Dean had a heart. Mine melted.
“Well, I enjoy your classes,” I said honestly. He didn’t have to know why. “And thanks again. It means a lot to me and my friend. I’ll look for your text and see you Saturday.”
We hung up while nervous butterflies danced in my stomach. I wasn’t sure if they were from hearing Dean’s ideas or hearing his voice. I had a lot to do, and after unloading the treadmill, visiting West Virginia was next.
That’s what I told Andy as we (mostly he) lugged the treadmill up to my bedroom and set it in viewing range of my TV. I hid the safety strap under my mattress so the kids couldn’t go for a run unattended. Attended, however, was a different story. Was it a no-no to let kids use treadmills supervised? Sophie (and I) could use an outlet for her energy.
“So you’re going to West Virginia?” Andy said incredulously. I’d been reluctant to tell him much, since I preferred to talk to Kenna first, but he insisted on a heart-to-heart while we huffed and puffed.
“I hope,” I said. “But what would you think about calling the adoption agency again? Just to see if there’s anything new about Beth, or anything old that’s relevant?”
“I guess I could. But they said they’d call us if there was any news.”
“Hmmm.” I mustered the strength to contradict him. “I wouldn’t count on them for that. My guess is that their commitment is to Beth first. Plus, even if they’re not willing to tell you anything, maybe you’ll get a sense of whether they’re holding back or not.”
“Yeah,” he conceded.
“So you’ll call first thing tomorrow.” We laughed at my pushiness.
“Whatever, Nicki, if it’ll make you happy.” I got the sense he meant if it’ll make Kenna happy and make you back off. But his motive didn’t really matter.
He gestured toward the treadmill. “Now that I dragged that thing up here, you better use it.”
“I will. I think.” I wasn’t making any promises either.
The kids were thrilled to see me when I picked them up from their playdate. So thrilled they completely ignored me until I demanded we leave. Then they acknowledged me with protests.
It was straight-to-bed time, but first I asked about their evening and accidentally let Sophie see the treadmill, which meant she wanted to climb all over it and press every button. We got it out of her system for about ten minutes—machine off and safety cord hidden—and then I issued a stern warning about touching the treadmill without permission.
“I don’t even want to touch it,” Jack said. “I like running outside.”
“I love it,” Sophie said. “When I grow up, I want one too.”
“Someday you can buy one with your own money,” I said. “How do you think you’ll earn it?” I took her hand and led her away from the treadmill.
Sophie started babbling about possible careers: running a horse farm, being a doctor, or “chef-ing” at her favorite Mexican restaurant. I took pride in successfully redirecting her toward the bathroom to scrub her teeth.
With Sophie, this was often a battle, so I took on the role of a make-believe character inspired by the late, great Crocodile Hunter. I morphed into “The Crazy Babysitter”—a jolly, overly dramatic and somewhat confused babysitter with a heavy Australian accent. The Crazy Babysitter also worked part-time as a dentist and zookeeper.
Jack was already brushing but asked for a double-check from The Crazy Babysitter. I found swamp scum in his mouth. (It turned out to be leftover toothpaste.) Sophie was next. I heard my cell phone beep and saw Dean’s number pop up, but I chose to ignore it and make Sophie my priority.
“What did you have for dinner, young lady? Let me see those teeth of yours!” I demanded. “Crikey! Those teeth look stronger than an elephant’s tusk. I’m afraid to get in there!”
We laughed our way through the bedtime routine and another night ended well, at least for my little ones.
Life was anything but normal, but I followed my normal routine of sitting at the computer and eating after the kids were in bed. Dean had texted the most likely last name of Beth’s grandparents: Rush. He also said Joe’s record looked clean so far except for a few speeding tickets. Same for Beth’s parents. I texted back a quick “THANKS!” and got busy looking up West Virginia Rushes on every address site I knew. April thought they lived somewhere with gambling, but an Internet search showed several towns with casinos. Instead of calling everyone listed, like I had with Beth and Marcus, I decided this was a good excuse to call April. Maybe one of the Rushes would ring a bell for her, even though Beth referred to them as “Nana and Grandpa.” April sounded wide awake when she answered.
“Hey April. It’s Nicki,” I said. “How’s it going?”
“Fine,” she answered politely.
“That’s good. I wanted to run something by you. I’m going to read you some names. Can you tell me if any sound familiar?”
“Okay.” She sounded skeptical.
“Annabelle Rush. Franklin Rush. Graham and Marcy Rush. Martin Rush—”
“Oh, wait, stop. Marcy is Beth’s middle name. She hates it.”
She was right. I remembered seeing “Marcy” on the adoption forms Beth had filled out. I mentally kicked myself for forgetting.
“Do you think she could have been named after her grandmother?”
“She is named after her grandmother,” April confirmed. “The one in West Virginia. I forgot about that. You know her other grandparents died in a car crash, right?”
“Yes.” The adoption forms had revealed that, too. Beth’s paternal grandparents had died when she was young. “Thank you so much, April.”
“Sure. But I didn’t do anything. I mean, I doubt her grandparents know anything. You already know the story about last time.”
“I know. But everything’s worth a try, right?”
“I guess.”
“Do you have any other ideas? I’d love to hear them. Even if they seem silly to you.”
“Not really. Except to talk to Marcus.”
I didn’t tell her I’d already done that. What I wanted to do was follow Marcus again.
“Do you ever talk to him or see him around?”
“No. But I know where to find him.”
“Really? Where?”
“Anywhere there’s a party. He’s always there. Probably dealing.”
“So when’s the next one?”
“I don’t know. I’m kinda taking a break from that scene after the last one. I was seriously sick for like the whole day after that.”
“I’m sorry. If you hear anything, please give me a call. You shouldn’t go. But I could keep an eye on things.”
“Uh huh.” I heard some rustling. “My mom’s coming and I’m not supposed to be on the phone,” she whispered. She clicked off.
I hung up and looked at the pad where I’d written and circled “Marcy and Graham Rush.”
Back online, I found something interesting—fascinating, really—about Graham Rush, Marcy’s apparent husband. There was a separate business listing under his name. Rush, Graham, MD. But that wasn’t all. Another search brought up an unexpected fact about Dr. Rush. He was an OB-GYN. Did April know this? Would Beth have turned to him for help? And would he have given it secretly? I crossed my legs protectively, aware that even though I wasn’t due for an annual exam, I’d probably have to see the doctor anyway.
Twelve
I didn’t want to get April in trouble, so I called her mom on the land line.
“Jen?”
“Who’s calling?” She sounded understandably wary of an unfamiliar, late-night caller who knew her name.
“It’s Nicki, the mom who brought April home.”
“Nicki! Hi. How are things? I hope you have good news.”
“Not yet, but I’m working o
n it. I’m sorry for calling this late. But I have a question for April if that’s okay. It’s about Beth’s grandparents.”
“Of course. Do you think Beth could be with them?”
“They don’t live too far away, so I want to check. Do you know anything about them?”
“Not a thing. Let me get April before she falls asleep.” She yelled for her and said it was me. We said goodbye, and after April picked up, I waited to hear Jen disconnect.
“Hey April. Sorry to call back. I came up with something after we talked, and I wanted to run it by you. Did you know Beth’s grandfather is an OB-GYN?”
“A pregnancy doctor?”
“Yes. She didn’t mention that?”
“No.” She was quiet for a moment. “Maybe a long time ago and I forgot. But that’s so weird. It’s like why didn’t she ask him for help? She had no money, and she was really scared.” Another pause. “Then again, wait. That would be gross. It’s her grandfather. And he’d probably tell her mom anyway.”
“You think?”
“After the first time she ran away? Yeah. Her whole family was really mad.”
“What about after she told her parents she was pregnant? Do you think she’d go to him then?”
“No, because she had a doctor by then, Dr. Ryan. And she’s cool. The agency recommended her.”
“Where is her office?”
“At the hospital. King County General.”
“Okay. Thank you so much, April.”
We hung up.
Before bed I put directions to Dr. Rush’s home and office in my purse. Even though April had doubts, the Rushes were a stone I couldn’t leave unturned. The trip would take an hour or so, depending on traffic, which would be worse on a Friday. If I went while the kids were at camp, I’d practically have to turn around when I got there, which would be pointless, and bringing them would be a mistake. I envisioned breaking up arguments, serving snacks, and hearing, “I need to go” several times, all while attracting attention or missing something important. No way. I’d have to get a babysitter or...I guess there wasn’t an “or.” I forced my brain into overdrive, a difficult task, but it responded. The best time to visit would be during the day—either when Dr. Rush was on his way to work or on his way home. I wanted to see him and his wife on the move. I called his office and listened to the recording: open from 9 a.m. to 12 p.m. and 1 to 4 p.m. Lunch from 12 to 1 p.m. That might be another chance to observe him.
Maybe Mom could come over in the morning, entertain the kids for a few hours, and then drop them off at camp. If my day was productive, she could even be “on call” to pick them up. Longing for sleep, I reluctantly dialed her number and pulled out my PI class information. I needed to review surveillance techniques, not just for Saturday’s class, but for the next day’s activities.
At 1 a.m., I forced myself to lie down with the light off. I still couldn’t relax, since I had a mental checklist a mile long to review. Mom had agreed to babysit, and while that helped immensely, it also meant I had to straighten up the house again, pack the kids’ backpacks (bathing suits, towels, goggles, lunches, snacks, water bottles), choose outfits according to the weather (which required digging through clean laundry), plan breakfast, provide tips for sunscreen application, explain the carpool lane, and set out pool passes and a movie in case Mom got desperate. I’d done most of these things already, but what else? What else? Oh! I had to let the camp know Mom would pick up the kids. I turned on the light, found a sticky note, and posted it on the bathroom mirror. “Call camp. Now!” Reminders only help if I use them right away. But I couldn’t call at night.
I went back to bed, set the alarm for 6:30 a.m., and switched off the light, wishing I could do the same for my brain.
My shower woke Sophie, who dashed into the bathroom, where I tried the impossible—hiding in a glass enclosure. Whoever invented see-through showers didn’t have kids in mind. Or modesty. I gave thanks for steam and soap scum.
“Sophie,” I said. “Can you wait in my room, honey? I’m almost done.” I tried to sound nonchalant. I’d always wanted to be one of those people who didn’t care if their little kids (not to mention friends, sisters, mothers, locker room buddies, etc.) saw them naked. Bodies were something to be proud of, right? Whatever.
“Mommy! I see your...”
“I know, sweetie. I’m in the shower. Go sit on my bed please.”
“But...”
“You can pick an outfit for me. How about that? Go in my closet and see what matches.”
She obeyed, and I hustled to finish the necessities, throw on a towel, and moisturize my face.
“Wow,” I said when I saw her selection. A red sundress from the depths of my closet. I hadn’t seen it in years. She’d “matched” it with a pair of black velvet pumps I’d never worn. They were so out of date they needed to be shipped to a country where they were just starting to enjoy 21 Jump Street.
“Do you like it?”
Ahhh. The familiar parenting challenge: How to be honest without being hurtful.
“I love it,” I said. On me in the ’80s. “It’s a great color.”
“Are you gonna wear it?”
“You know, that dress is so nice that I’m going to save it for a special [lonely] night, when I’m going out to dinner at a special restaurant [the drive thru]. Can you help me find something pretty, but not so fancy, for today?”
“Yes,” Sophie said. “The shoes are fancy too.” She sounded apologetic.
“Yes, they are. You did such a good job matching fancy with fancy! Why don’t you put them away for another time?” Like the past. She bobbled off and tucked them in a box, which I mentally marked DONATION.
I glanced at the clock and realized I was in a hurry. Or, more accurately, I needed to be in a hurry. I grabbed a rumpled brown T-shirt from the closet and navy blue sweat shorts from a drawer.
“That’s not pretty,” Sophie noted.
“Oh darn. You’re right. What do you suggest?” I slipped on undies beneath my towel, donned a bra over the towel, and then finally slipped the covering down.
Sophie paid no attention. She was focused on my open dresser drawer. If she didn’t magically produce a cute outfit in seconds, I’d have to settle with my choice.
“I like these.” She yanked out jean capris.
“Perfect!” I swept them out of her hands and shoved them on. “Good job Sophie. Is this brown shirt good?”
“No.”
I zoomed into the bathroom and slapped on makeup while she dug through my shirts.
“Here, Mommy.” She held up a T-shirt she’d made at preschool. It had colorful scribbles and handprints all over it. I was hoping for something that would make me blend in.
“Oh, I love that shirt,” I said. I put it on and admired myself in the bathroom mirror. “Let’s go downstairs for breakfast. Grandma’s going to be here any minute.”
“Yay! Grandma!”
I ushered her out and grabbed my brown T-shirt on the way.
Mom was holding a gift bag, complete with a giant white bow, when I opened the door to let her in. Certain it was for the kids, I turned to them and said, “Look what Grandma brought.”
“Hold on,” she warned. “This is for Mommy. But I think they’ll like it too.” She smiled and put the bag in my hand. “I stopped at Target this morning and got something you really need. Please don’t be offended.”
“Okay,” I said, afraid to open it in front of anyone. We headed for the kitchen, where I showed her the day’s supplies and instructions.
“Simple,” she exaggerated. I wasn’t sure whether that should inspire confidence or concern. “Now open your present.”
After giving the bow to Sophie, I blindly reached through several layers of pink tissue paper as if we were playing the “guess what
this is” Halloween game. Instead of feeling grape eyeballs or spaghetti brains, however, I felt an unidentifiable, heavy cardboard box. It took both hands to pull it out.
My jaw dropped when I saw what it was. “A navigation system! I totally need that.” It had been eons, I realized, since I’d received a gift that cost money, and this was just what I wanted, right when I needed it. “Thank you!”
I tackled Mom with a hug and returned immediately to the box, noting the kids’ dumfounded looks only after I’d started connecting wires.
“Do you guys know what this is?” I asked.
They shook their heads.
“It’s a machine that gives us directions so we don’t get lost.”
“You need that,” Jack confirmed.
I laughed. “It’s true. And you know what’s really cool? It talks.”
“Make it talk.” Sophie said. “Make it talk!”
“Well it works in the car,” I said, “so I’ll test it today, and if it works great, we’ll go for a drive with it tomorrow.”
We had a deal. I was on my way.
Waving goodbye to the innocent trio on the doorstep, it was hard to believe I was investigating something so disturbing. My stomach knotted as I imagined scenes I didn’t want to see. Please, please, please, wherever Beth is, let her be alive, I begged. And don’t let her be alone. Please let her be with someone safe and caring.
My thoughts were interrupted by a loud electronic voice insisting I turn left, for which I was thankful, as much for the directions as the distraction. Countless robotic commands later, I found myself in front of a ranch-style home that matched Dr. Rush’s address. Other than being neatly mowed and mulched, with trimmed, squat shrubs dotting its perimeter, it had no personality. Black shutters. Off-white siding. Taupe garage doors and front entrance. It looked unloved.
Finding Sky (A Nicki Valentine Mystery Book 1) Page 15