Heaven to Betsy (Emily #1)

by Pamela Fagan Hutchins

  Footsteps approached along with the tinkle of Snowflake’s tags. I tensed, not ready to face him.

  “Here are the other client files with instructions for your next few projects when you’re done with Johnson. I’ll be in court today.” His voice sounded tight and echo-y.

  I tried to make myself sound neutral, even though tears threatened to fall again. “Okay, thanks.”

  He opened the door and disappeared down the hall with Snowflake and me staring at the space he left behind.

  ***

  I spent the morning on a variety of tasks, most of them not work related. Of course, there was my ongoing text war with Rich. Luckily, he’d disappeared about an hour ago. I needed the breather—from him and from a persistent ache in my abdomen, which I hoped was just stress.

  I had emailed a few prospective employers about jobs I found in the Globe News. One as a legal secretary, another as a receptionist. Unfortunately, there weren’t any ads for paralegals. I hated to take a job outside my field, especially for less money, but I’d blown it this morning, and I needed a backup plan—fast. I hoped Jack didn’t fire me before I found something else. My heart lurched and made a liar out of me— it knew I hoped he didn’t fire me at all.

  I checked my personal email, something I only did every few days. In it was an email from Katie, dated yesterday.

  Emily: Congratulations on the baby! Collin told me the fantastic news, and also a lot of other not-so-great things, but I want to hear it from you. Call me, and I promise I won’t make it all about me for a change. <3 Tell your mother hello for me, and take your prenatal vitamins.

  I would call her, for sure, but not when Jack could walk in. I flagged the message.

  On a whim, I had texted Nadine, the waitress from My Thai: It’s Emily. We bonded the other day over my crash landing into Taco Villa back in the day, and we talked about getting together. Want to grab dinner?

  Despite all the nonwork stuff, I had uncovered a wealth of juicy nuggets for Jack on Paul Johnson, so I felt virtuous about that, at least. I eyed the new client files. My stomach growled. Which to deal with first? Neither.

  I grabbed my phone and texted Wallace. Again: Any news on Valentina? Do you know if the police found Maria Delgado or Harvey?

  When neither Wallace nor Nadine answered me, the new project work seemed to glow like a bright light, refusing to be ignored. I grabbed the first file.

  My phone rang. Thank God. “Hello?”

  Crackle. “—Ily Ber—” Crackle.

  “Our reception is terrible. This is Emily Bernal speaking.”

  “I have your—” Crackle-crackle.

  I stood up. “I can’t hear you.”

  Crackle-crackle-crackle. “—car.”

  I climbed up on the couch, trying to get my phone higher, to reach better coverage. “Can you repeat that?”

  The call dropped.

  The door opened. Wallace stood in the doorway in pressed khakis, work boots, and some Paul Bunyan-like plaid shirt. His eyebrows shot up.

  I tried for a graceful dismount. “Um, bad cell reception.”

  “That’s what I’d say if I was caught doing a Tom Cruise on the couch.”

  I laughed and he held up a bag. 575 Pizzeria. “I got a red pie and a white one,” he said. “Both meatless, since I learned you were a rebel yesterday. Hungry?”

  My mouth watered. “You went all the way to 575 Pizzeria?”

  “I’d have gone twice that far for their pizza.”

  We walked to the kitchen. Was my tongue hanging out like a dog’s, or did it just feel like it? I grabbed plates and napkins and set them out while Wallace extracted the boxes from the bag. When he opened the first lid and that cheesy, doughy goodness wafted my way, I nearly cried.

  “I’ve had a really bad day. Pizza is about the only thing in the world that could make it better. You’re psychic.”

  He grinned, mouth full of a piece of the basil, garlic, and pine nuts red pie.

  I put a piece of each pie on my plate. “And today? Let’s just say today can bite me.”

  I chomped into the white pie and exhaled to cool the cheesy part that stuck to the roof of my mouth. It was wonderful, and I admired it in my hand, covered in stripes of white cheese and green chiles.

  He laughed, half-choking. “You’re not much of a cusser.”

  I brandished a slice. “I may not cuss tough, but I fight tough.”

  “I believe that after yesterday.”

  “Hey, you didn’t happen to bring my gun with you, did you?”

  “No way in hell I’m carrying that thing without a license,” Wallace said. “Do you know what happens to men as gorgeous as me in the slammer? I like to choose my dates, thank you very much.”

  I snorted, then laughed. “Did you find those teenagers we saw yesterday?”

  Wallace held a hand up until he finished chewing a bite. “The police did. The kids’ names are Greg Easley and Farrah Farud. Their case worker—Byron, you’d like him, good guy—took them back to a group home until we investigate the abuse allegations.”

  “That’s good, I guess.”

  He waggled his hand and nodded. “It’s a start.”

  We ate in silence a few moments until I had enough food in me to return to my favorite topic. “You brought me an update on Valentina, didn’t you?”

  “Now who’s psychic?” He grinned.

  “Psycho, more like it.”

  A voice in the lobby interrupted. “Excuse me, anyone here?”

  I took a gulp of my tea through a bite of red pie before saying, “Yes, just a moment!” I jumped to my feet, chewing frantically and mopping sauce from my face and hands.

  “Expecting someone?”

  I headed to the door, looking back at him. “Nope.”

  The man in the lobby/my office looked about my age, ordinary in a white skin, brown hair, brown eyes kind of way, in clean blue jeans and a long-sleeved blue tee with the words Professional Drivers, Inc. across the chest. He held a clipboard and a ring of keys. He had a pleasant smell that I couldn’t place.

  “Hello, may I help you?”

  “I’m looking for Emily Bernal.” His voice had a weary undertone to its friendliness.

  “That’s me.”

  He nodded. “I called earlier. I have your car for you. I’ll just need a credit card and to take you downstairs so you can check it out and sign for it.”

  Rich had failed to mention when I should expect my car, since baby talk had dominated the last fifteen hours of our interactions. I took the bill and recoiled. Gas, delivery fee, and money for a taxi to the airport and a plane ticket back to Dallas. It was more than I had left in my checking account. I retrieved my Visa card and handed it to him.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  He swiped the card in his phone reader and typed on his screen.

  Wallace had joined us by now. “Looks like you can drive this afternoon,” he said.

  I scribbled my name with my fingertip on the phone extended toward me. “Where are we going this afternoon?” I asked Wallace.

  “Well, no one’s tracked down Maria Delgado yet. Obviously the job calls for our Scooby Doo investigator team skills.”

  I laughed again. Thank God Wallace had come. “A team on which I am clearly Velma. Can we look for Harvey when we’ve corralled Maria?”

  “Yep. And then, later, you might want to play around on the Internet. With the name Antonio Rosa.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “The gay-hating manager of the apartments finally coughed up a name to the cops. Antonio is the guy who paid for Sofia and Valentina’s apartment.”

  “Heck yeah.” Before I could stop myself, I did a fist pump, and even went a little airborne. It wasn’t pretty.

  Wallace burst out laughing at my feeble curse and leap, and I laughed, too, loud and real, heart hammering. The bad morning receded a little. We were going to find Valentina—I just knew it.

  The driver interrupted. I’d forgotten he was there. �
��If you don’t mind, I’ve got a plane to catch.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  Wallace added, “Pick me up at my office.”

  Jack wasn’t here to ask permission, so I pretended that if he had been, he would have said yes.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The light green Mustang I’d given myself as a landing-my-first-job reward eight years ago still ran like a top, but it was looking rode hard and put up wet. I didn’t even think about cleaning it until two blocks from the CPS building when it hit me how far it was below Wallace’s standards. The delivery driver had used paper mats, but those had only covered dirty mats and carpet underneath. Residue of lattes past clung to the drink holders. A gym bag with used clothing glared at me from behind the passenger seat. Trash of spurious origins littered the back floor mats. I searched the glove compartment and console at a red light. No Handi Wipes. No miniature trash can. Oh well. Too late to do anything about it.

  Wallace stood on the sidewalk in front of a nondescript building (amongst other nondescript buildings and large surface parking lots) fiddling with his phone. I tapped my horn lightly, and he looked up. My car withered under his scrutiny, and he hadn’t even gotten in yet.

  He slammed the door and then gasped. “Emily. No.”

  “It’s not like you’re going to get Ebola from it or something.”

  Wallace cocked his head, eyebrows up but eyes soft. “I’m not so sure. That’s why Uncle Wallace is going to treat you to the most divine car wash ever.” I sputtered but he shook his head. “This little baby is borderline vintage, and she deserves preservation.”

  Wallace directed me to the The Works car wash, and, once there, paraded around like a VIP. Talk about a place where everybody knows your name. He must have practically lived there, or owned stock. The trip to The Works for auto detailing set us back forty-five minutes. I decided not to let it bother me that we’d spent the time on my car. I’d left Jack a note that I’d be back in by midafternoon, and we were just making one stop at Maria’s. It shouldn’t take that long, and even I had to admit that the Mustang looked fabulous, with a little prance in her step after the detailing. Just in time to hang out in a neighborhood where she would have blended better in her previous condition.

  Wallace made no secret of studying me as we drove away from The Works. “Okay, so I’ve held back as long as I can. Who peed in your Post Toasties today?”

  I shook my head. “Who didn’t?” Then, because there was nothing else I could do, I laughed. “After the quality time we’ve spent together, I feel it’s time to share.”

  “Sharing time, yes!”

  I laughed harder, startled by his shout. “So, I’m back in Amarillo because a gay transgender man named Stormy who was dressed like a woman crashed my ‘Surprise, honey, I’m pregnant’ party to stake his claim to my husband, Rich, who had in the meantime drained our finances Sahara dry.”

  Wallace stared at me for a moment. I looked at his face. Expressionless. I was afraid I’d offended him somehow, but then he said, “Wow, that’s some major-league sharing. I hope you don’t expect me to top that.”

  I shook my head. “Oh, and that’s not even all. My girlfriend Katie found out from her brother Collin that I was preggers, so she congratulated my mother, who ripped me a new one for keeping her in the dark and took it upon herself to inform my ex, whom I hadn’t told yet either and who’s basically been strafing me with text fire all day. Oh, and I got in a snit at Jack and barged in on him half-dressed and in the midst of drawing a lovely charcoal picture of his daughter in front of his shrine to the family I didn’t know he had, and he’s not speaking to me.”

  “Jesus, Emily, I hope you’ve got your therapist on speed dial.”

  “I can’t afford one, thanks to Rich.”

  “And here you are back in Amarillo.”

  “Where everybody is a little too interested in my business. ‘There goes poor Emily who wasn’t enough woman to hold onto her man.’”

  He shook his head. “Honey, it doesn’t sound like any woman was woman enough for your man.”

  “Ironic, isn’t it?”

  He reached over and patted my knee. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll be old news by Christmas.”

  I snorted.

  “And Emily? I think the term you’re looking for about Stormy is transvestite.”

  “Good to know for when I tell the police why I slapped the bitch.” I clapped my hand over my mouth. “Sorry.”

  He whooped. “Don’t be sorry. That’s the spirit.” He smacked me a high five. “Okay, you’re allowed one more hour to pout and be the center of attention. After that it’s my turn.”

  “Deal.”

  “In the meantime, take me back to the part about Jack and half-naked.”

  The conversation lightened. It felt good to get all of it out, and my mood improved. I turned into Maria’s neighborhood and decided to swing around the block first.

  “I don’t think she can park in back, but let’s take a look,” I said.

  All we saw on the next street was more houses, and there was no alley between the two streets.

  “Yeah, and she doesn’t have a front garage either,” Wallace said. “She’s going to have to park on the street.”

  “I wish we knew what she drove.”

  “Or if she has a car at all.”

  “True. I didn’t find anything registered to her.”

  I parked the Mustang three houses down. We walked to her door. I heard a giggle, and the sound of feet. I rang the front bell, then knocked. No answer. No lights. No more sounds.

  “Someone doesn’t want us to know they’re here,” I said. “But the laugh sounded like a child.” I chewed my top lip. “Valentina?”

  “It sounded more like a little boy to me.”

  “You’re right. Let’s watch the house for a while. Unless you can think of something else?”

  “No, sounds good.”

  We hadn’t been in the car five minutes when I pointed out a slight Hispanic woman in jeans and a black jack-o’-lantern sweatshirt headed toward us, from beyond Maria’s house. She carried white plastic grocery bags with a red and blue logo on them looped over her arms.

  Wallace leaned in her direction. “That could be her.”

  “She looks about the right age.”

  We knew to expect a fifty-ish woman from the information I’d found on her.

  I tucked my handbag under my arm and put my hand on the door latch. The woman cut across the yard of the house next door at an angle toward Maria’s. Wallace and I looked at each other and nodded, and we slipped out of the car. We walked toward Maria’s house, moving quickly. The woman noticed us, and she started running, groceries spilling all across the grass. Oranges, avocados, a quart carton of milk, tortillas.

  I shouted but my words were punctuated by gasping breaths as I ran to intercept her. “Maria, wait, someone kidnapped Valentina Perez. We’re not with INS, we just want to help the little girl.”

  She didn’t slow down. Wallace surprised me with a burst of speed and he made it to the door before she did. She stopped short, and I hit the front steps full tilt.

  Crack! My foot exploded through the old wood and my momentum threw the rest of me forward into the steps: knees first, then gut and hands. All of the air came out of my lungs in a “woof.” And then I yelled bloody murder, rattling the windows.

  “Mother Goose!”

  “Emily!” Wallace had a panicked look on his face.

  The woman looked at me, then at her front door and moved toward it.

  “No! I’m fine.” I pushed myself up with my right hand, and I waved my left at her. “Don’t let her get past you.”

  Wallace stayed put. “Maria, please. We don’t care what you’re doing, or who the little boy is inside that house.”

  She drew a shaky breath.

  Wallace continued. “Some white guy, big, with a shaved head, took Valentina. You know who Valentina is, right? Sofia’s daughter? Sofia, the one
who used your ID to get a job, the one on the news who killed a guy at a hotel last week?”

  I had meanwhile gingerly pulled my foot out of the splintery hole in the bottom step. My navy shoe stayed behind, so I reached in and got it. I sighed and put it back on. The wood had torn my knit pants, but the pants had protected my skin. I’d have an ugly bruise and I had splinters in both hands, but I wasn’t really hurt that badly. I rubbed my stomach. The cramps that I’d endured off and on the last few days were still there, but no worse than before. Sorry, baby.

  Maria took a step back, shaking her head.

  I stood up. “I’m Emily and we talked about all of that on the phone last Friday. You’re Maria, aren’t you?”

  She shook her head again.

  “A six-year-old little girl. And you could help her, couldn’t you?” She didn’t react at all. I softened my voice, pleading. “Please. The man had a tattoo, an ESL, a weird E, here, on his arm.” I pointed to the inside of my left upper arm.

  Finally she spoke. “You not cops?”

  I definitely recognized her voice from our phone conversation. “No, we’re not.”

  “Not INS?”

  “No.”

  “Then go. You trespass, and I defend myself.”

  “What?”

  She pulled a handgun out of her purse. I raised my eyebrows and Wallace put his hands in front of him, palms forward, and said, “We were just leaving.”

  ***

  Back at the office, I took Snowflake out to do her business and then settled in at my desk. I was disappointed—and sore—from the visit to Maria’s. I felt virtuous for the Johnson report I’d left Jack in his chair that morning and it didn’t appear he’d been back to the office while I was gone. That meant my brownie points were already in the bank, so I allotted myself fifteen more minutes to sleuth online. I’d still have two hours left in the day to work on the new client projects afterward.

  A text came in, Nadine answering mine from earlier: I’m working tonight. Coffee tomorrow?