by Pat Warren
She glanced down, trying to see herself through his eyes, and laughed.
“What?”
“That’s pretty funny, considering that I’m the head buyer for one of Denver’s largest department stores. Casual clothes for women, that is.”
“So, that’s it, then? This is as casual as you get?”
He looked so taken aback, she almost laughed again. “I have some jeans in my bag. And a cotton shirt. Would that be better?”
“Lots. And shoes. Do you own a pair of sneakers?”
“Yes.” She set her cup down and placed her hands on her hips in mock challenge, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice. “Anything else?”
Michael stepped closer. “Are those earrings real gold? And that chain you’re wearing?”
Automatically, her hand went to touch the chain. “Yes, why?”
“It’d be better if you left them locked in your room.” He saw her irritation and let out a whoosh of air. “Look, I know this is all new to you. But we’re going to be rubbing elbows with some questionable people. I don’t want to get into a wrestling match with some punk with a knife while I’m trying to defend your jewelry.”
Fallon’s expression sobered. “It’s that bad an area?” “It’s no suburban paradise like you’re used to.” Michael poured himself more coffee.
His cocky, know-it-all manner rubbed her the wrong way. “How do you know what I’m used to?”
Mug in hand, he stepped closer until he was right in front of her. “Tell me I’m wrong and I’ll apologize.”
Her eyes stared into his for a long moment. She wasn’t about to let him intimidate her. She needed him, but not that badly. And his habit of moving into her space was getting on her nerves. She stepped aside. “I don’t imagine you apologize readily or often.”
His smile was as arrogant as his words. “Only when I’m wrong, and that’s not often.”
The back door swung open just then and Sukey came bustling in, muttering to herself. “Cops in this town got nothing better to do than to hound taxpaying citizens.” Tossing down her purse, she grabbed her apron from a hook on the wall and began wrapping it around herself. “All kinds of criminals out there, but do they go after them? No, sir. They hide behind hedges and zoom out, scaring poor widow ladies half to death.”
Michael’s smile warmed. “Did you get another speeding ticket, Sukey?”
The tall woman fumbled with the apron ties. “That cop just didn’t have his quota of tickets for the week passed out, that’s all. I was going three, maybe four, miles over the speed limit and he comes racing after me, sirens blazing, like I’m some sort of bank robber or something.”
Winking at Fallon, Michael set his cup in the sink. “How many miles over was that again?”
“Five. Six, tops. Made me late was what he did.” She opened the refrigerator and took out a large package of bagels, then began slicing them to toast.
“Has this happened before?” Fallon dared to ask.
“Every few weeks, right, Sukey?” Michael teased. “Around here, we call her Old Lead Foot.”
Sukey swatted her dish towel at him. “Who you calling old?”
A sound from behind them had all three turning toward the back door. Through the screen, they could see a young woman wearing an open raincoat, clutching her abdomen, nearly bent in half.
“Help me, someone, please.” The voice was weak, pitiful.
Michael was the first to respond, rushing to open the door. “Wendy!” He caught her just as her legs gave out and she cried out in pain. “My baby!”
Fallon recognized the pregnant young girl he’d been talking to in the park last evening.
“It’s all right, Wendy,” Michael told her. “I’ve got you.”
“Bring her in on the couch, Michael,” Sukey said, holding the door open.
He glanced down at the porch floor and shook his head. “I don’t think we have time, Sukey. Her water’s broken. I’m going to take her to the hospital. Call Paul and tell him we’re going in.”
Wendy moaned. “Am I going to lose my baby?”
“You did the right thing coming here, Wendy,” Michael assured her. “We’re going to get you the help you need.” He managed to get a firmer grip on her and started down the steps.
Fallon realized he’d given her an answer without directly answering her question. “Do you want me to go with you?” she asked from the doorway as Sukey hurried to the phone.
“No need,” he called back over his shoulder. “Wait for me and we’ll go as soon as I get back.”
From the porch, Fallon watched him help the frightened girl lie down on the bench seat, then climb behind the wheel. The van backed out quickly. She went inside just as Sukey hung up the phone. “Well, quite an exciting morning around here.”
“Not that unusual,” Sukey answered, setting out several pitchers of juice, then reaching for a carton of paper cups. “You’d be surprised how often Michael has to make a hospital run with one thing or another.”
Fallon heard voices, doors opening and slamming, a couple of shouts and the sound of feet on the porch. The kids were arriving for breakfast. “Can I help you?” she offered.
“Sure. There’s margarine and cream cheese in the fridge to go with the bagels. I’ll set out the fruit bowl.”
Fallon had so many questions she would like answers to, about Michael and his operation. She wondered how talkative Sukey was. “That was Dr. Ramirez that you called?”
“Yes, ma’am. Those two been friends forever and a day.”
Fallon set the table, then lined up the large boxes of cereal on the sideboard along with pitchers of milk. “They grew up together here in California?”
“They been pals since their teens, I know.” Sukey moved to the table as the kids streamed in and noisily pulled out chairs. “Hats off at the table, guys,” she instructed. “And no smoking in here. Josh, put that out right now.”
The boy shot her a look, but he went out back and threw away his cigarette.
Sukey spotted the newcomer. “Daryl,” she said, touching his shoulder lightly, “good to have you back with us.”
Fallon saw the boy give her just a hint of a smile, then look up to catch her eye. She smiled at him, but he dropped his gaze to his plate. Poor kid, always having to adjust, she thought. But he looked better this morning with clean clothes and his hair washed.
Elbows akimbo, Sukey surveyed the table. “Your eye any better, Lisa?” she asked a dark-haired girl. “I don’t think so. Better have Opal take a look.” She scanned each face in turn. “Where’s Roxie this morning?”
“She’s not feeling good,” a short blonde answered. “Opal said she should stay in bed until Dr. Paul comes this afternoon.”
“I’ll make another pot of coffee,” Fallon offered. She had to put her curiosity on hold as Sukey saw to her young guests. Sukey apparently was much more than the cook, for she had a word or comment for every one of them, Fallon noticed.
It wasn’t the usual gathering. Teenagers were typically loud, somewhat rowdy, chattering in between bursts of laughter. These kids were much quieter, almost subdued, some hardly saying a word. They had more than breakfast on their minds.
Opal arrived and passed out vitamin pills. Fallon noticed that several kids got other medication as well, but she had no idea what. One youngster who couldn’t seem to stop coughing was taken aside for additional medicine. Nearly all of them drank coffee, although personally, Fallon thought several looked quite young. And all but two of the kids went out back to light up afterward.
A man who looked to be in his sixties with a gray beard arrived and was introduced to her as Nolan, one of the instructors. He had a friendly, open manner and joined the kids outside, announcing that the round-table discussion would be starting in the assembly room upstairs in ten minutes.
Helping Sukey clean up the kitchen, Fallon couldn’t help throwing out an observation. “It doesn’t seem as if the Surgeon General’s warning has had an impac
t on these kids. They all smoke like little chimneys.”
Sukey was bent low, loading the dishwasher. “They got to have some outlet, I guess. Smoking cigarettes isn’t good, but it’s better than smoking pot.”
Fallon swiveled around. “Pot? They smoke pot?”
“Not no more they don’t, but yeah, sure, some of them did. And other drugs, too. But here, they have to stay clean and sober. That’s the main rule and we make ‘em stick to it. They have to take regular urine tests. Caffeine and tobacco is their substitute. Legal drugs, I call them. Opal and Dr. Paul try their best to wean them from those, too. But these kids, they got some big problems if they been on the street a long while, and even before. I suppose they need a crutch, like most of us.” She straightened and closed the dishwasher. “But, if they stick around here long enough, we get ’em good and healthy.”
Fallon reached for a twist tie for the trash bag, wondering if Laurie had encountered any drug dealers. “I’ll bet you do.”
“Ain’t for lack of trying if we don’t.” Sukey poured herself a cup of coffee before starting on the luncheon menu. “I hear your sister’s out there somewhere.”
Fallon nodded. “I sure wish I knew where. Do you remember seeing Laurie here?”
“Sort of. Michael described her to me. Looks a lot like you. She ate supper with us that one time. We had a real bad rainstorm that night. She didn’t have much of an appetite, as I recall, and she was real shy. Hardly said a word to anyone.”
Gazing out the window, Fallon felt a shiver take her. “It’s such a big city out there. It has to be very frightening, living on the street. I don’t see how these young kids manage.”
“They manage ‘cause what they got where they come from is worse, don’t you know?” Sukey sighed. “Too many people who shouldn’t be having children have ’em anyway, I say. These kids, they know they’re not wanted and it eats at ‘em. They feel in the way, like a burden. So they leave, hoping to find better. Only most of ’em don’t.” She downed the rest of her coffee and tasted bitterness.
Fallon’s curiosity nudged her. “How did you get into working here, Sukey, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I don’t mind. My husband, Jack, was a good man most of the time, ’cept when he drank and then he could be real nasty. Times like that, he’d hit anything or anyone got in his way. One night when he was like that, our son Rodney tried to talk to him, get him to stop. Jack beat him up real good, and me, too. Rodney ran away. I looked all over, trying to find him, but I didn’t get to him in time. Somebody robbed him of the few dollars he had, beat him some more and left him to die next to a Dumpster in an alley. He was fifteen.”
Instinctively, Fallon reached out and touched her arm. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, me, too. Happened a long time ago, but it still hurts. I left Jack after that and went to work cooking at this Oriental restaurant. My grandmother was Asian and taught me a lot of good recipes. Then one day, I heard about Michael’s House. Good things, fine things. I came and offered to work for him. Been here ever since. Ain’t nobody ever say nothing bad about that boy, not around me. He’s a lifeline for some of these kids. If my Rodney had had a place like this to run to, he’d still be alive today. Michael, he’s one in a million.”
She had him sounding like a saint, Fallon thought, and wondered if everyone who worked with Michael felt the same. He did seem to inspire loyalty. “I imagine his father’s very proud of all the good he does.”
Sukey’s wrinkle-free face attempted a frown. “His father?”
“Yes, Judge Redfield.”
The cook shook her head. “Judge Redfield’s not Michael’s father.” The phone on the kitchen wall rang and Sukey moved over to answer it.
Fallon vaguely heard Sukey’s conversation while she pondered what she’d just learned. Michael had told her he wasn’t adopted. He’d also said that his mother and father had both loved him. Had as in past tense. Was the judge an uncle, perhaps? Odd that he wouldn’t have just said so.
Sukey set the receiver on the counter, looked over and saw the concern on the young woman’s face, misreading her frown. “Don’t you worry none. Michael will find your sister. I’ve got to hunt down Nolan. Someone looking for him. ’Scuse me.” Sukey left the kitchen.
Fallon decided to go upstairs and change so when Michael returned, she would be ready to go in more acceptable casual clothes, as he’d so graciously requested.
Three hours later, though, at eleven, Michael still hadn’t returned. Why hadn’t he at least called, knowing she was waiting? Fallon wondered, steaming. If Wendy’s baby had been so close to being born when they’d left, what had he been doing all this time since? Of course, Wendy probably had no one else and was undoubtedly frightened. She felt ashamed of herself for begrudging the poor young girl Michael’s support just because she wanted to get on with things.
But then, patience had never been Fallon’s strongest suit, a fact she was embarrassingly aware of. However, time was being wasted and she had precious little of it to fritter away, pacing. There had to be something she could do while she waited.
She removed Laurie’s picture from her purse and paused to study it. Such a sweet face, so innocent looking. She closed her eyes on a prayer that her sister was all right. Then she hurried downstairs, stopping at the front desk.
“Opal, would you please tell Michael that I’ve gone to get some flyers made up and I’ll be back soon?”
The nurse looked up from her ledger. “He called a while ago and left a message for you. I thought you’d left the building.”
“I was upstairs. What’s the message?”
“That he’s delayed and you’re to wait for him.”
Irritated, Fallon frowned. How long, exactly, was she supposed to sit and wait? The man had an infuriating habit of giving orders and expecting instant obedience. Well, she wasn’t one of his staff. “Would you happen to know if there’s a print shop around here somewhere?”
“There used to be one up on Cedar that we used occasionally a while back. I don’t know if it’s still there, though.” Opal took her measure. “Michael’s not going to like it if you don’t do as he asked.”
“He doesn’t ask, Opal. He commands. Thanks for the information.” Fallon rushed off.
Her lips pursed, Opal watched the young woman hurry down the porch steps. She wouldn’t want to be in Fallon’s shoes when Michael finally returned, she thought. Miss McKenzie had come here for his help, then gone off on her own because she was impatient. She would soon learn that rushing out without a plan would get little if any results.
Opal sighed audibly. Funny how people so frequently showed up expecting to find someone who’d been gone for weeks just by strolling outside and gazing about. Not her problem, she decided, and went back to work.
In her Mustang, Fallon spread out the city map and found Cedar Street. It took her a good twenty minutes to locate Quick Print since she was unfamiliar with the area and its many one-way streets. Inside, she found a very helpful fellow, Larry, who spent quite a bit of time with her helping design her flyer on their computer. When she had the text just right and the photo placed as she wished it to appear, Larry went to the back and reduced it to fit and ran a sample copy.
Fallon thought the finished product looked great and told him so. She sat down to wait while he ran five hundred copies, which cost just a little more than one hundred would have. It seemed a lot, but she wanted to flood the area with Laurie’s picture. Someone had to have seen her somewhere.
Armed with the box of flyers, she next walked to a nearby hardware store Larry recommended for some heavy-duty clear tape that she would need to tape the flyers onto trees and poles. Larry said nailing them in place would mean some people might rip them off and rain would soak them off. Tape was best. That done, she placed a handful of the flyers and the roll of tape into the bag, leaving the rest in her parked car, and set out on foot.
It was obvious from the people she’d glimpsed through t
he print-shop window and now strolling the sidewalk that this was an area frequented by some of the homeless. She might as well begin here, putting up the flyers whenever she saw a likely spot. But first, her stomach reminded her that she’d helped with breakfast at seven that morning, but hadn’t eaten anything herself.
A coffee shop with a red neon sign blinking on and off was visible two blocks away. Fallon headed for it. She peered through the plate-glass window and saw a long counter with half a dozen stools and several booths along the sidewall. The place looked clean enough, so she went inside.
Taking the second booth, she noticed a pay phone near the door. Should she call Michael’s House and see if he’d finally returned? Who knew how long he would be at the hospital or wherever else he might go? She had no right to demand that he drop everything and help her. But, by the same token, she wasn’t about to take orders from him to sit tight until his return. She would do what she could without him.
A gum-chewing waitress wearing a heavy hairnet took her order for a BLT on white toast and iced tea. There were no salads on the menu, which Fallon would have preferred. Apparently, this part of town subsisted on sandwiches and fried food.
She checked the place out further as the waitress brought over her tea. “Do you get a lot of teenagers in here?” she asked the woman.
“Yeah, some,” she answered noncommittally.
Fallon reached into the bag and pulled out a flyer. “Have you seen this girl?”
The waitress peered closely at Laurie’s photo. “She don’t look familiar.” She handed back the flyer. “We get a lot of folks in here. They come and go, you know.”
“Sure.” Fallon nodded toward the bulletin board hanging on the far wall. “Do you think I could post this up there?”
“You gotta ask Fred, the owner.”
“Thanks, I will. Are you from around here?”
The woman, who seemed to be in her late thirties, gave her a suspicious look. “Yeah, why?”