“You didn’t give them Carole’s name, did you?” Carole Mance’s daughter Regina had allegedly committed suicide there nearly four weeks ago. Only Carole wasn’t buying the suicide story, and frankly, neither was Nick.
“No. I kept Carole out of it, like you said. I was vague. Just told Patty my neighbor knew someone who’d been there and recommended the place. Then she got all quiet and said CRC didn’t have any openings right now.”
“Did she say when they might have an opening?”
“No. This lady was all kinds of weird. She said she didn’t know when CRC would have an opening. And when I asked her why not, I got this spiel about how she couldn’t give out information on their program to anyone but patients and their family members. So I asked who I could speak with who could give me some information, and she told me information on the staff was not public.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. That sure isn’t what Pauline told me yesterday when I said Preston Tyler and Rod Skinner recommended them to me.”
Danny laughed. “That’s a good one, boss. Like either of those guys would say boo to you.”
No. They wouldn’t. Four years ago, he’d been married to Preston’s sister Janelle, and on the verge of a divorce, when Janelle had been murdered. “Preston’s never forgiven me for marrying Jamie so soon after his sister’s death.”
Danny rolled his eyes. “Funny how he’s managed to be all buddy-buddy with Rod Skinner again though. Same guy who filmed himself having sex with Janelle and then blackmailed her.”
Nick smirked, allowing a moment of sarcasm. “Don’t you know? Rod’s a changed man. Busy selling insurance to the good folks of greater Miami and happily settled into a committed relationship with Darla Arnold.”
“Can’t be settled too happily into it.” Danny laughed. “Otherwise, she wouldn’t be checked into CRC for popping pills.”
Her addiction surprised Nick. While she’d been through plenty of trauma, abused by her pervert of a father as a teen-ager, he’d thought she was on the road to recovery when she testified at his trial for using underage girls in his porn films, and helped put him behind bars for the next fifty years. “Guess it’s a good thing Carole recommended the place to Preston and Maggie for Scott, and knew he’d recommended it to Rod. Anyway, getting back to CRC, I know you well enough to know you didn’t stop digging there. What did you find out that CRC didn’t want to tell you?”
Danny grinned. “You know me, boss. I’ve always got one or two tricks up my sleeve. I pulled the incorporation papers on the place. Business was incorporated three years ago in the state of Florida. The owners are Shirley Cantwise and Arthur Belanger, M.D.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere. What did you find out about them?”
“Almost nothing about him. Got his medical degree from St. Louis University. Prior to entering pre-med there, the guy doesn’t seem to have existed.”
Nick raised an eyebrow. “That’s a little odd.”
“No shit. It’s like the guy materialized from thin air.”
“What about Shirley Cantwise?”
“Not a lot more, but at least we know she was born and not hatched from a pod somewhere.”
Nick chuckled. “Good one.”
Danny pulled a small notebook from the back pocket of his jeans. “Shirley Eloise Cantwise. Born April 19, 1977 to Lucinda and Larry Cantwise in St. Louis, Missouri. Family lost everything following a flood of the Mississippi River. Father died a year later. Suicide. Mother was diagnosed with schizophrenia. She died of a drug overdose when Shirley was seventeen. There was also a son, Andrew, born in 1975, but there’s no record of him after graduating high school.”
“Looks like our rehab expert has experienced a few traumas of her own.”
Danny nodded. “Could be that’s how she got interested in psychology. Got her Bachelor’s from St. Louis Community College in 1999. No information on what she did between then and opening her clinic, and there’s no record of her marrying or having children, so I doubt she was busy raising a family.”
“Probably not,” Nick agreed. After hearing Danny’s report, his mind filled with more questions. What was the connection between Shirley and Arthur? Were they neighbors back in Missouri? Childhood friends? And why was there no record of Arthur’s existence before entering college? “Good work,” he told Danny.
Another knocked sounded on his door and Ernesta “Sarge” Freeman, a former Coral Gables police sergeant now doing PI work, poked her head inside. “Mr. Beck,” she greeted. “I’ve been working on that matter you called about the other day.”
“Let me guess. You can’t find out much about Shirley Cantwise, and Arthur Belanger doesn’t appear to have existed before starting pre-med at St. Louis University.”
She laughed. “You a mind reader, or is Danny acing me out of a job?”
“Don’t worry, Sarge. I need all hands on deck for this. Something strange is definitely going on at the Coral Reef Center.”
“You tell Jamie about this yet?”
Nick shook his head. “Figured I’d wait until I knew for sure if I was checking in.”
Danny and Sarge gave him disapproving scowls. “She’s not going to be happy about this,” Sarge said. “You know where CRC is located.”
Yes, he knew. And no, Jamie wasn’t going to like it. “Key Largo.” Why it had to be there was anyone’s guess.
“Either of you been back there since Marianne Clarke and Pearl Watson tried to kill you?”
“No.” And on rainy days like this, the arthritis from a four-year-old gunshot wound reminded him why.
“Just remember to check in with Danny and me at regular intervals,” Sarge reminded him. “We’ll continue working the investigation from the outside and keep you posted when you check in.”
“Right.”
Sarge set down her leather bag on Nick’s desk and began fishing out items. “I have a few things for you to take with you. Like this pen that takes pictures. And this key ring that’s actually a voice-activated digital recorder. You take pictures by clicking on the top of the pen, and turn on the recorder by pushing the clasp here.”
Nick took the items from her. “You keep this up and I may have to start calling you Q.”
She grinned. “Okay, Mr. Bond. Don’t get carried away.”
“Carried away with what?” Jamie poked her head in the door.
Nick sighed. This conversation had to come sooner or later.
I’ll let you and hubby have a little alone time.” Danny gave her a small wave and ducked out the door. Sarge followed close behind.
Jamie waited until they were gone before folding her arms under her breasts and staring her husband down. “Okay. Spill it. What are you up to?”
Nick got up from his chair, making his way to where she stood. Mentally going over various speeches and knowing not a single one would appease her. “I’m going undercover to do a story on the rehab facility where Regina Mance allegedly killed herself.”
“And?”
“And it’s on Key Largo.”
Her jaw dropped. She looked crestfallen. “Nick, you can’t. Please.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I have to. Carole doesn’t think Regina killed herself.”
“Carole’s sick with grief.”
“That doesn’t mean she’s wrong. I’m sorry, honey, but I need to do this.”
She finally uncrossed her arms and wrapped them around his chest, staring up at him with an understanding look. “This isn’t just about Carole. You’re still paying penance for Taralynn Clarke.”
She looked into the soul of him with those bright blue eyes, the ones that saw into every secret place he hid from the world. She knew him better than anyone. Maybe even better than he knew himself. And she was the only person who knew exactly how guilty he felt over printing nearly x-rated photos of Taralynn in The Tattletale before she jumped to her death. He, Jamie and their unborn child had nearly paid with their lives for that mistake. Taken hostage by Taralynn’s
enraged mother and only narrowly escaping.
Nick stroked his fingers through her hair. “I’m sorry,” he said again. She was the only person he ever spoke those words to, but saying them to her came easily. “I have to do this.”
She blinked a rush of tears from her eyes. “I know you better than to think I can change your mind, but I’m not letting you go there alone.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but she placed a finger over his lips. “Don’t bother arguing with me, buster. I know Carole stayed at some hotel on site when her daughter was there. If you insist on checking yourself into that place, then I’m coming with you so I can get your ass out of there if you run into trouble.”
He hated to admit it, but having someone on site might prove necessary. “Very well. Let’s go home and pack.”
Outside, the storm quieted down to a drizzle. It had been a good year as far as the weather was concerned. Just a few weeks left of hurricane season, and not so much as a tropical storm. Looked like they were going to get off easy this year.
Chapter 9
Mindy leaned into a wooden chair placed in the group sharing circle trying to hide the shakes that spasmed her hands. Tensed almost to the breaking point, every muscle in her body ached. Sleep had come and gone in fitful bursts. She’d debated telling Belinda about the body being carried into the woods and her memory of a man’s face, but in the end she’d said nothing. There was always the chance Belinda knew about the body anyway. And not in a way that meant she’d be on the phone calling the police. Mindy hadn’t seen the faces of the people carrying the body. They could have been anyone.
She studied the faces surrounding her, wondering if there was anyone she could trust. One patient in particular she’d already ruled out. Darla Arnold, the girl who’d thrown a drink in her face and physically assaulted her four years ago at a Miami nightclub. Darla had been dating Vince Allan at the time and Mindy had shown up at the club with him, causing Darla to go ape shit. Now she sat staring daggers at Mindy. Apparently she was still pissed off about it.
As Mindy listened to the details of addiction and past misdeeds coming from her fellow patients, she wondered which of them might be the type to help carry a woman’s body out into the woods. So far she knew trophy wife Astrid felt like a possession whose husband wanted to watch her having sex with other men, and that hubby dearest was impotent. That didn’t scream killer, but Astrid’s submissive nature made it likely she could be persuaded to go along with something, or urged to keep quiet.
Joey, the comedian, had a sideline selling drugs. Drug dealers were always suspect in Mindy’s book. Especially having been the occasional customer. She discounted him as trustworthy immediately. Walter, the pill-popping doctor, admitted to having nicked the aortic valve of a patient during surgery. By his own admission, the patient nearly bled to death on the operating table. Good thing for old Walter there weren’t any medical malpractice attorneys in their group. She decided not to trust him either.
That left Darla, who hated her, and Scott, a teen-age boy with rich parents and a coke habit. Neither alternative seemed like a safe bet.
As her fellow patients talked about their problems, the others chanted, and Belinda encouraged them to pledge gifts to aid CRC in the future rehabilitation of others. That reminded Mindy of the televangelist shows Grandma used to watch. Minus the evangelism. But heavy on the peer pressure. And while she had no problem helping out people in need, CRC was the last place she would send them. Right now part of her wondered if she’d actually died and gone to Hell. It was probably what she deserved after leaving Earl and behaving the way she had for the last two years.
She wondered if Earl knew she was here. Or if he’d even care. He’d tried to see her the first time she’d gone to rehab, but she’d told him to leave. The second time she’d gone to rehab, he hadn’t bothered trying. More than likely he wouldn’t bother this time either. More than likely he was finally over her.
“Mindy, do you have anything you’d like to share with the group?”
“Huh?” Mindy looked up when Belinda called her name and realized she’d completely zoned out.
“Do you have anything you’d like to share with the group?”
The rest of the patients chanted. “Purge the soul. Cleanse the soul. Heal the soul.”
The chanting really creeped Mindy out. She looked at Belinda, wearing her trademark bun and linen baby blue pantsuit, and shook her head. “Not really.”
“Sharing is a vital element to re-programming your lifestyle,” Belinda reminded her.
She looked around at the expectant faces in the room. There was no one in the room she trusted enough to share anything with, but she supposed she should say something. And seeing Darla did seem to answer one question for her. “So, am I in Florida then?”
Darla burst out laughing. “OMG! You really are a space cadet.”
Her comment brought a flush to Mindy’s cheeks. “It’s not like there are any you are here maps posted around here,” she stammered.
“Are you kidding me?” Darla asked. “How can you not know you’re on Key Largo?”
Her face flushed further and she wished now she’d kept her stupid mouth shut. Anthony must have flown her here on his private jet. “I don’t remember coming here,” she said, the words barely audible.
“What?” Darla wouldn’t let up.
Mindy cringed. “I said, I don’t remember coming here.”
Darla held her hands to her stomach, laughing until it looked like she might fall off her chair. “That’s what I thought you said.”
“That must have been one hell of a high you were on,” Scott said.
“What’s the last thing you remember before coming here?” Belinda asked.
“Shopping in Beverly Hills.”
“That’s it?” Darla asked. “Just shopping? You don’t remember drinking or taking drugs?”
“Well, yes.” She hated feeling so defensive. How could they all sit there laughing at her like they were at some cocktail party? And not locked inside some loony bin stripped of their identities? Where strange faces floated above drugged-up patients and bodies were carried out under the cover of night?
“Well,” Darla prodded. “What happened before you blacked out?”
It probably didn’t matter if she told them. Appearing to go along with their program might help get her out more quickly. “I had a couple of Cosmos at lunch and I ran into a friend of Vince’s. He said he had some special, killer weed. We went behind the restaurant and smoked a joint in the alley, and that’s the last thing I clearly remember.”
Darla rolled her eyes. “It’s no wonder people call you Pop Tart.”
Right, bitch. Rub it in.
“Name calling isn’t helpful,” Belinda cut in. Her voice held a hint of disapproval.
“Does Vince know you’re here?” Darla asked.
Mindy shrugged. “What difference does it make?”
“None at all. I was just curious.” She smirked. “So I guess you two aren’t all joined at the hip after all. What happen? He dump you the way Earl Grayson did?”
The mention of Earl tore at Mindy’s heart. How long would it take before she could hear his name without wanting to cry? She bit down on her lip and sucked in a breath to keep her voice from trembling.. “What makes you think Vince dumped me?” And why did she care?
Darla shrugged. “He’s obviously not here to visit you during family hour.”
“He’s technically not family,” Mindy said.
Darla smiled. “Rod’s not technically family either. Since we’re not married yet, but they’re still letting him stay here and visit me.”
Rod. The bald guy sporting the diamond stud earring in one ear. Mindy had seen him in the papers with Darla a few years ago, standing by her side during her father’s trial. He was attractive in a Jason Statham kind of way, but a bit taller and with a balder head. In the pictures he looked at Darla like the sun rose and set on her. “I don’t know if Vince know
s I’m here,” Mindy said. “And I don’t care either. I don’t want him in my life anymore.”
“I guess you’re finding out life isn’t all sunshine and rainbows after all,” Darla sneered, allowing a few snickers to follow.
“Right.” Mindy glared at her. “Because I totally needed you to point that out to me.” Frustration forced a single tear down here cheek.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Scott said. “We’re all here because we have a history of making bad choices.”
He said it with such sincerity it made her want to cry, but she didn’t. As much as she needed rehab, she didn’t need to be here. This place wasn’t rehab. It was more like a psycho ward; one where the psychos were the ones running the place. “Thanks, Scott,” she said. “That’s really nice of you.”
“Would anyone else like to share?” Belinda asked.
Scott raised his hand. “I would.”
Belinda nodded in his direction. “Go ahead, Scott.”
The rest of the group nodded in unison, chanting, “Purge the soul. Cleanse the soul. Heal the soul.”
“I’ve been thinking a lot about my mom lately,” he said. He kept his head down, looking intently at the floor. “My biological mom, I mean. Not Maggie.”
Mindy sat up in her chair. She thought of a boy now ten-years-old. “You mean you’re adopted?”
Scott nodded. “Yeah. I lived with my biological mom until I was ten and her parental rights were terminated. I probably would have spent the rest of my childhood in foster care if Preston and Maggie hadn’t adopted me.”
Ten. The age her son would be now. “Do you hate your real mother?” she asked. “Are you mad she didn’t keep you? Or are you glad Preston and Maggie adopted you?”
Scott continued studying the floor. “If she really loved me, she would have stopped using drugs and taken care of me.”
His words, and the hurt, angry way he spoke them, felt like a cold, hard slap. “Maybe your mother wasn’t able to take care of you,” she said. Scott’s circumstances were completely different than hers, but it didn’t matter. She didn’t want Scott to hate his mother. She didn’t want to think her son might hate her. “Maybe your mother didn’t have the resources necessary. You’re probably better off with parents who love you and are able to take care of you.”
Redemption (Desire Never Dies) Page 5