by Stacy Green
She’d been tempted to leave, but spending the rest of the day with Lorelai and Oren sounded worse than being judged at the diner. Lorelai ignored her at breakfast while Oren acted as though nothing had happened. Cage kept silent on the ride to work. He was angry with her, and she didn’t know what to say to make him feel better. Worst of all, she missed Nick.
That’s not how this was supposed to turn out. She wasn’t supposed to fall seriously for any man, not until she had her daughter back.
Elaine’s words from last night added to her well of unease. Her daughter might be happy and safe. What if she had two loving parents who didn’t even realize they’d done something illegal? Nick said it happened more than people realized, with attorneys hiding fees and preying on unsuspecting couples. If Sarah and her new family were just as victimized as she was, did Jaymee really have the right to barge in and turn their lives upside down?
“You okay?” Sallie patted her arm with motherly concern.
“Sure.” Jaymee stuck her plastic Pepsi glass beneath the soda machine and pressed the ‘water’ button.
“You look a little green.”
“I feel plenty green.”
“Go home.”
“No, I need to work. It’s better for me here, honestly.”
Sallie leaned in close, her back to the busy diner. “Reverend Wilcher still missing?”
“Yep. Seems like most people have decided I had something to do with it.”
“That’s because they’re stupid and short-sighted. You were here all day. That’ll come out eventually.”
“Yeah.”
“Listen, anyone bothers you, let me know,” Sallie said. “I’m not so desperate for business I can’t throw a pompous ass out the door.”
Jaymee’s half-smile was forced. “All right.”
The diner’s door opened, and Jaymee braced herself to wait on another customer. She grabbed her tray, stretched her mouth into another painful smile, and turned in search of the newest eater. Detective Charles blocked the doorway with his bulk. The entire diner seemed to pause in mid-eat, creating a silence so loud Jaymee’s ears burned.
Grim-faced, Charles nodded and then trudged forward. He bellied up to the counter, and Jaymee walked on leaden feet to stand beside him. She searched his eyes, but he was a seasoned cop and good at keeping a poker face.
Most diners had resumed eating, the clinks of plates and forks slow and deliberate. Conversation still lulled. To hell with them all. These people didn’t know the real her, and they sure as shit didn’t know Holden Wilcher walked with the devil. She set her tray down on the counter with a bang looking up at Detective Charles with all the confidence she could muster.
“You’ve got some information?”
“Not much. Still missing. Your dad’s down at the station filing the report right now.”
“I’m sure he’s accusing me.”
“Pretty much. Thinks you had Nick do the dirty part for you.”
“Annabelle already told you he was at her place.”
“She couldn’t account for all day, though. Once this report’s filed, there’ll be a warrant issued to search Nick’s car. Sooner the better. We can eliminate him and move on.”
Acid burned in Jaymee’s stomach. She clenched her fist on the countertop. The watching eyes made her feel unclean. Their unspoken accusations were so loud Jaymee almost believed them.
“So his disappearance is your main priority now. Screw Rebecca. And Lana.”
“It’s not about Wilcher,” Charles said. “A missing person always gets priority. We treat him as a living victim unless we know otherwise. And I’m still working your case.”
Charles looked around at the customers who were pretending to not to eavesdrop. “Meantime, don’t let the scavengers get to you. They’re stupid enough to believe gossip, they ain’t worth worrying about.”
Jaymee gave him a tight, grateful smile. Detective Charles lumbered out of the diner, and slowly, the morning’s normal noise resumed. She jumped at the tap on her shoulder.
“You’ve got a phone call,” Sallie said.
Nick. What if Elaine hadn’t showed? Or worse yet, what if she had and then refused to give Nick any information? Jaymee grabbed the receiver and headed to the back hallway near the restrooms.
“Nick? Did she show?”
A man cleared his throat. “This isn’t Nick.”
“Reverend Gereau?”
“Yes. I need to see you right away.”
“I’m working.”
“It’s an emergency.”
“It’s just Sallie and me. I can’t leave.” A prickly sensation traveled down Jaymee’s spine and settled into her toes. “My shift break is in a couple of hours. I can meet you at the church.”
“I’m at home.”
Penn Gereau lived in the antebellum district down the hill from Evaline. His family home was among the oldest in the county, but the reverend didn’t allow tours. Jaymee had been by the place many times, longing to see inside, but she’d never set foot on the grounds.
“That’s a long walk,” she said. “I wouldn’t have much time to help you.”
“I’ll pick you up.” The call ended. Dread lodged in Jaymee’s chest. What could Gereau possibly want from her?
###
Two hours later, his sedan waited in front of Sallie’s. Jaymee made sure her boss knew where she was going and that she planned to return. Gereau seemed harmless, but the more she thought about his harried tone, the more nervous she became. Something wasn’t right.
“Thank you for coming.” The reverend wasn’t wearing his pastor’s collar, she noted. His jeans were worn and slightly grimy, his blue polo shirt wrinkled. Dark circles rested beneath his eyes, and at least two days worth of graying scruff decorated his face. He didn’t speak as he merged into traffic. Jaymee picked at her fingernails and tried to control the drumming of her heart as they left downtown and entered the historic district. She pretended to relax, but her hand lingered near the door handle. At every stop, she considered leaping out of the car.
Magnolia House sat at the corner of Forrest and Swan. Built in 1820 by French General Pierre Dupree, the house was a classic Greek Revival, pristine white with huge Corinthian columns and granite steps leading up to the large front porch. Gereau turned the car onto the brick-lined driveway.
Her throat felt as though she’d eaten sand, but she forced herself to speak and ask a question she already knew the answer to. “This is your family home?”
“Yes. General Dupree was my great-great uncle.”
“Did you grow up in Roselea?”
“Over the river in Vidalia. But we visited here quite a lot.” His eyes flashed to Jaymee, pink spots blooming in his cheeks. “Especially when I was younger and just out of seminary school. My first job was at a small church in Vidalia, and my aunt Maggie, who owned Magnolia at the time, was ill. I spent quite a bit of time here taking care of her.”
“Didn’t she have children?”
“No. That’s how I inherited Magnolia House.”
They parked near a small, detached garage. Its door was closed, but from the exterior design, Jaymee assumed it was once a carriage house. As she followed Gereau up the cobblestone path toward the house, she realized how well the four magnolia trees hid the home from the street. Despite its corner location, Magnolia House had a private feel. Almost isolated.
White wrought iron surrounded the columns and acted as a stairwell railing. Jaymee gripped the metal, her shoes slapping loudly against the marble steps. Unlike Evaline, this porch wasn’t a wraparound, and it was guarded by a slew of rosebushes.
The click of Gereau’s key echoed across the porch. Jaymee shook off her nerves and followed him inside.
An enormous crystal chandelier dominated the entryway. Sunlight flooded in through the large eastern windows, casting prisms off the chandelier onto the marble floor.
“How beautiful,” Jaymee said.
“You’ll have to have the tou
r some other time,” Gereau’s voice was gruff. “I need to show you something.”
He led her through the grand entry to what looked like an original kitchen. A quick glance told Jaymee nothing was in working order, and she assumed the various dust bunnies meant the reverend didn’t use this room. Against the western wall was a heavy mahogany door that was at least two-and-a-half inches thick. Gereau turned the brass knob, and the door eased open with a groan.
A musty smell hit Jaymee’s nostrils. A rush of nerves stalled her movement, and she stopped two feet behind Gereau. She could barely make out a set of old stairs leading to the basement because of lousy lighting.
She took a step back. “What’s going on?” Sweat beaded on her upper lip, and a scream bubbled in her chest. Maybe she and Nick had Gereau all wrong. He was really working for Holden, and now he planned to drag Jaymee into his stinking, old basement to shut her up.
Gereau pulled a dingy looking string, and a single light bulb lit up the bottom of the stairs. “I have a confession to make, Jaymee.”
Instinct told her run, but her desire for answers and shock left her paralyzed.
The smell of old wood and stale air surrounded Jaymee. The pale yellow light messed with her sense of time and made her feel unbalanced. She tried to lift her feet but they remained rooted to the floor with fear.
Gereau stepped closer and took her trembling hand in his. “I did this for you. When you were pregnant, I should have intervened. I should have helped you. But instead, I cowered and believed Wilcher knew how to take care of you.” Gereau’s tired expression shifted to one of pure rage. “If I’d known what he’d done, I would have throttled him with my bare hands.”
“I don’t know what to say.” Her voice came out hoarse. She cleared her throat. A new suspicion overrode her fear. “What’s in the basement, Reverend Gereau?”
He smiled a tired, sorrowful smile. “Answers, my dear.”
###
Nick smoothed his hair and adjusted his dress shirt. Too damned hot for long sleeves, but he needed to look like he had money to spare. A pang of guilt ran through him. He should have told Jaymee he’d managed to get a hold of Debra Davies early this morning and scheduled a meeting with her. But it all hinged on Elaine, and he didn’t want to get Jaymee’s hopes up.
He checked his watch. Almost two o’clock. She was in between shifts right now. He wondered if she’d gone back to Lorelai’s cold shoulder or stayed at the diner. Maybe Cage had stopped by. He should call.
“This isn’t going to work.” Elaine shifted nervously beside him. “I need a cigarette.”
“No time,” Nick said. “She’s supposed to be here any minute.”
They were seated at a back table in Char, an expensive restaurant in Jackson’s Highland Village. Suggested by Debra, of course.
“She’s not going to buy it,” Elaine said. “She’s been doing this for years now. I’m sure she can spot a fraud in a heartbeat.”
“All she cares about is the money,” Nick said. “If she believes I’ve got it to spend, then she’s going to bite.”
A tall, lithe redhead with porcelain skin approached them, smiling warmly. Heads turned, and Nick couldn’t deny the woman’s beauty. Delicate skin, full-lips, high cheeks, and a confident smirk that made it clear she knew exactly the effect she had on the opposite sex.
The green sleeveless dress she wore clung to her in all the right places, showing just enough skin to make a man’s heartbeat accelerate. A modern day succubus. Nick didn’t know much about fashion, but he knew the dress was expensive, and her heels didn’t look cheap, either. Her jewelry was understated– simple gold bracelet and earrings – but her bag had a brand name most women coveted.
He wondered how she dressed when she played the social worker. Lana never had much of a budget for clothes. She was too busy paying off loans. But Debra Davies clearly liked money and flaunted it. She extended her arm, and Nick caught the scent of sunscreen beneath her perfume. “Mr. and Mrs. Sayers?”
“Yes.” Nick stood, taking her hand. Her skin was soft, her grip firm. She sized him up with eyes the color of blue sky. If he didn’t know what a snake this woman was, her beauty would have him blabbering like a fool. He pulled out a chair for Debra, seating her between himself and Elaine. “This is my wife.”
“Happy to meet you.” Debra’s tone was gentle and unassuming. “How long have you been married?”
Nick nodded at Elaine. They’d rehearsed this.
“Seven years.”
“Wonderful. And you’re an investment banker, Mr. Sayers?”
“Call me Nate, please. Yes. Based out of Atlanta. We’re here visiting family.”
Debra’s smile reminded him of a mountain lion getting ready to strike. Her eyes, beautiful as they were, possessed a calculating coldness that made her ugly. “How long have you been trying for a family?”
“Nearly all of our marriage,” Elaine answered stiffly. Her fingers trembled. Nick snatched her hand and gave it a warning squeeze, hoping it looked like comfort.
“You’ve tried in vitro?”
“Yes,” Nick said. “My wife’s not able to carry past the first trimester. We’ve had three miscarriages.”
Elaine looked down at her lap. Debra sighed with overly done compassion. Her stunning eyes remained cold, frozen in apathy. “You’ve been turned down as adoptive parents?”
“We’ve tried,” Nick said. “But I work long hours, and I travel. Elaine has Crohn’s Disease, and we can’t get past the medical red tape.”
“It’s been awful.” Elaine took a long sip of water. “All my life, I’ve dreamed of being a mother. We’re financially stable, I’d be able to stay at home with our baby, raise it instead of passing the child off onto a sitter. Yet they I’m told I’m unsuitable.”
“Happens more than you realize,” Debra said. “Have you thought about adopting an older child? Sometimes the medical regulations are easier to subvert.”
“We want an infant,” Nick said.
“And where did you hear about me again?” Debra tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Her Cheshire-cat smile was dangerously deceptive, her eyes hypnotizing. Coupled with her sweet voice, Nick could easily understand how this woman had manipulated an unsuspecting and desperate girl like Jaymee.
“A former client.”
“I have very close relationships with all my clients,” Debra said. “I’m sure I’ll remember the name.”
Elaine shifted in the chair next to him, wound tight enough to spring. Nick stretched his legs, placed his elbows on the table, and rested his chin on his folded hands, mirroring Debra. “I’m not giving any names. Business like mine, privacy is key. We’re adults here, and we know it’s best to be as circumspect as possible.”
Debra’s sugary mask slipped for a moment. Her eyes flashed with blue heat. Nick pulled out his wallet and handed her the card Sonia Ballard had stolen. “He gave me this.”
She picked up the card with her white-tipped fingernails and then relaxed in her seat. “Good. Shall we talk business, then?”
He almost laughed at the change in her tone. The shark had arrived.
“But first, do you mind turning your cell phones off? I wouldn’t want to be interrupted.”
Or recorded. Nick nodded, and he and Elaine did as they were asked.
“I’ll cut the small talk.” Nick laid his wallet on the table and casually rested his hand on the leather. “I’ve been told you help couples who’ve got no chance for adoption–for a price, of course. What’s the magic number?”
Debra’s gaze flickered between the wallet and Nick, the eagerness in her eyes spreading to her lipstick-sculpted mouth. “I’m not allowed to take money for finding you a child, Mr. Sayers. That’s quite illegal.”
He waited.
“However, if you’re willing to pay legal fees, there are young mothers agreeable to a private adoption, which I would facilitate. There’s a rather large cost for the legal work, of course. In this case, you�
�d have to pay both yours and the mother’s.”
“And that’s not illegal?” Elaine twisted her hands, her genuine nervousness playing to their advantage. “I don’t want my husband to get into trouble.”
“No. You have the right to offer to pay for her legal fees, and she has the right to accept.”
Right. And you just jack up the fees to a ridiculous amount, Nick thought. “What if we pay your fee, and she bails on us?”
“The adoption will be legal and treated as any other. In the state of Mississippi, a birth mother has seventy-two hours to sign over her legal rights, and once she does, there’s no going back. As both your attorney and hers, I’ll handle the facilitation of the money. Our mother is at Hannah’s House, a wonderful place for mothers in need, and they do a great job of counseling moms as they prepare for birth.”
Of course she was at Hannah’s House. Holden and Debra likely didn’t do business anywhere else, and they were probably very selective in the mothers they did scam.
“But she could change her mind. And we’ll be out our money and our child.”
“Not when you work with me,” Debra said. “I’m very good at making sure the mother is ready.”
“But you don’t do refunds?” Nick took a sip of coffee, locking eyes with Debra over the china cup. She didn’t smile.
“I’m afraid not. But I can assure you my success rate is quite high. I don’t take on mothers unless I’m certain they’re ready.”
“And how do you find these young women? This isn’t the old south,” Nick said. “Young, unwed mothers are a common sight. Why do your ladies go to Hannah’s House?”
“Many show up for the free pregnancy test. If it comes back positive, Hannah’s is an excellent alternative for any woman with an unwanted pregnancy. The organization doesn’t believe in abortion and is very skilled in helping a mother in need understand the benefits of adoption.”
“And what happens when the woman decides to give the baby up?” Nick asked.
“They’re put in touch with various social workers, who then help them through the process.”
Nick nodded. He’d be willing to bet Holden remained hands-on at Hannah’s in order to pick the women easiest to manipulate. Probably made some sort of pet out of them right under Blanchard’s nose. And then Debra swooped in.