Now she stood in front of the big island in her kitchen, slicing a pineapple. Her newest traveling client was reading something on an iPad at the kitchen table.
She studied him.
Joe Hicks was a middle-aged, overweight businessman from Southern California. They’d known each other in California for years, so it hadn’t really surprised her when he called and asked for her help. He’d been in need of it for a long while. He just hadn’t known.
Miss Bitty wasn’t a personal fan of the man. He was known for shady business dealings in the California area and had been ostracized by much of the entertainment community, but she’d decided to take him on as a client anyway. Everyone deserved help, especially people who seemed as lost as he was.
Joe was going to be a tough client. She had already noticed that he liked to hide contraband in his room: cigarettes, candy bars, and soda pop. He was a sneaky one, that Joe.
But that was okay . . . she was sneakier.
She’d make sure that when they began detox, most of those things would be gone.
Joe was going to be living in the guesthouse for a minimum of six months. Months that would be somewhat long and hard for him—at least in the beginning—but Bitty knew he’d be thrilled with the outcome. The experience would be life changing. It always was with her neediest clients.
Bitty felt the energy in the room shift. Knife in midair, she looked up and saw Allie in the doorway, her gray eyes flashing in defiance.
The old woman examined the girl, head to toe, taking in the face full of caked-on makeup, heavy black eyeliner, and loud red lipstick. She wore the same faded blue half-shirt, scraggly, cutoff denim shorts, and flip-flops she’d arrived in. Slung over her shoulder was the military green backpack she’d slept with since her first evening. Bitty guessed it contained all she had left of her previous life.
Despite the tacky way she presented herself, the girl’s beauty was undeniable. It was easy to see how it could attract trouble. Bitty would have to keep a sharp eye on all of her male clients, even the hired help, because she knew from experience that no matter how well you thought you knew people, you really didn’t know them at all. Or what they were capable of.
She hated pessimistic thoughts, but it was reality, and she had lived it and learned the hard way.
“I laid a shirt out for you to wear today,” Bitty said, her eyes grazing the girl’s taut abdomen. “Did you see it?”
“Yeah.”
“Then why didn’t you put it on?”
“Why should I?”
“To cover your skin.”
The girl’s eyes hardened. “I happen to like my skin.”
“That’s fine, but before I take you anywhere, you will change. And that’s that.”
Allie didn’t say anything.
“Well, don’t just stand there like an old bump on a log. Have a seat and eat your breakfast.”
Bitty continued to study the girl as she walked to the table. Yes, physically, the girl was gorgeous. Almost shockingly so. Her skin was tanned and smooth, her dark hair long and silky. She had lean limbs and curves in all the right places, and her big gray eyes were nothing short of breathtaking.
It hadn’t been included in the caseworker’s file, but Bitty guessed that Allie had been some type of sex worker. It wasn’t just the clothes and makeup, but also a certain guarded quality in her eyes. Girls like her usually related to men much more easily than to other females, so Bitty would make sure she had access to a man she could talk to. Someone outside of the buttoned-up confines of a therapist’s office.
Miss Bitty had the perfect man in mind. Allie was definitely going to be a challenge, but that was okay. Miss Bitty liked challenges. She would fix the girl because that’s what Bitty did.
She fixed people because she didn’t know how to fix herself.
CHAPTER 12
ALLIE STOOD AT the kitchen table, wringing her hands. An overweight man sat across from her, entranced by his iPad. As he reached for his coffee, he glanced up and noticed her.
Startled, he leapt up, a beefy thigh clumsily bumping into the chair next to him. Chair legs scraped against the tile floor.
His face exploded into a smile and he extended a big hand. “Oh, hi there. Great to meet you,” he said. “Joe. Joe Hicks.” The man’s face was mottled and puffy, and his belly spilled over khaki pants. He looked a little too pleased to see her.
Just like every other man she’d ever met.
She refused to give him her hand, the memory of the truck driver still weighing heavily in her mind. She didn’t trust men. In fact, she didn’t trust anybody.
The man’s round cheeks reddened. He withdrew his hand and sat back down.
Bitty appeared at the table. “Allie, where are your manners?”
Allie didn’t answer. Since leaving the bedroom, her pulse seemed to have tripled and she was having a difficult time catching her breath.
The old woman went on. “Joe, this is Allie. She’s the new foster child I told you about.”
Joe nodded.
“And Allie, this gentleman is Joe Hicks. He’s a businessman out of Southern California. He’s a new client of mine who will be living in the guesthouse for several months. You will see him frequently so you might as well play nice.”
A client of hers?
Allie thought about her mother’s various clients over the years. She thought of her own clients in seedy little motel rooms across Texas.
“What kind of client?” she asked.
“Well, as your caseworker explained when you got here, I’m a wellness practitioner. I teach unhealthy people to become healthy through diet and lifestyle. I’m going to help Joe here lose some weight and regain his good health.”
Wellness practitioner? She’d never heard of that. It didn’t sound like a real job. The people she’d always known had normal jobs. They waited tables, drove trucks, sold sex for cash.
The door to the attached mudroom opened and a man walked in. “Good morning, Louis,” the old woman called. “Come sit. I have people for you to meet.”
The man kissed Miss Bitty on the cheek, then went to the table.
“Coffee?” she asked.
“Sure.”
As Louis sat, the old woman poured coffee and made the introductions. “Louis, this is Joe Hicks. He’s my new out-of-state client and he’ll be staying here about six months. And Joe, this is Louis. He’s my right-hand man. He does a little of everything around here and also tutors a handful of students in the area, including any foster children I might be caring for.”
“Nice to meet you, buddy,” Louis said.
The two men shook hands.
“You, too.” Joe smiled, his cheeks pink.
“And Louis, this young lady is Allie. She’s the new foster child I told you about. She’ll be staying with me until the right forever home is found for her.”
Louis smiled at Allie. “Nice to meet you.”
Allie covered the right side of her face with her hand and quickly studied the man. He was middle-aged with brown hair that was salt and pepper around the hairline. Kind, brown eyes grinned at her from behind stylish eyeglasses. He was kind of handsome in an old guy sort of way.
Allie’d had a few clients on the road who had looked a lot like him. They were the type who seemed out of place at a truck stop; the type who left as soon as it was over. Oddly enough, she’d found that the more professional the client appeared, the dirtier his fantasies had usually been.
Miss Bitty’s hands went to her hips. “Allie? Louis just spoke to you.”
Allie emerged from her thoughts. She shifted in her seat. “So?”
“So, you speak back. Be polite.”
“Fine. Hi,” she said, trying her best to sound bored. Quickly swiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her wrist, she tried to seem in control.
Anxiety attacks were the worst.
“That’s better,” the old woman said. “Allie, Louis here is going to be your mentor. He’s goin
g to work with you three mornings a week until you’re ready to take your GED. He’ll also discuss different areas of interest you might want to pursue and drive you to any appointments that conflict with my work schedule.”
The refrigerator hummed in the distance as the old woman awaited a reaction. “Allie?”
“Okay.”
“Louis will also be here for you if you ever want to talk about anything you’re not comfortable coming to me with,” the old woman continued. “Also anything you don’t feel comfortable sharing with your therapist. I’ve known Louis long enough to know that he’s an incredible listener. He won’t judge, no matter how bad you think something is. How does that sound, girlie?”
Allie shrugged.
The old woman slid a glass of something green in front of Joe. He flinched. “What is this?”
“Mango, bananas, spinach, gelatin, and a couple of supplements. It’s called a green smoothie. It’s quite tasty, and it’s going to be a staple of your diet for the next several months.”
“It’s actually good, man,” Louis said. “Seriously. You’ll be surprised.”
The big man smelled it, then reluctantly took a sip. He raised his eyebrows. “Mmm, it is good.”
The old woman glanced at Allie. “Want one?”
Allie grimaced.
“Suit yourself.”
Bitty went to the island and poured some water into a glass, then set it in front of Allie with two pills.
Allie frowned. “Why so many pills all the time? Are you trying to drug me or something?”
Miss Bitty grinned. “Oh, heavens no. What would make you say that?”
“What are they then?”
“Well, let’s see. I’ve given you the medication the doctor prescribed and some additional supplements. After what you’ve been through, your body is very weak. It’s just screaming for nutritional support.”
Nutritional what?
Allie felt someone’s stare from across the table. She hated to be looked at, much less stared at. It made her skin crawl. She looked up and saw it was the big guy, Joe. Big Joe.
She pierced him with her eyes. “So, how fat are you?” she asked, knowing that if she put him on the defensive about himself, he wouldn’t see all the things that were wrong with her.
Joe’s face tightened. “I’m sorry?”
“Allie, that’s no way to speak to—” Bitty started.
“I weigh 290. Why do you ask?”
Bitty’s tone was firm. “I don’t like how you’re speaking to Joe. I want you to apologize.”
But Allie didn’t. “So what you’re saying is that when you get done with him, he won’t be so fat anymore? And people actually pay you for that?” She was still intent on deflecting, but the words felt bitter leaving her mouth.
Big Joe’s eyes lingered on hers before dropping back to his iPad, but Allie knew he wasn’t looking at anything. The screen had already gone black.
Bitty pursed her lips and threw Joe an apologetic look. “Poor thing wasn’t taught any manners. Sorry about that, Joe. Obviously she doesn’t know any better . . . yet.”
“I know better,” Allie snapped. I’m not stupid! And it wasn’t that she liked being mean. She just had to be . . . to protect herself.
Bitty looked pointedly at her. “Then why on God’s earth would you purposely be so cruel?”
Allie felt her cheeks flush but said nothing. She looked away from the old woman and found herself looking straight at Louis, who was sipping coffee and watching her curiously.
“I asked you a question,” Miss Bitty said.
Allie glared at the woman. She wished she had some vodka. She’d been dry now for days. If she’d been armed with a few shots, it would’ve been easy to think of a witty comeback. But again, she was coming up with nothing.
“I’m waiting,” Miss Bitty said, her eyes steady on Allie’s. The kitchen was so quiet Allie could hear Big Joe’s labored breathing.
The old woman finally spoke. “Look, I’ll let it go this time. Consider it a gift. But I want you to listen to me, and listen to me well. You are expected to be kind and respectful to everyone in this house. We have an understanding?”
Allie ignored the woman.
“It’s okay,” Joe muttered. “It’s not like it’s the first time. Pretty, thin people just don’t get it. Especially females. And, after all these years, I honestly don’t expect them to.”
Bitty frowned at Joe. “Pretty? Who are you calling pretty? Allie here?”
“Well, yeah.”
The woman shook her head. “No. Pretty is as pretty does. And I’d say that right now Allie is rather ugly.”
Allie’s throat went dry.
Why would she say that? Allie wondered. No one, except her mother, had ever openly questioned her looks before. No one else had ever called her ugly.
Her mind flashed back to how she’d looked when she’d arrived. Her makeup had been both slept in and sweated off. Yes, she’d arrived looking repulsive.
Yes, that was it.
Well, hopefully.
After all, if people began to see through her mask, what would become of her? Perceived beauty was the only thing about her of value. Well, that and her good body. But unfortunately, there was nothing else.
“That said, now that I have the three of you together,” Miss Bitty announced, walking to the head of the table, “there’s a very important rule we need to make sure we’re straight on. Now that I’m caring for a female minor here, at no time do I want any males alone in the house with her after dark. If I’m here, great. You’re welcome to come in. If I’m not, you will not be welcome inside. Do we have an understanding?”
Louis nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Absolutely,” Joe repeated.
The woman was staring at her again. “You got that, Allie? No boys in the house after dark. No exceptions.”
Allie glared at the old woman. “Why are you going through all this trouble? Giving me that bedroom? The bathroom? Taking me shopping for clothes?” she asked, her tone icy. “Is it money? How much do you make off of me anyway?”
“Not enough for me to listen to that mouth of yours.”
Allie frowned. “Then . . . why do you want me here?”
The woman paused, seemingly taken aback by the question. Then she narrowed her eyes. “Well, to help you, of course. Why else would you be here?”
CHAPTER 13
HALF AN HOUR later, Allie was in her new therapist’s office. She’d expected a man, but when the door to the small waiting room swung open, a redheaded woman peeked out.
The woman smiled at her, reminding her of a piranha. “You must be Allie. I’m Renee. Come on in.”
Allie remained seated, sizing the woman up. She was in her thirties . . . pretty and slim, with long red hair. She looked classy and professional. Another woman who obviously had her shit together. Renee was definitely the type who would’ve shunned Allie if she had met her on the street.
There was no way in hell Allie was going to talk to her.
Miss Bitty patted her shoulder. “Go on. She won’t bite.”
A minute later, Allie reluctantly sat on a plump couch in the woman’s office, listening to the cool air as it hissed from the air-conditioning vent above them.
“Would you like some water?” Renee asked.
“No.” Allie watched the woman pour herself a glass, then settle into a chair.
She picked up a file and a pen, then her eyes met Allie’s. “Okay, then. Let’s get started. First off, I want you to know that unless I feel your life or someone else’s is at risk, I will not repeat anything you share with me during these sessions. Not with your foster mother and not with your caseworker. That means that whatever you tell me during our sessions is strictly between you and me. Do you understand?”
Allie shrugged. “I guess.”
In the span of just a few seconds, the woman’s perfectly symmetrical face went from calm and clinical to a little sad. “Second of all, I want you t
o know that I can only imagine what you’ve gone through.”
The back of Allie’s neck grew hot. She highly doubted the woman could even begin to imagine her life. If her high-class appearance was any indication of what kind of family she’d been born into, she’d had it good. Real good. “Oh really?” she challenged, her pulse quickening. “You can?”
The woman frowned.
“You said you could imagine what I went through.”
“Well, that’s not exactly what I—”
“Was your mother an alcoholic?”
The calm, “I-have-my-shit-together” expression quickly returned. “No, Allie. I can’t say she was.”
“No? Well then, was she a whore?”
The woman didn’t respond. The only sound in the room was the hiss of the air conditioner.
“Was your mother sick?”
The woman just watched her.
“Are you having a hard time understanding my questions?” Allie asked, pressing her lips flat. She formed her next words slowly, as though she were speaking to a moron. “I asked, ‘Was. Your. Mother. Sick?’”
“Well, if what you mean is—”
“What I mean is, was she sick in the head? Did she hear things that weren’t there?”
“No, Allie, she wasn’t. And she didn’t.”
Allie wondered exactly what the woman knew about her past. About her family. She wondered if Renee had lived in the area when all the shit hit the fan. When everyone realized all the murders that had been committed right in their backyards, beneath their noses.
The murdered truck drivers.
The murdered writer.
That her brother had killed two teenaged girls, the owner of the local diner, and his own mother less than a year earlier.
Did she know any of it? Maybe all of it? Through clenched teeth, she asked, “Have you ever watched someone die?”
“Allie, we should—”
“Hey, I’m still talking,” she interrupted, “and I want to know if you can say yes to any of the questions I just asked.”
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