“Call me Cynthia.” She went over to a shelving unit at the far end of the room where a small refrigerator appeared to be fully stocked with bottled water. She took out a bottle and handed it to Hollis.
“You must call me Hollis.” She opened the bottle and took a deep swallow of the ice cold water.
Cynthia smiled and sat next to her.
“I represent a client who wrote an article for Transformation magazine that may have shown Dorian Fields in an unfavorable light. Mr. Fields filed suit against my client, but she was killed a few days ago and all her information has … has disappeared.”
Cynthia said nothing but nodded her head in sympathy.
“Wade Bartlett called and told me the circumstances. He said you might be visiting. When you phoned, I knew who you were.”
Hollis raised her eyebrow. They had gotten the names of centers to check from Transformation. Somehow Bartlett found out and called ahead to all their donees.
“I see, well, what I’d like to know is, how much do you count on Fields’ support? Is he a major contributor?”
“Mr. Fields is very good to us. He pays for all our food and most of the clothing for our clients.”
Hollis glanced at the pictures of smiling faces that covered the walls in this room as well.
“Cathy Briscoe noted that she spoke with you about three months ago. She had a question mark next to your name. Do you know why?”
Cynthia shook her head and shrugged.
“Tell me, what actually does Welcome Hearth do?”
Cynthia straightened in her chair. “What do you mean?”
Confused by the non-answer, Hollis looked down at the printout she had gotten from Transformation.
“I mean, is the group a homeless shelter, or a job locator, or ….?” She held her palms up in a human question mark.
“Oh, I see what you mean.” Cynthia licked her lips. “We are a community resource.”
Hollis bent her head down slightly, urging her to say more.
She continued, “Er … we give out food and we give out clothes …. Do you want to see our brochure?” Her hand shook as she rose from the chair.
Hollis’ forehead creased. “Yes, sure.”
Why the nervousness?
Cynthia left to get the brochure, and Hollis slipped out behind her. Three closed doors opened onto the hallway and at the end an office, where Cynthia could be heard opening and shutting file cabinet drawers.
Hollis got up from her chair and with one eye on Cynthia, took a peek inside the first door. It was a storage closet with six shelves. All but one was empty, and it only held a first-aid kit. Cynthia reappeared in the hallway.
“What are you doing?” She darted toward Hollis, putting her back to the closet door.
“I was trying to get a sense of Welcome Hearth.” Hollis wasn’t ready to back down. “Where are the …”—she looked down at the paper in her hand—“the five other employees?”
“Everyone is out doing errands.” Cynthia didn’t look her in the eye. “I’m here to answer the phone.”
“Oh, what kind of errands are they doing?”
She mumbled what sounded like a curse word.
Ignoring her, Hollis reached inside her bag for her camera. “Can you show me around?”
“No, I can’t.” Cynthia’s voice rose. “Mr. Bartlett said people are entitled to their privacy.”
Hollis wanted to look behind the other doors, but it was clear that Cynthia was not going to let that happen. Fields gave them clearance to visit whatever locations they chose, but it wasn’t a surprise that Bartlett had cued staff.
“Everything is so clean and quiet. Do the homeless sleep here?”
Cynthia didn’t answer, but the set of her jaw spoke volumes.
Hollis decided not to push her luck. “Okay, well, I’ll take the brochure and be going.”
Cynthia thrust a thin multi-colored brochure toward Hollis, who took it and put it in her bag.
Walking a half-step from Hollis’ heels, she steered her down the hall to the door. “Goodbye.”
“Good—”
Hollis was cut off by the slam of the door.
“I like your new office, Mark,” Hollis said, looking around the room. He had placed two leather maroon visitor chairs around a small table and another in front of his oversized walnut desk. Sand-colored drapes bordered large double windows. It was comfortable without being cozy. “Impressive.”
“I won a very profitable corporate case.” Mark shrugged. “It’s not a corner office … yet, but it suits me.”
“One day I’ll have one.” Hollis couldn’t keep the wistfulness out of her voice.
“Has Triple D extended you a contingent offer pending your passing the bar?”
Hollis waved her hand back and forth. “Not formally, but I think they think there’s an understanding.”
“You seem hesitant. What’s the problem?”
“No problem. I just don’t want to have things end like they did with Cathy. Cathy was a star; she passed the bar on her first try. Her work at Triple D, while not stellar, was commendable. But still she became disillusioned and left to be a writer for a tabloid, so … go figure.” Hollis frowned, trying to articulate the sense of caution she felt but unable to put her finger on the source. “But all this … this story she was after, I honestly don’t know. Something isn’t right.”
“You’re not Cathy. She was never the perfectionist you are, for one thing. Her work was passable, but not ground breaking and—”
“We’re not talking about the same thing. You don’t have to put her down to convince me.” Hollis gave him a reproving look. “I was aware of Cathy’s shortcomings, but she had uncanny intuition. She couldn’t always prove her case, but she was never wrong. But there’s something I can’t put my finger on that tells me she found out she didn’t have the full story.”
“Well, then, let’s prove her right.” Mark opened a file. “What happened at Welcome Hearth?”
Hollis recounted the meeting with Cynthia Lin.
“So we were right. Bartlett has called ahead to all the centers.”
“And you should read the brochure.” She passed it across the desk. “Other than six half-pages of glossy non-speak, we could be talking about a farm or a car repair shop.”
Mark picked up the pamphlet, unfolding the copy from front to back.
“Did you get an annual report?”
“That’s just it. This time a copy of the annual report was in our discovery. It didn’t say much, except that roughly sixty percent of their funding goes to administration. That’s a chunk of change. But you should have seen Cynthia’s response when I asked about the five salaried employees.”
Mark tapped his fingers on the desk. “What do they do?”
“I haven’t a clue. Nobody was there. Cynthia said they were out on errands. Give me a break.” Hollis closed her notebook. “I’m going to request payroll records and cross-check them with tax filings.”
“Sounds like a plan, but that could take some time. Keep your focus on the non-profits. I’m doing background checks on Fields’ executive team. Cathy highlighted several lines of notes about Fields of Giving’s management. She might have found something.”
“Staffing discrepancies and management questions. You know, Mark, I think we may have our first loose end.”
“Let’s see where it takes us.” He put a sheaf of papers in a folder. “I’ve got to get going. Rena’s cooking a special dinner.”
“Yeah, I’ve got to get home, too.” Hollis stood.
Mark looked at her. “Have you got plans? Would you like to come over? There’s always plenty.”
“Thank you, but no. Go home, Mark. That’s where I’m headed, to my home.”
You would think that with 120 channels Hollis would be able to find something on TV that would hold her attention. Turning the TV to mute, she picked up a book she’d bought from her favorite used book store before beginning to study for the bar.
>
The ring of the phone caused her to do a time check.
“I hope I’m not calling too late.” It was Brad Pierson.
A smile crept across Hollis’ face. “No, I was just reading.”
“Oh, you’re a reader. Me too, but I just don’t seem to find the time.”
“I’m glad you said ‘don’t’ and not ‘can’t.’ ”
He chuckled, “No, I realize that if I really wanted to read I’d make the time.”
“I’m sure you still have redeeming qualities.”
“Yes, I do as a matter of fact, and one of them is getting to the point.” He took a breath. “I’ve got tickets to hear Yo-Yo Ma at the Pavilion Amphitheater next Sunday. Would you go with me?”
Yo-Yo Ma. Hollis mentally went through her closet, reviewing what she could possibly wear. Then she realized that she hadn’t answered. “Yes, yes I’d like to go. I love him.”
“Good, I thought I lost you there for a moment.” He laughed. “I’ll pick you up at five. You live close enough that it will give us plenty of time before the show to settle in and talk. If it’s okay with you, we can have dinner at the amphitheater.”
“Of course, if I remember correctly, the best seats for the show are the dinner seats.”
Hollis was glad that Brad clearly didn’t like chitchat. After she said she’d email him her address and directions, he quickly got off the phone.
Hollis held her knees to her chest and squeezed them tight, glad no one could see her silly grin. A few seconds later she felt a frown crease her forehead. How did Brad know how long it would take to get to the Pavilion from her house?
It had taken almost two weeks for Hollis to hear back from her friend who worked in the police forensics division about any information on Kelly Schaefer. The rental car plates and a not-so-great set of prints from a piece of notepaper weren’t much to go on.
The police lobby was noisy with people waiting in a staggered line at the information window. Children ran restlessly among the adults, unaware of the undercurrent of tension that was the nature of the location. Hollis followed the signage to a small anteroom with a single door and an officer sitting at a desk in front of a computer monitor. She sat in one of the few plastic chairs that lined the wall on one side and took a deep breath, wrinkling her nose at the faint rank odor of sweat. Keeping her head turned away, she pretended not to notice the young boy sitting two seats down who alternated vigorously scratching his arms and slapping the side of his head. If the day officer could ignore him, so could she.
Five minutes later, she took a deep breath and approached the desk.
“Officer, I think that young man is in some kind of distress. Shouldn’t you call for a doctor or—”
“He’s a recovering addict on the other side of withdrawals. He’s okay.” The officer didn’t look up from the computer screen.
“Oh.” Hollis looked at the forlorn figure, bent over, scratching furiously. His thin arms were barely covered by a faded tee shirt. His brown hair was dirty and his pants were stained and torn at the hem. “Still, shouldn’t he be taken somewhere?”
“He’s waiting for his mom to get out. She should be coming out tomorrow.” He finally looked up at her. “I know it looks bad, but he’s been here before—picking up his mom, I mean. His name is Vince. If I kick him out, he’ll go looking for a fix. He wants to go clean. I let him hang around until the shelters open up for meals and beds. He’s harmless. He’s been here every day since she’s been in. Now, why are you here?”
She looked down at her watch and compared it to the clock on the wall. “I’m waiting for a friend, Stephanie Ross. She knows I’m here. She said she might be running a little late.”
He nodded. “Sorry I can’t offer you a better seat. Don’t worry about Vince. You should have seen him when he was hooked. His mom has been in and out of jail for months, and he’s always taken care of her. Too bad she never felt the same way about him.”
Hollis walked back to her seat. She could see the bones in Vince’s elbows, and the sunburn on feet that appeared to be a size smaller than his battered tennis shoes.
“Are you hungry?” She leaned toward him.
Vince abruptly stopped scratching but didn’t look up.
Hollis reached inside her purse. “Here’s five dollars … for you … to get something to eat.”
Vince held his head up. Hollis was startled by the intelligence in the beautiful brown eyes that looked back at her.
“No, no don’t give me money,” he said. “Can … can you buy the food for me?”
His raspy voice sounded deep for a youth.
“Oh … ah … sure. I think there’s a store on the corner. What do—”
Vince groaned, slapped his head and went back to scratching.
Hollis went over to the officer and explained that she would be right back in the event Stephanie came looking for her. Spanning the block in minutes, she quickly picked up items at a Seven-Eleven: a banana, a ham sandwich and a small carton of milk.
When she returned ten minutes later, the scene was unchanged, except for the uniformed EMT sitting sat next to Vince.
“Look man, you’re doin’ good. Don’t give up.” The burly African-American man leaned over to meet Vince’s gaze. “ ’Cept man, you can’t stay here. Jim lets you stay here on his shift, but he’s goin’ off in a little while. He called me to take you to the center. You can come back tomorrow and pick up your mom.”
Vince looked panicked.
“No … no I can’t make it there. Too many people usin’. I’ll go looking for some stuff.” He looked up and saw Hollis standing with the bag in her hand. He reached out.
The EMT noticed her too and moved aside as she handed the food to Vince.
“Thank you,” Vince said, even as he pushed the bread in his mouth. “See, Joel, I’m eating. I’m hungry, and I’m keeping it down.”
“That’s good, man.” The EMT stood and held out his hand to Hollis. “He can’t handle the milk.” He handed the carton back to her.
“Oh, sorry,” she said and slipped the container into her purse.
“You know Vince? I’m Joel Cannon. You a social worker?”
“No, I’m waiting for a friend. I just met Vince …. Well, not ‘met’ really. Anyway, I thought he could use a meal.”
The side door opened and Hollis acknowledged Stephanie with a smile as she entered the room. Dressed in her lab coat and carrying a Dooney & Bourke bag, Stephanie quickly walked over.
She gave Hollis a hug and an air kiss on the cheek. Joel and a chewing Vince looked on.
“Hi, luv, what’s going on?” Stephanie glanced at Officer Jim, who just shrugged and went back to his computer screen.
“Stephanie, this is Joel and this is Vince.” Hollis pointed to each. “Vince has … has a problem, but he wants to be here when his mother is released tomorrow.”
Stephanie looked at each of them and without a word bent over Vince and looked him in the eye. He didn’t pull back from her scrutiny. Hollis saw her take in the tracks on his arm.
Hollis put her hand on her arm. “Stephanie, can I talk to you for a minute?”
She steered her away to the opposite corner of the room.
“Ah, no, Hollis, no, no. I was looking forward to lunch and I have that information you wanted about Kelly Schaefer.” Stephanie followed her to a far corner.
Hollis put her finger to her lips. “Keep your voice down. We’ll have lunch, don’t worry. But isn’t there somebody or someplace that could help Vince?”
“Who in the hell is Vince?” Stephanie threw up her arms. “No, wait, I can tell you. He’s a junkie in bad shape. I thought you wanted me to help you with your friend who was killed.”
“Shhh, not so loud, Steph. I do need your help with a couple of Cathy’s items. But Vince is close to getting clean.” Hollis didn’t know if that was true, but she felt it was. “He just needs a chance. I don’t know why his mother is inside, but the fact that he cares for her says he
’s not too far gone.”
Hollis gave her the biggest pleading look she could muster.
“Since when did you start to collect abandoned puppies?” Stephanie crossed her arms over her chest. “All right, all right, at least he’s able to eat. There’s a non-denominational church, The Eternal Lantern, about a half-mile from here. I’ll call the director.”
Hollis took a deep breath. “Thanks, Stephanie. We can drive him over on our way to lunch.”
“No, we can’t. I’m not getting in a car with him.” Stephanie smoothed her belt. “Tell—what’s his name?—Joel to take him.” She walked back through the double doors to make her call.
Judging from their looks, Hollis realized that Joel and Vince did not have high hopes from the conversation. They both straightened as she walked over.
“There’s a church in the neighborhood that can help you Vince, the Eternal Lantern. Stephanie is going to see if they have room for you.” Hollis couldn’t ignore his distressed look. “You can stay the night, maybe longer.”
Joel smiled at Vince. “It’s a good place. Hard to get into ’cause they don’t make you listen to the preachin’. People like it better. If you can go there, Vince, you’ll like it. They’ll take care of you.”
Vince looked doubtful. “You sure I don’t have to hear a sermon?”
Joel was about to answer when Stephanie returned with her fingers forming an “okay.”
Joel tapped him on his shoulder, “Man, you better git up and git goin’. You’re gittin’ a break.”
Vince rose, a little unsteady. He faced Hollis, lightly scratching his arm. “What’s your name? Why did you help me?”
“Hollis Morgan.” She tried to find the right words, “Because I could.”
Lunch was delicious. Hollis and Stephanie ate at the same bistro whenever they went out to lunch. Stephanie was the original poor little rich girl turned poor girl. Her father had been caught giving insider information in a Wall Street broker sting, forcing his family to turn their backs on their lush lifestyle. They had met at Triple D after Stephanie had just earned her degree in Criminology, when she was still adjusting to her lower income bracket. They had struck up a friendship immediately. As a crime lab assistant, she had the best City contacts.
Sticks & Stones (A Hollis Morgan Mystery) Page 8