. Six passengers, including my daughters and two dogs. We’re leaving the Bellissimo in fifteen minutes. Be ready.”
I texted Fantasy. Cover for me. I’m going to Houston.
I ran down the guest-wing hall. “Vree, wake up.” I shook her. “Get the dogs ready. We’ve got to go.”
“Where?”
“Houston.”
* * *
We touched down at Houston Executive at 6:22 Thursday morning, the sun just rising, and piled the girls and the dogs into a waiting limo that drove us to MD Anderson via an eighteen-minute stop at Four Seasons on Lamar Street, where Vree and Bubbles were reunited. At 7:40, we blew through the fire exit on the ground floor of MD Anderson’s Duncan Building, then sneaked babies and dogs past three nurses’ stations to the Gully family’s private waiting room, where Preacher Gully, his wife Gina, and Bootsy Howard stared at the collection of women, children, and dogs as if a spaceship had landed in the room. Bootsy said, “I’m not sure they allow dogs, Vreeland.” Gina said, “Lord Jesus, is that a dog? What’s wrong with his eyes?” Pastor Gully said, “God will bless you for your lifelong days, Davis.”
My phone, silent all morning, dinged. It was a message, with an attachment, from Bianca. DAVID. WHAT IS THIS? WHAT WHAT WHAT IS THIS?
I clicked the attachment. It’s a photograph of you and a guest, Bianca. Her name is Candy Smucker.
HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE SEEN THIS, DAVID?
I’m not sure. How did you see it?
MY PUBLICIST WOKE ME UP WITH THIS ATROCITY, DAVID. HE SAYS IT IS AVAILABLE FOR PUBLIC VIEWING AT FACEWHO. WHY DO I LOOK CRAZED? AS IF I’M DAFT? WHY AM I STARING AT THE CAMERA AS IF I’VE SEEN AN APPIRITION? WHY IS MY MOUTH GAPED OPEN? WHAT IS WRONG WITH MY HAIR? WAS I ATTACKED BY A MULTITUDE OF DOGS AT THE SHOW? WHY AM I WEARING MY $12,000 MAX GALLIANO DRESS BACKWARDS? WHY ARE MY $7,000 JUBILIE LOORE BOOTS UPTURNED IN A CHAIR BEHIND ME? WHERE ARE MY DRESS, MY BOOTS, AND MY $10,000 MATTOX BRAY EQUINE CLUTCH? HOW COULD YOU, DAVID? HOW COULD YOU?
Bianca, a man named Menton Williams took the picture. I repeatedly asked him not to photograph me (you) and specifically asked him not to distribute it publicly. He’s one of the dog-show judges. You should give him a call.
GIVE HIM A CALL? I’M HAVING HIM AND THE MONSTER BEHIND FACEWHAT ARRESTED.
She paid ten thousand dollars for a horse-foot purse?
TWENTY-TWO
The family waiting rooms for surgery patients at MD Anderson were large, private, and accommodating. The main room had several seating areas, two televisions, a desk with a computer, a small stocked kitchen, and an internal phone for communicating with the family’s assigned patient liaison. Off the large room, there was a full bath, a prayer room, and a bedroom with three small beds, two large windows, and one sliding-glass door that led to a small private courtyard. The bedroom was now the playroom. Playing in it were Bex, Quinn, Princess, and Harley. I was in the room too. I wasn’t playing.
Vree, holding Bubblegum, knocked on the bedroom door at nine. “Coast is clear. The nurse has come and gone.”
“Where’d you hide Bubbles?”
“Under a blanket.”
I left the door open, chose a seat where I could keep an eye on Bex and Quinn, and joined the adults. “What are they saying?”
“Well.” Vree took a deep breath.
Preacher Gully didn’t let her use it. “His condition is grave, Sister Davis. His vital signs are unstable, he’s unconscious, and the indicators are unfavorable.”
Gina was shredding tissues.
“What about Meredith?” I asked.
“They said we could talk to her in thirty minutes,” Vree said.
I shot to the edge of my seat. “Talk to her? Can we see her?”
“Skype,” Vree said.
“On the computer,” Gully said.
I was glad he cleared that up.
Vree held Bubbles in the air. They were nose to nose. Bubblegum’s tail was wagging a mile a minute. “Did you hear that, Bubbly Girl? We get to talk to Aunt Meredith!”
I paced the family room, checked on my girls and the dogs, went outside with them for a few minutes, started a fresh pot of coffee, and paced more. Nine thirty finally arrived. The nurse’s head popped in. “Connect to Skype on the home screen,” she said. “We’ll have Miss Way on in a few minutes.”
I sat at the desk, connected to Skype, and stared at the gray screen until I saw my sister.
* * *
At noon, Greene Gully’s condition was upgraded to critical. Meredith was in recovery. She called, mouth full. “I’m done.”
I shooed Princess off one of the small beds so I could sit down. She glared at me with her yellow eye, bared her crooked teeth, then backed off. “What are you eating?”
“A cheeseburger,” Meredith said. “Have you ordered anything to eat? The food here is incredible.”
For a million dollars, it ought to be.
“Between Four Seasons and what they’ve fed me here, I swear, Davis, I’m going to need to go on a diet.”
“When are they going to let you out?”
“I have to stay until my bloodwork is normal,” she said. “The nurse said maybe one more cheeseburger. But Davis, I’m not leaving until Greene’s out of the woods.”
“Meredith, you don’t have any more blood to give him.”
“You’re right about that. But I have to see this through, and they’re telling me it won’t take long. They’ll know soon if the procedure worked, and for the time being, he’s not going downhill. Let’s put it this way.” She took a huge bite of burger. In my ear. “So far, he’s not rejecting my plasma.”
“How can you eat and talk about Greene’s blood at the same time?”
Meredith said she’d call again after her next round of bloodwork.
The morning dragged on. And on. And on.
At noon, I peeked out the bedroom door, where Bex, Quinn, and both dogs had fallen asleep, to ask how things were going, but stopped short to listen to the doctor, who was just coming in with an update. He pulled up a chair, sat close to Gully and Bootsy, totally ignored Bubbles stretched out in front of Vree, and spoke in tones too hushed for me to hear. After several long minutes, a negotiation ensued. “Sister Bootsy, you should go,” Gina said.
“No. I’ll stay here with Vreeland. You go with Pastor, Gina. I’ll go next time.”
Greene Gully was being allowed visitors.
That had to be good.
I waited until the doctor escorted the Gullys out, and was about to step out of the bedroom when Bootsy said, “Have a seat, Vreeland. We need to talk.” I slid down the doorframe and sat on the floor, ear to the cracked door.
“You have to stop with the witch business.”
Nothing from Vree.
“Do you understand I’m not a witch?”
Still nothing from Vree.
Bootsy went back in time. She talked about when her sister died, and she went from being an early thirtysomething with her life on
track to a full-time single parent of four rowdy boys in the blink of an eye. Not only did she miss her sister desperately, she knew nothing about parenting. She was overwhelmed, and looking back, she wished she hadn’t told the boys she’d turn them into frogs if they didn’t pick up after themselves, or that she’d shrink them to the size of crowder peas if they didn’t clean their plates, or that she’d see to it that they woke up with warts all over their faces if they didn’t do their homework. Before too long, her flowers bloomed again, because Gooch and his brothers spread the word—don’t set foot in Bootsy’s yard unless you like werewolves. The ding dong ditching stopped, because Gooch and his brothers told their friends Bootsy had bats guarding the door. Her troubles with the school stopped, because the boys told the teachers if they said one word to their Aunt Bootsy, she’d cast a spell on them and their hair would fall out. People began staying out of her way, which, at the time, she liked. Then she woke up one day and everyone was out of her way, with the whole town calling her a witch.
I heard a distant hospital bell ding.
“Why, Vreeland, would you drug me and lock me in that room? I realize what we should have done was sit Meredith and Davis down. They’re good girls, they were raised right, and looking back, I think they would have helped without being forced to. And I’ll do my best to make it right with them. I made that decision when I woke up locked in a strange place in a strange city surrounded by baseball bats and violent television games again. I thought I’d died and gone to hell.”
At that point, Vree could have blamed me and Fantasy.
She didn’t.
“It was terrifying, Vreeland. A light bulb exploded in the stairwell outside of the room. I heard it pop, I smelled the smoke, and I thought I’d burn to death locked in that room with no phone, no way out, no help. Then, Vreeland, when I thought you’d come back to get me, the door opened and it wasn’t you. It was two horrible men. Vile men, Vreeland. They threw a petrified woman and a dog in with me, with every intention of leaving the three of us there, but they scared her to death before they could. They literally scared the life out of her, right before my eyes. They scared her to death, ran off in the black girl’s car, but not before knocking me over the head and throwing me in the bed of a truck to leave me for dead because I’d borne witness. A truck bed, Vreeland. A truck bed. Three days I spent in a truck bed. Be sure your sins will find you out. Mine found me out. I led the Way girls into troubled waters, and the Lord brought down hell on me. Pure hell.”
I heard Vree sniff. She must have been crying.
Then I heard nothing.
“Vreeland, say something.”
I’d never heard those words before.
No one had ever spoken those words before.
Just when I thought Vree had lost her voice forever, she said, “If you’re not a witch, Bootsy, then who put the baby spell on me?”
“What, Vreeland? What are you talking about? What baby spell?”
“Why can’t I have a baby?”
Oh, Vree…
* * *
We left through the front door of the Duncan Building at five that afternoon, kids, dogs, the whole kit and caboodle, like a deranged parade, because Meredith had to leave by wheelchair. Insurance regulations. I put Princess at the front of the line and told her to guard us. She marched through like she owned the place, giving everyone we passed her eye, and no one said a word.
“Good dog,” I told her.
Greene Gully was in critical but stable condition. The Gullys and Bootsy would stay until his release, which would be after several days in ICU, then several more in general population.
“Sister Davis,” Gully started.
I stopped him. “No, Gully. Don’t.” I didn’t want to be thanked for stealing a million dollars. I did want to get home and shut it down. Which reminded me of another thing I needed to do when I got home. I found Bootsy in the mix of people, babies, and dogs. “Where’s your car parked?”
Her face turned a shade of purple. “In the casino garage.”
“I know that, Bootsy. Where in the garage?”
“At the top.”
“The eighth level?” It was Thursday. At least I thought it was Thursday. The eighth level of the parking garage would be all but empty. Friday, it would fill. Saturday, it would be stuffed. Thursday, not so much. “How did you subdue them?”
“I used my magic wand.”
She winked.
“Do you have your car keys?”
“They’re under the floor mat on the driver’s side.”
I held my hand out.
From deep in one of her burlap pockets, she produced Fantasy’s magic pink gun.
“What was that about?” Meredith was bouncing Quinn on one hip and Bex on the other.
“Tying up loose ends,” I said.
From the tarmac, waiting for takeoff, I texted Fantasy. The brothers are locked in the trunk of Bootsy’s car in the parking garage on eight.
From her: The fake housekeepers?
Me: Yes.
Her: Yow. How long have they been there?
Me: Since five or so Wednesday morning.
Her: Double yow.
Me: Right.
Her: Where’s the other one? The cousin?
Me: That, we don’t know.
Her: Two down is better than none down.
Me: The keys are under the driver mat.
Her: I’d better take a taser or two with me. Or my pink gun.
Me: Take a fully loaded gun, No Hair, and the police. I have your pink gun.
Her: You took my pink gun to Houston?
Me: No, Bootsy borrowed it. She gave it back to me.
Her: That Bootsy’s a strange bird.
Me: Yes and no.
Her: I have one word for you—bloomers.
There was that.
Her: Hey, hurry back. The Smuckers bought controlling interest in IGT and they’re throwing a party in the casino tonight.
Me: I want no part of that.
Her: All IGT machines will be free.
Me: Free? As in they’re giving away IGT slot machines?
Her: Free to play. The Smuckers are unlocking them. The cash will be flying.
Who didn’t like flying cash?
We took off. Bex and Quinn were buckled on both sides of Meredith.
They said, “Merri, Merri, Merri.”
She said, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
TWENTY-THREE
“Davis,” my husband said. “Your phone has gone straight to voicemail for more than an hour.”
He called as we were pulling into the Bellissimo. He sounded like he was underwater. What in the world was wrong with Bradley? Whatever it was, should I make it worse by telling him my phone had been in airplane mode? Then tell him where I’d been? Then tell him about Meredith, Greene Gully, Princess, Harley, Bootsy, the Sebastians, and Hiriddhi Al Abbasov?
Then probably wasn’t the best time.
“Davis, I need your help.”
“Bradley, you need to come home.”
“I am,” he said. “Tomorrow morning. I woke up this morning feeling better, then spent the day in Nashville. I toured Brentwood, Harpeth Hall, and the Vanderbilt campus. Every step I took I felt worse. I’ll be home tomorrow morning.”
“Why don’t you come home now?” I asked. “Right now? Why are you waiting until tomorrow morning?”
“Obviously, Davis, I caught a bug. I want to go to the doctor before I’m around the girls, because we don’t need two sick little girls. I couldn’t get an appointment until tomorrow morning. I’m flying out at seven, and I’ll see the doctor at eight thirty.”
Bradley hadn’t been sick in forever, and I couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to the doctor other than routine checkups at Bellissimo Employee H
ealth Fairs. “Where’s your appointment?” I asked. “I’ll meet you. I want to go with you.”
“I had my office set it up. A doctor I’ve never met. Levon Urlens, maybe? Leonard Orleans? Everett Urlelo? I don’t remember.”
Leverette Urleen.
That wasn’t going to happen.
In a million years, that wasn’t going to happen.
“Where did your office find this doctor, Bradley?”
“He applied for the Bellissimo staff physician job. What better way to interview him?”
I could think of several better ways.
“Let’s worry about tomorrow tomorrow, Bradley, and tonight tonight. What do you need help with?”
“The casino guests, the Smuckers. I know you’ve had a busy week with the girls, the dog show, and Vree, but you couldn’t have been so busy you didn’t hear about the Smuckers.”
“I’ve heard.” Boy, had I heard.
“Davis, they’ve bought controlling interest in IGT to stave off a lawsuit.”
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