Proof (Caroline Auden Book 2)

by C. E. Tobisman

  “Sure was, kiddo,” agreed Hitch. His gravelly voice was thick with emotion.

  “The whole thing’s still so unreal. So strange. I didn’t know Mom was so sick,” Joanne said, her words coming too fast. Her eyes held both a question and a subtle accusation.

  Caroline didn’t answer. The fact that she had a court hearing scheduled for the morning after her grandmother’s funeral proved how uneven her work-life balance had become.

  “Did you get everything settled?” Joanne asked, her fingers still picking at her bracelet.

  “I tried,” Caroline said, trying to avoid looking at her mother’s hands. “But it turns out Grandma left everything to some charity called Oasis.”

  The news elicited twin exhales of disbelief.

  “Did Grandma ever mention anything about Oasis to you?” Caroline asked.

  Joanne and Hitch shook their heads in unison, but Caroline knew it didn’t mean much. Her mother lived out of town, and her uncle had probably visited The Pastures infrequently in the ten months since he’d started living on the street. That he wouldn’t accept Caroline’s offers of a phone or a place to stay meant she had no idea when he’d last seen his mother.

  “I’ve never heard of Oasis, either,” Caroline said, crossing her arms.

  “I didn’t say I hadn’t heard of them,” corrected Hitch, “just that Mom never mentioned them to me. But I’ve seen them around. They’re not so great,” he added.

  “Well, they’re supposed to get everything,” Caroline said.

  “Even the watch?” Hitch asked. His gaze held a focused urgency that pushed through the grime and bad luck, bright and concerned in a way that Caroline hadn’t seen in years.

  “They’re supposed to, but it’s gone missing.” Caroline glanced toward the van, where scrubs-clad helpers were escorting elderly people to their seats. “I think I know where it is—a repair shop. I’m going to pick it up.”

  “You won’t give it to Oasis, right?” asked Hitch.

  “Of course not,” said Caroline. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Good,” said Joanne, letting her fingers drop from her bracelet. “I know that’s what Mom would’ve wanted.”

  Caroline exhaled. None of them had seen Kate in the last month of her life. They’d all failed her. The changed will was the proof of it. Caroline didn’t believe there was any malice in her grandma’s decision to leave her estate to charity, but she’d never know for sure. Even so, she knew in her bones that her grandmother hadn’t intended to give the watch away.

  “I need to get going,” said Joanne. “Bob and I have a cruise planned. I’ve got to get home to pack, then up to Washington to board the boat on Wednesday.”

  She leaned forward to hug her daughter.

  Caroline clung to the familiar touch, finding it welcome despite the hyper energy flowing through it like an electrical current.

  Then it was over, and she watched her mother retreat to the parking lot, her high heels click-clicking down the asphalt, a Doppler effect receding into the distance.

  When Caroline turned back to her uncle, she found him chewing on his lower lip.

  He probably needed a drink, she realized. She’d watched his decline over the last year with alarm. What had once been an extra beer after work had become drinking before noon, losing his job and, later, his home. And still he hadn’t stopped.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow at the soup kitchen,” Caroline said. With the guilt of having missed her grandmother’s decline still fresh, she could not ignore her uncle’s peril any longer.

  But Hitch’s eyes narrowed.

  “Don’t you go bringing me any of those pamphlets,” he said.

  “I just—”

  “You need to stop trying to fix things that aren’t your damn business.”

  Caroline winced at the familiar rebuff.

  “Can’t you at least let me give you a phone?” she asked.

  Hitch waved away the suggestion. “You know where to find me.”

  Caroline knew the spot. It was grim. Sidewalks banked with trash. Threadbare people with matted hair and insanity in their eyes. Anything could happen there. A fight. A seizure. An overdose. The potential for horror hung thick and real over the place. She had no plans to visit.

  She resigned herself to the soup kitchen. That would be her tribute to her grandmother. And her attempt at absolution.

  “Do you need a ride somewhere?” Caroline asked.

  Hitch shook his head. Then he started the dance he always performed when they parted company. Caroline didn’t want to hug him, barely washed and smelling of the streets, and he apparently didn’t want to force her to. So they stood awkwardly across from each other.

  Finally, Caroline held up a hand.

  Hitch returned the gesture.

  And then he was gone, leaving Caroline standing alone at her grandmother’s grave, castigating herself for seeking some sort of meaningful spark of connection with her family.

  It didn’t matter, she told herself. She needed to go to the watch repair shop. Then she needed to get back to work. One year of solo practice had impressed on her the link between finishing her work and getting paid. Especially since the Southern California business climate lately seemed to take its cues from the endless Western drought.

  “I do not have this watch,” the repairman said in the accent of some Eastern European country. He handed the receipt back to Caroline.

  “Are you sure?” Caroline pressed. “Can you check again?”

  “I am sure.” He nodded with his chin toward an empty corner of the display case. “All watches for picking up are kept there. It is not here.”

  “Then I guess it’s gone,” Caroline said, her hopes of finding the watch dissipating.

  “Gone?” The repairman frowned. “I am hoping not. This watch is handmade masterpiece by Karl Geitz of Hessischen Watchmaking School. Last time I am seeing Mrs. Hitchings, I am telling her that she could buy a castle if she is wanting to sell it.” He stretched out his arms to show how big a castle he meant. “But she is not interested in selling. Only in servicing.”

  “Lot of good that did,” Caroline murmured. “Do you happen to remember when my grandmother picked it up?” Perhaps if she knew when Kate had retrieved the watch, she could figure out where it was. Maybe there was a safe-deposit box somewhere.

  “No, no,” the repairman waved a hand. “Your grandmother is not the one picking it up. That nice helper lady—she is the one picking it up four weeks ago.”

  Caroline’s brow furrowed.

  “The helper lady is telling me Mrs. Hitchings is too sick to come,” he continued.

  “And you just gave it to this . . . helper lady?” Caroline asked.

  “Yes, I recognize her. She is the same helper who is with Mrs. Hitchings when she is dropping it off. She is wearing those clothes like the people in the hospitals.” The repairman gestured around his body to show he meant some kind of uniform.

  “You mean she wore scrubs?”

  “Yes. Pink ones. Also, a very long braid.” The repairman put the flat of his hand down near his waist to show how far the braid fell.

  A prickle of recognition skittered across the surface of Caroline’s skin.

  “You know this lady?” the repairman asked.

  “I sure do,” Caroline replied darkly.

  CHAPTER 2

  Caroline’s feet burned a trail into the concrete as she paced outside the shop. The repairman watched through the window with a worried scowl. He hadn’t believed her when she told him that she had no intention of suing him. But she didn’t care what he believed. All that mattered was the voice on the other end of the phone she now held to her ear.

  “I’m awful sorry to hear all of that, Miss Caroline,” Harold said. “But I had no idea that Patricia was doing errands for your grandmother.”

  “This wasn’t an errand. This was theft,” Caroline said, her veins pulsing with heat. Patricia Amos had lied to her. Embarrassment mixed with Caroline
’s fury as she recalled how she’d shared her memories with Patricia. They’d had a moment together.

  “Is she there now?” Caroline asked.

  Harold paused before answering.

  “Patricia quit. She gave notice right after her shift ended. She said she had a family emergency and had to leave town.”

  Caroline stopped pacing.

  Patricia was gone.

  “Miss Caroline? You there?” asked Harold.

  “I’m here.” Caroline pressed her eyelids together tightly to squeeze off tears. The watch should’ve been with her grandmother’s stuff. With the repairman. Somewhere. The one place it shouldn’t have been was in the hands of a thief.

  “I don’t know what happened,” Harold said. “Patricia was one of our best CNAs. I’m going to make a police report right away. I’ll also post something on a chat board I belong to. Maybe someone else has a lead about Patricia.”

  At the earnest tones in the administrator’s voice, Caroline’s anger ebbed, mellowing into a dull ache that lodged itself just behind her breastbone.

  Patricia had done more than steal a watch. She’d deprived Caroline of a vital connection. Kate had been one of the few people on the planet who understood the obsessive tendencies and tuning-fork sensitivities that plagued Caroline. She’d tried to fix in her granddaughter what she couldn’t fix in her own children. Instead of pressuring the already-intense child to succeed, she’d counseled her to relax. Instead of feeding her compulsions, she’d urged her to find balance.

  And now Kate was gone.

  And the watch was gone.

  And there wasn’t a damn thing Caroline could do about any of it.

  “Please let me know what you find out,” Caroline said before hanging up.

  She leaned back against the wall, took a breath, and let it out slowly.

  The watch was just an object. A thing. There were far more important matters in life. Like the fact that her uncle lived on the street. Or that her fledgling law firm was struggling. Or that many of her cases involved indigent clients facing life-shattering events. Wrongful eviction. Denial of benefits. Deportation. All were cases with real stakes.

  With a jolt, Caroline realized that between the funeral and the watch, she hadn’t even started to prepare for the guardianship hearing she was supposed to attend tomorrow morning.

  Hurrying toward her car, Caroline reminded herself that guardianships were usually straightforward. Show up at court. Stipulate to a suitable relative to take care of her minor client. Then sit down. It didn’t take much thought.

  But it did require performing some due diligence. She needed to focus on the task ahead: vetting the man who wanted to take custody of her seven-year-old client. And that meant she needed to push the business of the watch from her mind.

  “You calling me a liar?” The petitioner’s eyes scorched Caroline’s cheek like a klieg light from across the courtroom.

  “Please address your comments to the bench, Mr. Gonzalez,” Judge Flores instructed.

  In her periphery, Caroline watched Rogelio Gonzalez turn his attention back to the judge.

  Her open-and-shut guardianship hearing had turned into a battle. An unexpected one.

  “But what she’s saying about me isn’t true,” Gonzalez protested.

  “I have not called Mr. Gonzalez a liar,” Caroline said. “I have simply asked the court to verify the truth of some of the statements he has made in his guardianship petition.” So she was calling him a liar, but politely. Courtroom etiquette permitted it, even encouraged it.

  Judge Flores raised a hand to forestall another burst of outrage from Gonzalez.

  “Ms. Auden, in every respect this appears to be a suitable placement. Petitioner has known Mateo Hidalgo since birth, having dated Mateo’s aunt before her death eleven months ago of cancer. He maintains a household with his current girlfriend, Floriana Perez, and her two minor children. He has the financial means from his apparel business to provide for Mateo’s needs until the boy’s father is released from prison.”

  The judge held Caroline’s eyes as if daring her to contradict his analysis.

  “I’ve read the guardianship petition, too, Your Honor,” said Caroline, “but I’ve recently discovered some information suggesting this placement might be ill advised.”

  She glanced down at the boy sitting beside her.

  Mateo Hidalgo looked back with long-lashed brown eyes. Despite a father in jail for manslaughter drunk driving, the boy had retained his innocence. With his wide-eyed awe and his barrage of questions about the judge, the metal detector, the jury box, and every other small detail of the courthouse, Mateo enjoyed the curious openness of childhood.

  But the man standing on the other side of the courtroom could be a threat to all of that.

  “Permission to approach?” she asked Judge Flores.

  The judge gave a curt nod.

  Caroline came to stand below the judge’s raised bench.

  She felt Gonzalez’s presence as an angry prickle at her shoulder. She was unaccustomed to facing off against someone who’d made the famously foolhardy choice to represent himself, but so far Gonzalez seemed wily enough to pull it off.

  “I’ll explain my concerns,” Caroline said, “but I request that the court remove my client from the courtroom first.”

  The judge turned to Gonzalez. “Any objections?”

  Gonzalez crossed his arms, forcing his shiny silver tie to do a little wheelie at the bottom.

  “Fine with me. Just so long as you tell me where to go to find Mateo when it’s time for me to take him home,” Gonzalez said.

  Ignoring the petitioner’s presumptuousness, Judge Flores nodded to the bailiff, who approached Mateo.

  The boy’s eyes found Caroline’s, asking their silent question.

  “It’s okay,” Caroline said. “The bailiff’s just going to take you to the Children’s Room until we finish up. I remember seeing an Xbox in there.”

  She raised her eyebrows. She knew how Mateo felt about Xbox.

  Satisfied, the seven-year-old allowed himself to be led from the courtroom.

  Caroline took a calming breath as she returned to counsel’s table. She knew Judge Flores had a reputation for impatience. But she also knew he cared about getting things right. She just had to convince him that Gonzalez’s petition wasn’t as simple as it seemed. And to do that, her argument needed sufficient heft and weight to propel the proceedings in a new direction.

  “When I came to court today,” she began, “I was ready to stipulate to awarding custody of Mateo Hidalgo to Rogelio Gonzalez, pending the release of Mateo’s father from prison. But as I waited for the courtroom doors to open, Mateo told me something disturbing.”

  “What did your client say?” Judge Flores asked. His eyes moved across the courtroom. Dozens of litigants waited on uncomfortable wooden benches. All seeking justice before lunch.

  “He told me something that makes me worry he’s being used as a drug mule or lookout.”

  Gonzalez slammed his palms on the table in front of him and rose to his feet.

  “That lady’s crazy!” He stabbed a finger in Caroline’s direction like a weapon.

  Caroline flinched at the fury that rolled over her like a hot wave. She hoped the judge didn’t see the flush of heat rising to her face. She also hoped the bailiff would return soon.

  “Sit. Down.” The judge held out a hand and firmly gestured downward.

  “But—”

  “You may believe you have the self-confidence to represent yourself in this matter, Mr. Gonzalez,” said the judge, “but I’m beginning to doubt you have the self-control. You’ll get your turn in a minute. Please, Ms. Auden, continue.”

  “I asked Mateo if he was looking forward to living with Mr. Gonzalez,” Caroline said, keeping her voice even. “Like you, I’d read the petitioner’s declaration. It describes the veritable cocoon of love and shelter available if Mateo goes to live with him. Baseball games on Sundays. Trips to the
movies. It all sounded good . . . until Mateo answered my question.”

  “Okay, I’m listening.” The judge propped his chin on his hand. “What did the boy say?”

  “He said his temporary foster parents aren’t nearly as much fun as his Tío Rogelio. ‘Why?’ I asked. I figured I knew the answer. Baseball games and movies. Right? But that’s not what he said.” Now that she had the judge’s curiosity, Caroline paused to give her argument some room to breathe. “Mateo said his temporary foster parents aren’t as much fun because they don’t play spot-the-cop like his uncle does.”

  Caroline let suspicion blossom in the judge’s mind, just as it had in hers.

  She watched Judge Flores’s eyebrows creep several centimeters toward each other.

  “When I asked him what game that was,” she continued, “he told me about sitting outside a warehouse, looking for police while his uncle ‘met with some important friends.’”

  “Who were these friends?” Judge Flores asked.

  “I don’t know,” Caroline admitted, “but Mateo was instructed to let his uncle know right away if he saw any police or other ‘suspicious cars.’”

  A frown tugged at the corner of Judge Flores’s mouth.

  “Before court began, I did some quick research,” Caroline continued. “I pulled up the police reports for the area where Mr. Gonzalez lives and works.”

  She turned the screen of her laptop to face the judge.

  “Drug-related activity has spiked in this neighborhood in the last year. Someone’s doing huge business. The Times speculates it could be the Eighteenth Street Vatos or some other gang. Someone’s definitely bringing in some new product.”

  The judge waved away Caroline’s offer to show him what she’d found on her laptop.

  “I’ll take your word on the police reports. But I would like to hear from Mr. Gonzalez.” The judge exhaled sharply. “Stop looking at Ms. Auden, Mr. Gonzalez,” he ordered.

  “Whatever,” Gonzalez said. “So she gets to talk smack about me?”

  “As the minor’s guardian ad litem representing Mateo at the court’s request, Ms. Auden is just doing her job,” the judge said.