An Arm and a Leg

by Olive Balla

  “But why did Tim have Esther Emory’s original medical records?” Frankie said.

  “Bellamy evidently generated his own copy of the records to make it look like she died of complications from diabetes. We’re not sure how Tim got hold of the originals and Esther’s amputated leg, but she didn’t have diabetes. During the surgery to remove the leg, Tim administered anesthesia to her without realizing she had a bad heart. That’s what actually killed her.”

  “No wonder he looked so awful when he came to my house. He would have been devastated to know he’d caused someone’s death, even if it wasn’t his fault.”

  “Bellamy might have deluded himself into thinking he was doing a good thing, at least at first. He brought indigent people in off the street and gave them medical attention. Of course, they didn’t realize the occasional limb or organ would be removed and sold as payment for their care.”

  Kate put her hand to her cheek. “My God. He was parting people out like a human chop shop.”

  Nick nodded. “The whole thing began to implode when Mel and Larry shot your brother before they could find where Tim hid Esther’s leg and medical records.”

  “Poor Esther.” Frankie shook her head. “She’ll never know how her death helped pull the plug on Bellamy’s hideous business.”

  She knows, Tim said. And she says to thank you.

  “Larry will be charged with Bellamy’s murder,” Nick was saying. “And he’ll have to answer for running Flatte down.”

  “Has Mel’s body been found?” Frankie asked.

  Nick shook his head. “Larry won’t talk about that. Ask any other question and he blabs nonstop. I think he’s shielding someone.”

  “And Mina was killed because I asked her for help.” Frankie’s voice was low, filled with remorse.

  “Not your fault,” Nick said. “She called the state medical examiner’s office about the time Tim was fired and suggested they investigate Dr. Bellamy. Word got back to him, and that’s when he began to see Mina as a threat. He spotted her snooping around his files and ordered Mel to make her disappear.”

  Kate peered at Nick over the rim of her cup. “What about the other hospital employees? How could something like that go on and no one know about it?”

  A snapshot of Hector’s sincere face flashed in Frankie’s mind. Hector with the lovely family, and with a dark and troubling secret. She remained quiet.

  “I have some suspicions,” Nick said, “but no one’s talking. The good news is that thanks to the money Frankie’s donating from Tim’s life insurance, the local foundation will continue to provide health care for some of our most needy locals. By the way, I don’t suppose any of you would consider a career in law enforcement, would you? I’m going to need a partner.”

  “What happened to Pritney?” Frankie said.

  “Pritney was in league with Bellamy. She gleaned tidbits of information from her contacts in the Albuquerque Police Department and exchanged them for health care for her grandmother in Bellamy’s convalescent home.” Nick looked at Frankie. “She left the bird and chalk message on your porch.”

  “And cleaned it up while I called the police. Risky, but effective. It nearly convinced me I’d completely gone off the chart, something I’m pretty sure the police already thought.”

  Nick chuckled. “Let’s just say the APD is grateful to have this case put to rest. You made quite a name for yourself. Someone nick-named you The Tiny Terror.”

  Frankie’s face heated up. “I was never very good at just giving up and going away.”

  “Bellamy hinted to Pritney she was going to have to dispose of you. That’s when she realized things were out of control.”

  “What’ll happen to her?” Lola said.

  “She’s being held pending a full investigation,” Nick said. “No one would have known of her involvement if she’d kept quiet, and that’ll work in her favor. But she knew Bellamy was into some bad stuff and said nothing.”

  “It’s all just so damnably sad.” Lola’s subsequent sigh was loud in the small room.

  “By the way,” Nick said, “human DNA was found in the feed grinder out at Bellamy’s chicken farm. Microscopic bits of human flesh mixed in with the chicken feed.”

  Frankie nodded. “That explains the smell in the barn.”

  “It seems Mel used the feed grinder to dispose of a couple of disgruntled employees who threatened to blow the whistle on Bellamy’s operation. DNA tests should confirm the bits as our missing persons.”

  Kate took a sip of coffee and turned to Nick. “Didn’t Bellamy sell eggs and dressed chickens to local eating establishments?”

  Nick nodded at the three horrified faces turned toward him. “A recall has been issued. But there’s no way of knowing how much DNA from the ground up employees has already made its way onto the breakfast and dinner plates of the local population.”

  “And what’ll happen to the farm?” Kate said.

  “It’ll be closed down—the chickens will be destroyed.”

  Lola picked up the dishes and took them to the kitchen. Glassware clinked as she stacked them on the kitchen counter.

  Leaning toward Frankie, Nick lowered his voice. “Have you told Lola yet about your plans to hire a private detective to find her daughter?”

  Frankie shook her head. “I don’t want to get her hopes up. I’ll tell her when and if he finds anything.”

  “I might be able to help you with that, especially now that I’ll be spending my free time in Albuquerque.”

  “Help with what,” Lola said as she entered the room.

  Frankie stammered. “Nick was saying—”

  “Nick was saying he’s going to help Frankie re-establish her garden,” Kate said.

  Frankie cut her eyes sideways at Nick. “I can always use the help.” Warmth spread through her body and she smiled. “How are you with a shovel and rake?”

  Lola and Kate beamed at each other for a second before Kate winked at Nick. “Oo-rah.”

  “So what will you do now?” Lola said to Frankie.

  “The next thing I have to do is to write checks to the people on Tim’s spreadsheet.”

  Lola cut another piece of coffee cake, handed it to Nick, and then turned to Frankie. “You mean the ones whose body parts were sold?”

  “Yes. I’ve contacted a firm that buys gold, and the good news is that the coins will sell for a lot more than Tim paid for them. I’m going to divide the money equally among those still living and among the family members of those who are not.”

  Uncle Mike would have liked Nick, Tim said.

  “Yes,” Frankie murmured, “he would.”

  “Who would have what?” Lola said.

  Kate beamed at Nick. “The girl’s been alone too long. She’s gone to talking to herself.”

  Frankie squeezed Nick’s hand. Maybe this whole being-alive thing would be manageable after all.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Although coated with a thin layer of soot and smelling of smoke, Frankie’s garage had remained relatively untouched by the fire that destroyed her home. She was thrilled to find the storage boxes still intact.

  The two metal filing cabinets stood just as she’d left them. Uncle Mike’s ruminations about life, the journals chronicling his years in Special Forces written in his own handwriting, his medals and letters of commendation from the United States government, along with the recipes he’d clipped from newspapers and magazines—none were even scorched.

  One by one, she made her way through the folders, laughing and crying at the memories their contents evoked. Two hours later she found a thirty-two-year-old newspaper clipping from a small town newspaper in Texas. Tears streamed down her face as she read the article for the second time.

  A Plainview woman is in police custody after allegedly drowning one child, a five year old girl, and trying to drown her other two children; a three year old female and a male infant. Kelby Stanton was taken to the Central Plains Mental Health Hospital where she will underg
o a court-ordered psychiatric evaluation. The police report indicates the two surviving siblings show signs of malnutrition and long-term abuse. Stanton’s brother Mike O’Neil reported that he became concerned when he could not raise anyone in the house, even though he could hear the baby crying from outside. He stated that he broke in the front door and entered the bathroom just as Stanton put the baby boy into the bathtub, which already contained the drowned five-year-old. The three-year-old girl was found in the unlit basement, where she told police her mother often made her stay. Stanton’s relatives say she had been fighting depression since the death of her husband several months earlier.

  A scab of memory sloughed off and remembered anguish spilled out of Frankie’s subconscious, painful yet cathartic in its eruption.

  “Why didn’t you tell me, Uncle Mike? Why did you keep all these secrets?”

  “At least I saved the paperwork. I figured you’d find it sooner or later.”

  “But you let me think I was losing my mind.”

  “You weren’t ready for the truth, Frances. When you were little, I was afraid you would blame yourself for what happened to you, Jenny, and Timmy. Little kids tend to blame themselves for the evil that surrounds them. But none of that was your fault. You didn’t make it happen and you couldn’t have stopped it. As you got older, I just couldn’t bring myself to go back into that darkness.”

  Careful not to damage the brittle newsprint, Frankie replaced the article in the folder and returned the folder to the cabinet. She pulled her cell phone from its holster and punched in a number.

  “Good morning, Nana Alma. Would you allow me to buy you lunch tomorrow? No more secrets. I want to talk to you about my mother. But mostly, I want to talk to you about a little girl named Jennifer Stanton—my big sister Jenny.”

  “I’m so very pleased to hear from you,” Alma said.

  “Is it my choice whether or not to accept this gift—this fae thing?”

  “Yes, but to refuse it would be about the same as cutting off your left hand. You could get along without it, but you wouldn’t be whole.”

  Frankie considered Alma’s words. “At least I’m not just your ordinary nut job. Besides, it might be kind of nice to know I’ll never be completely alone. See you tomorrow.” She broke the connection.

  “The rules are fairly easy,” Uncle Mike said. “You’ll learn as you go.”

  “Welcome back, Peepers,” Jenny said.

  Scores of voices offered words of welcome. Some spoke with a heavy Irish-English accent, while others spoke Gaelic, and others in more ancient languages. Like sun-warmed water from a tropical island waterfall, the sound soothed her spirit. It was as if Frankie had returned home after a long trip. As if everything was finally normal.

  A word about the author...

  Olive Balla makes her home near Albuquerque, New Mexico, with her husband Victor.

  Visit her at her website:

  http://omballa.com

  Thank you for purchasing

  this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.