by Wendy Wang
“You're just giving up.”
“No, I'm not giving up. Not totally. But I can't work it is hard as I'd like. I have to do what my boss tells me.”
Charlie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from saying something she might regret. She knew what it was like to have a boss and she totally understood, but at the same time this wasn't about meeting some arbitrary metric for the number of phone calls she took in a day. This was about life and death. Maybe she was being dramatic but she knew there was more to these three girls’ stories. She felt it in her gut. They were all connected and somehow, someway the monster was involved.
“So, what do you want to do?” she finally asked.
“I don't know just yet.”
“Could we at least question him?”
“What would we ask him, Charlie?”
“I don't know—we could take one of the flyers of Macy Givens over there—tell him we’re canvassing the neighborhood, that we had a fresh lead and ask if he’s seen her, watch his reaction. I’ve seen you do that before.”
“Maybe. Yeah. But I’ve got a few other tasks I need to take care of first and I have to give testimony in court on Friday for another case.”
“What if I ask?”
“I don't like it when you go off half-cocked. We've already talked about this.”
Charlie sighed and narrowed her eyes. She hated this.
“Promise me you won't do anything without me, okay? Please? The last thing I need is for you to get hurt or worse, mess up my case.”
“I'm not going to get hurt.” Charlie's shoulders deflated. “And you know I will do whatever it takes not to jeopardize your case.”
“We can question him next week, okay? I'll even let you go with me.”
Charlie frowned.
“Listen, I don’t mean to be cynical, but this case has been waiting thirty-five years. Another week isn’t gonna make much difference.”
“Fine,” She relented.
“Good.” He took the last fry on his plate and took a bite. “I hate to eat and run, but I need to get back to the office.”
Charlie glanced over her shoulder looking for their waitress. Her aunt and cousin brought out two large cardboard boxes and placed them on the counter. Jen walked around and spoke to a woman with prim silver hair wearing a blue sweater over jeans and tennis shoes. Her cousin smiled graciously and nodded, and Charlie could almost read her lips.
When she spotted their waitress, Charlie waved her hand and a moment later an older woman with thick glasses and wild hair that had been dyed black approached the table.
“So, would y’all like anything else? Dessert maybe? We got chocolate cake and it is to die for.”
“Oh, my gosh, Dottie, that sounds tempting. But I am full as a tick.” Charlie patted her belly. Dottie looked at Jason.
“I’m good, Miss Dottie.” He held up his hand. “Just the check.”
Dottie shook her head. A smile played at the corner of her lips. “Now Lieutenant, you know there ain’t no check for either of you.”
“Hey Dottie, who’s that woman with Jen and Evangeline?” Charlie asked, glancing in the direction of her cousin.
Dottie threw a glance over her shoulder toward the counter. The woman was talking to Evangeline as two other women accompanying her worked at carrying the large cardboard boxes out of the café.
“That's Maureen Henley. She runs one of the senior programs down at the Methodist Church.”
“Is that food?” Charlie asked, pointing. “In the boxes?”
“Yep,” Dottie said. “On Wednesdays, Jen donates fifty box lunches and they deliver them to the seniors and shut-ins that go to their church.”
“How neighborly,” Charlie muttered.
“Yeah, well, your cousin is big on giving back to the community. You know how she is.”
“I do.”
One of the other patrons raised his hand signaling for Dottie, and she headed off in their direction. Jason reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He rifled through it, taking a five-dollar bill. He laid it on the table.
“So, what's your plan for the rest of the day?”
“I have some overtime hours at four. So, I'll be heading into work,” Charlie said.
“Sounds good.” Jason took one last sip from his iced tea glass. “Let me know if anything new comes up.”
“I will.”
Jason stood up, stretched a moment, then smoothed out his tan pants. “See ya.”
She watched as he left the café. Maybe the next time she had a little free time she would show the man living in the split-level house just how neighborly she could be. She wiped her mouth with her napkin and pulled a few dollars from her wallet and laid them on the table with Jason's money before heading out into the afternoon sun.
Chapter 12
The faint clean scent of saddle soap clung to Charlie’s nostrils, and the leather chair creaked when she shifted. In her hand, she held a folder. When she noticed her knuckles had turned white and she’d creased the thick manila paper, she loosened her grip.
It turned out that cousin Kenny was not quite the slime ball she expected. The office was filled with expensive fine leather furniture, carved walnut paneling and shelves lined with leather-bound books engraved with gold lettering. A painted portrait of Kenneth Purdue, Esquire hung behind the receptionist's desk. An older woman who wore her silver hair in a graceful twist sat at the desk furiously typing something on her computer. The woman had given Charlie a distracted smile when she entered the office and directed Charlie to sit in the small waiting area. Charlie took deliberate breaths in through her nose and blew them out through her lips. She hated this sort of thing — telling strangers about her life and the choices that she had made. She hoped more than anything Jason was right about his cousin. She was counting on it.
“Ms. Payne,” the receptionist said in a soft southern drawl that sounded like it belonged to someone sitting on a front porch sipping a Hurricane or a Mimosa. She tipped her chin down and looked at Charlie over the top of dark blue framed glasses perched on the end of her long beak-like nose.
“Yes ma'am,” Charlie straightened, balancing on the edge of the seat.
“Mr. Purdue can see you now.”
Charlie rose from her chair. “Thank you,” she said and followed the receptionist down a short hallway to an office with the door open.
The receptionist knocked on the door jam.
“Mr. Purdue,” she announced, poking her head inside. “Your one o'clock is here.”
“Thank you, Jane,” Mr. Purdue said from behind a heavy mahogany desk.
Jane gave her a polite smile and stepped aside for Charlie to pass. “Go right in.”
Charlie’s stomach flip-flopped, and she stepped into the office.
Kenneth J. Purdue reminded Charlie of an English bulldog wearing expensive clothes. His large blocky head seemed to attach directly to his shoulders, and his crisp, white collar creased against his thick jowls.
There wasn’t much family resemblance between Jason and Kenneth. Purdue’s thinning blonde hair showed his scalp, and he looked like he’d spent too much time in the sun without sunscreen. But she recognized that he and Jason shared the same sharp hazel eyes, which now scrutinized her. He stood up, holding out a meaty hand. “How do you do, Miss Payne?” He pumped her hand up and down, and she fought the urge to wipe her palm on her pants once he let go. She wasn’t sure whose hands were sweatier, hers or his. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Charlie bit her tongue to keep from giving him a smart-assed answer. She called up a smile. “Jason's a good man. I think a lot of him, too.”
“Please have a seat.” Kenny gestured toward the chair in front of his desk. “He tells me that you are looking to renegotiate your custody agreement, is that right?”
“Yes, sir.” Charlie set the folder down and pushed it across the desk toward him. “When my husband and I originally created the agreement, I was under duress and I ma
y have,” she sighed, her cheeks filling with heat, “I may have allowed him to bully me into this agreement.”
“Jason says you're doing some work for him, consulting for the Sheriff's Department.”
“I am.”
“He also said that the nature of your consultation can’t be disclosed. Is that correct? Because you are, for lack of a better word, a psychic and they can’t officially acknowledge their relationship with you.”
Charlie's face grew hotter beneath his sharp gaze. She clenched her jaw. “Yes. That’s correct. Is that a problem?”
Kenny’s lips twisted into an amused grin and he chuckled. “It’s not a problem for me. Any chance you have the lotto numbers for me?”
Charlie forced a smile. Why did people always ask her that question? “Unfortunately, it doesn’t work like that.”
“So, you’re not a fortune teller, then?”
“Not exactly. I don’t tell people’s fortunes. I am highly sensitive. I often sense things that other people don’t. I guess I’m what you would call intuitive.”
“Intuitive.” Kenny scribbled the word onto a yellow legal pad sitting in front of him. He sat back in his tall leather chair and folded his hands across his round belly. His sharp eyes fixed on her. “So, what do you intuit about, Miss Payne?”
Charlie felt the smile she had been wearing fade and she fidgeted. “A test? Is that really necessary?”
“Not really,” he said. “But it will make going to battle for you a little easier if I can speak with some certainty.”
“I thought lawyers were supposed to give a defense without prejudice,” she said softly.
“Yes, when they’ve been charged with a crime. That they are. But you haven’t been charged with anything. This is a civil court case I’m taking pro bono,” he reminded her.
Charlie nodded, fully understanding now where he was going with this. “You want proof. That I’m somehow worthy of fighting for.”
“Something like that. And who knows? You and I may just end up working together. I’m always looking for an edge.”
Charlie took a deep breath and leaned forward with her hands out. “I need your hands to do this properly.”
For the first time since she entered the office, Kenneth J. Purdue looked nervous. He cleared his throat softly and sat forward, stretching his thick tree-trunk arms across the desk. Charlie closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. Without fail, images flooded her mind — sights and sounds and smells from a life that she had never known before. A woman’s face floated up — and Charlie immediately saw the resemblance.
What do you want me to tell him? Charlie asked the woman silently.
The woman’s soft-spoken southern voice echoed in Charlie’s ears. Tell Scooter he better get to the doctor. Otherwise he’s going to end up like his brother Jeffrey.
Charlie opened her eyes. “You should go to the doctor unless you want to end up like your brother Jeffrey.”
The doubtful grin that had stretched across his face faded, and he dropped her hands. A visible sheen of sweat rose on his forehead and panic filled his greenish brown eyes. “Did Jason tell you to say that?”
“No, Jason doesn’t even know I’m meeting with you today. Your mother told me that.”
“My mother?” His red face paled. “My mother’s been dead for twenty years.”
The woman appeared behind him, her short salt-and-pepper hair perfectly coiffed, and she wore a pink wool suit. Charlie wondered if it was her favorite outfit or if it was just what she had died in. His mother frowned at him and folded her chubby arms across her chest. “Scooter always was a hardheaded son of a biscuit.”
“Yes, Scooter she has,” Charlie said dryly, irritated with this test. “She just said that you are hardheaded son of a biscuit. And I’m afraid I have to agree with her. Now do you think you can help me or not, Mr. Purdue? Because I don’t have all day to sit here and prove to you that I’m worth your time.”
“Oh, my Lord,” he muttered. His eyes darted right and left. “Is she here now?”
“Yes, she is.” Charlie let her eyes shift behind his left shoulder.
“You can tell him I think that portrait of himself is a little on the pretentious side.”
“No, I want him to help me —” Charlie shook her head.
“Oh, he’ll help you, honey. Tell him if he doesn’t then I’ll definitely haunt him.”
Charlie scowled.
“Go on now.” She waved her hand in a brushing motion at Charlie.
“Tell ‘im.”
“Fine,” Charlie grumbled. “Your mother says that your portrait is a little on the pretentious side.”
He looked around indignantly. His mouth gaped open and closed reminding Charlie of a fish that had found itself stuck on the side of a bank, gasping for air.
“She said she’ll haunt you if you don’t help me.”
Mr. Purdue turned his head and faced her.
“How’s she gonna do that?” he croaked.
Charlie flitted her eyes toward Mrs. Purdue.
The old woman laughed and leaned over. “Watch this,” she said and blew against the back of his neck. The temperature in the room dropped and his hot breath turned into a cold cloud, hanging suspended in front of his face.
“Make her stop,” he said softly.
“Tell him to go to the doctor,” his mother said.
Charlie sat up straight, trying to keep the shivers at bay. “She said go to the doctor and take my case.”
His mother shifted her attention to Charlie. She stood up and put her hands on her ample hips. “Ooh, I like you,” she said. “You’re a smart cookie.”
“Fine,” he said casting a wary glance over his shoulder. “I’ll go to the doctor.”
“And take my case,” Charlie reiterated.
His thick lips flattened into a straight line. “And take your case.”
His mother gave Charlie a wink and disappeared. Kenny took a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his face with it, despite the chill still lingering in the air. He blew out a heavy breath. “You know, Miss Payne. I’m not gonna lie to you. This will be a battle, especially since there’s a signed agreement in place. But –” He glanced around.
“She’s gone,” Charlie said.
“Good.” His shoulders slumped a little as he relaxed.
“You were saying it would be a battle.”
“Right, right. And it will be, but I think it’s worth a shot. Now, are the records I asked you for in here?” He laid his hand on top of the folder she’d set on the desk.
“Yes.” Charlie nodded.
His face looked solemn as he flipped through the bank statements, tax forms, and paycheck stubs. “Very good,” he muttered as he looked through the documents. His thick lips pulled into a reassuring smile, and he shifted his gaze from the papers to her face. “You pay your child support on time?”
“Yes sir, every month.”
“Surprised it’s so much considering what your ex-husband makes.”
“Yes sir,” Charlie whispered.
“Do you know who your ex-husband's lawyer is?”
“I don't know his name off the top of my head. But I can call you back with it.”
“No, that's no problem. Don't you worry about it. I'll find out who it is.”
“What do we do first?” Charlie asked.
“First thing we do is we make a motion with the court. The court will then decide whether or not we can proceed. We’ll have to present a case to them that your ex-husband is not acting in the best interest of the child and that it’s better for you to have custody of your son.”
“How do we do that?” Dread coiled in a tight knot in her stomach. She’d hoped to leave here feeling better about the situation, but now she wasn’t so sure.
“Well, the burden is on us to give the court a good reason to sign-off on the custody change.”
“I think my ex-husband put my son on medication because he’s more,” she paused, choosing her word
s carefully, “—intuitive. Like me. Scott should not be making medical decisions for our son without consulting me first. That is in the agreement.”
“Did he write a prescription for your son?” Kenny picked up a pen and wrote something down on the yellow pad in front of him.
“No, he didn’t write it, but he’s a doctor, and most of his friends are doctors. He’s done it before. Had a friend write a prescription without actually seeing a patient.”
“He did this for your son before?” Kenny scribbled furiously.
“No, not for Evan. For me.”
“What sort of prescription?”
Charlie looked down at her hands in her lap. Her fingers were woven together tightly and her knuckles had whitened. “Anti-depressants.”
“You’re saying a doctor wrote you a prescription for anti-depressants but didn’t actually see you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s something we can definitely work with.” Kenny smiled. His fleshy jowls flapped as he sat back in his chair, his eyes scrutinizing her. Charlie squirmed beneath his gaze. Her stomach flip-flopped. Why did she feel like a traitor? “So, Miss Payne? What would you think about coming to work for me? We could do a trade of services so to speak. I think your talents might be useful.”
“I don’t know,” Charlie said. “That sounds a little more like indentured servitude to me.”
“I promise it wouldn’t be like that,” he said.
“Yeah, I don’t think your mother would like it, if it was,” she quipped.
Kenny laughed and sat back in his chair. “You know, I like you. You’re a smart cookie.”
Charlie shrugged and chuckled. “Yep, that’s what they tell me.”
The heavy darkness overwhelmed her, and the heat and moisture of her breath made the bag over her head cling to her skin, heightening her fear even more. Screaming did no good and only left her throat raw.
“Here is good.”
She jerked her head toward the familiar voice. Something tugged at the bag covering her head and then she was free of it. She took big gulps of cool night air and blinked, trying to look everywhere at once. Finally, her eyes focused on Haley Miller and Emma Winston.