“Don, can you catch me up on what happened.”
He sighed without looking up from his food, and his shiny blond waves swayed gently from side to side.
“The last six months haven’t gone very well for us.”
He met my gaze and shook his head more vigorously. “I know we didn’t say anything to you about our problems. Pammie—that is the name she prefers—just never seemed to settle into our home. Charlie doesn’t want to accept it, but I think it was a mistake to move her to Seattle in what amounts to an informal foster parent arrangement. We had no real control or influence over her.”
I can’t say his words were surprising, but they sure saddened me. His eyes shimmered, and his anguish radiated straight into my heart.
“Do you know what went wrong?”
“Not entirely. I think for the first few months, she tried or maybe pretended to try to adjust. You know, she’s almost eighteen now, and I guess we should have realized she wouldn’t have anything in common with Penelope, who’s only eight.”
“Don, you had to know the deck was stacked against you on this from the beginning, but you were trying to help her, and that is admirable. Did you know she was coming back here?”
“Not at first. She just disappeared. Then she called just one time to say she was fine and was back home. At least she did that. It was a relief because Charlie was having a lot of anxiety. Still is. Actually, I’m worried about him. I hated to leave him and Penelope alone, but I didn’t know what else to do.”
“When did she call?”
“About two weeks ago. We assumed home meant Las Vegas. I think she must have been in touch with someone here the whole time. The only thing that makes sense is that whoever that is, they paid her way back here. Anyway, we’ve heard nothing since then.”
“What do the police say?”
“They say they can’t do anything but keep an eye on the street teens. Kids come and go, and unless they’re involved in a crime, they just blend in with the rest of the homeless population. There’s concern about young women becoming prostitutes, but they can’t arrest or intervene with the daily activities of every street kid, and most are not cooperative. They told me the kids often won’t admit they’re being abused in any way.”
“Wow, is there that big a problem in Vegas with homeless kids?”
Don’s intense sadness and frustration were drawing his shoulders down in an uncharacteristic slump, making him look about a decade older.
“Yeah, apparently, there’s a huge problem here with homeless teens caught up in prostitution. Pammie is older than most of the girls on the street, and the cops say that at nearly eighteen, she should be able to make her own decision about where to live. If she doesn’t want the secure home we offered, they won’t do much unless a crime is committed.
“All I’ve been able to get out of a few kids I found hanging around the motel is that they don’t know her. My impression is they knew perfectly well who I was talking about, especially when I showed them her picture. They have to know more than they’re willing to tell me, but they don’t want to communicate.”
It was clear that Don was getting more frantic and emotional. He looked very tired, so I suggested he try to get some rest and we would start fresh in the morning. I was feeling a little overwhelmed and exhausted myself.
“I promise I’ll talk to Brooks tonight to see if he has any ideas.”
5
Just ahead of rush hour, the trip to the Larkin’s house twelve miles to the west took less than twenty minutes. As is typical of major US cities, the relatively short distance from the inner city deposited me in an entirely different environment. For sure, it was completely apart from Pammie’s if she was still living downtown. After my conversation with Don, I wasn’t convinced.
I exited US 95 at the Summerlin Parkway exit, then drove south on Durango Drive to the Las Vegas Lakes development not far from Red Rocks Park. Following the directions provided by my phone’s GPS, I turned on Desert Inn Road. A short distance and two turns later, I found Shoreline Drive. Despite the complicated directions, as promised, halfway down the block, I found my destination on the right.
When Sid first moved here, she described the new neighborhood with a lot of enthusiasm. The Lakes is a two-square-mile community with widely differing residence types and price ranges, including condominiums, apartments, middle- and high-end homes, and commercial space. The centerpiece is large man-made Lake Sahara. Its shores are lined with multimillion-dollar estates and private boat docks.
Greenbelts and canals wind through part of the community. I couldn’t believe how similar the environment was to my beloved Marco Island—without the beach, of course. The Lakes came together during the 1980s and 1990s, and at that time, it marked the far edge of development in Las Vegas Valley.
I pulled into the driveway, cut the engine, and studied the pretty modest tract home. This was not a million-dollar property. With pale yellow stucco—my favorite color—and orange roof tiles, it looked cheery despite the stark Xeriscape plantings. Various cacti and desert wildflowers nestled in rocks surrounded widely spaced palm trees. A tiled path bordered by river rock curved from the driveway to the front entrance.
Next to a three-car garage, the front door was shaded by a high portico held up by square stucco columns. All the houses on the street sat on minimal size lots with little space between them. As Sid explained to me over the phone, it really was a rather modest home.
Years ago, I visited Sid’s over-the-top suite at Athens Olympia. She always hated that home because her ex-husband, Paul Denezza, decorated it in cold commercial black and white. Of course his décor choices were the least of her problems. I also visited Brooks’s elegant multimillion-dollar condominium high up in the Stratosphere Hotel’s tower, which I recalled was filled with beautiful artwork.
In comparison to their previous residences, this home where she and Brooks chose to begin their lives together was in a minor league. Looking around at the yard and neighboring houses, I wondered if this innocuous location buried in the middle of the development and the relatively modest price brought Sid a sense of security and concealment.
Still standing in the driveway, I took a deep breath and tried to put my sad conversation with Don aside for now. Just as I popped the trunk to extract my suitcase, the front door opened, and Sid came bounding down the walk with arms outstretched.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Darcy.”
We hugged, and she took a step back to look up at me. Her auburn bangs glistened above arresting green eyes that danced with merriment. “You look fabulous as usual, darling,” she quipped.
“Thanks, Sid. So do you. I’m so happy to finally see your new home, as well as the two of you.”
She turned toward the house and stared for a moment as if seeing it in a new light. “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re not the only one. We have so much wealth between us—of course we could have bought a much nicer house. But you know, we’re finding ways to give lots away to various charities, and we want to travel more. This less stressful lifestyle is fine for us. If Brooks didn’t have to go downtown to work most days, it would be perfect.”
I gave her another hug. “I just want to see you happy, Sid.” I yanked my suitcase out onto the ground. “I hope you have a glass of wine or something in there.”
“Ha, we haven’t given up all the finer things in life. Brooks probably wants to make you a martini. We have your favorite.”
“Yes, I would love to do that,” Brooks said as he strode down the walkway. He put his arm around my shoulder and gave me a quick embrace. Grabbing my bag, he turned toward the house. “Let’s get inside. It’s hotter than hell out here. Did you find us all right?”
“It was easy, and anyway, my GPS girlfriend never lets me down.”
Watching Brooks’s back as he led the way, I noted that he was as handsome a
s ever. Age only seemed to enhance his classic symmetrical features, and his expertly styled dark brown hair held only a few gray strands. Each time I reunite with my best friend and her new husband, who is also my ex, the fleeting awkwardness diminishes a little more. This time, I hardly felt a thing.
The home was lovely. Some gorgeous pieces of furniture obviously made their way from the couple’s previous homes.
“This is beautiful,” I said, taking in the original paintings professionally displayed on elegant taupe walls, many with lights mounted over them.
Honey-colored hardwood covered all the floors with several gorgeous Oriental rugs strategically placed in seating and traffic areas.
“I’ll put your bag in the guest room. It’s just down this hallway,” Brooks said over his shoulder.
Sid was beaming. The sprinkle of freckles across her nose combined with her pixie face and short stature made it impossible to imagine her as anything but girlish.
“You are happy, aren’t you?” I asked.
“So far, everything is great. Brooks is the best husband I could imagine. Speaking of husbands, how is Mick doing?”
I sighed and eased onto a comfortable upholstered barstool at the counter that separated the living space from the kitchen.
“We’re okay, but Mick is having a hard time with Rachael and Anna being gone. We don’t have any idea if or when she’ll be back.”
“I’m so sorry, Darcy. Brooks is upset about it too, of course. I’m sure he’ll talk to you about it. He’s heard from her a few times.”
“Yeah, us too.”
Brooks joined us and assembled the tools for martini making. Reaching into the freezer, he pulled out a bottle of Ketel One. “Do you want one, Sid?”
“Okay, I’ll have just one to enjoy with Darcy.”
Brooks is an alcoholic who hasn’t had a drink for more than fifteen years. His out-of-control addiction destroyed our marriage, but he is a different person now—kind where he was mean and patient where he was anything but. I didn’t know what had become of him after we split until a few years ago when Sid and Rachael came back into my life. The fact that he and Sid got together and fell in love is an extraordinary story.
Brooks had his back turned to us. “Did I hear you say something about Rachael?”
“Yes, honey,” Sid answered with a glance in my direction. “Darcy says Mick is really unhappy about her living in Australia.”
He didn’t turn around, but his head swung from side to side. “I need to call him. I feel like shit about it too. I was just settling in to being a dad and grandfather.” He paused for a few moments. “I guess I was also feeling like I could make amends to some extent.”
He turned to face us, holding a martini out in each hand. “Here you go.”
He looked at me, and my breath caught at the sight of his dejected expression. I suddenly felt engulfed by male distress.
He was saying, “Do you think they’ll come back to the States?”
“I wish I knew. I can’t let myself be angry that she wants to spend time with her parents, and it’s great for Anna to be there with them. But what a weird situation this is. We are her parents too even if we didn’t raise her … and that was completely our own fault.”
“I know that. I just hope she’ll at least come back for visits. I’ve already offered to send her the money for tickets. It’s not cheap flying from Australia, and I wouldn’t expect Ray—I mean her dad—to pay for it.”
“That’s great, Brooks. I hope she takes you up on the offer. Mick talked about doing the same thing. He doesn’t want to put too much pressure on her, but he is having a really hard time—worse than you would think.”
“Huh, why is that?”
“I’m not sure, but Tom said he wonders if maybe residual PTSD symptoms are creeping into the equation. I don’t know. But speaking of Tom, he’s flying in tomorrow. He’s coming to help Don find Pamela Fleetfoot.”
Sid said, “He’s such a good guy. That is very nice of him, and I bet Don is happy about it. I really look forward to seeing him.”
“Yes, but Don also feels guilty about involving Tom and you, Brooks, in their problems with Pamela—Pammie, that is.”
Brooks opened a can of ginger ale. He took a long swig, then sat down on the stool next to mine. Leaning an elbow on the counter, he turned toward me, and I read the seriousness in his expression.
“First, I don’t like to hear that Mick is having trouble again. Have you talked to him since you arrived here?”
“I’ll call him in a little while.”
“Also, I don’t have a good feeling about the girl. I’ve already talked to my police contacts again, and they’ve essentially given up on her. She had a ticket out of her circumstances, and I can’t believe she blew it with Don and Charlie. Honestly, if she doesn’t want to be found—and that’s a real possibility—well, she’s almost eighteen. She can do what she wants.”
I knew he was right, but I didn’t want to give up on her or on the guys’ peace of mind.
“That’s all probably true, Brooks. Don is very rational. I think when he has exhausted all avenues to find her, he’ll go back to Seattle. After talking to him, I can’t help thinking they made a mistake taking her to live with them. He said he thinks she maintained contact with someone in Vegas the whole time, and maybe that person helped her get back here.”
“Huh, that’s interesting. It makes me wonder why she agreed to go to Seattle at all. Who would she have kept in touch with, anyway? I hope it wasn’t that young pimp we saw with the street kids when we first found her.”
“I was curious about the Green Door, so I drove by and stopped for a minute on my way to meet Don. It was depressing. I even saw one kid stumbling drunk out front.”
“That’s typical. When we found her, she seemed scared and lost. It didn’t take much coaxing for Sid and me to get her to go with us for something to eat. She was willing to talk, and gradually during subsequent meetings, she became more enthusiastic about going to visit Don and Charlie.”
“So do you have any ideas about how to proceed now?”
“I think it will take some detective work to find her if she isn’t at the motel. Tom could be a big help with that. The biggest problem is getting street kids to talk about each other. They’re afraid of everything. Oh, one other thing. I also called Child Protective Services, and after a few tries, I found a person who knew about her case. She said there wasn’t much they could do because of her age and because she’s a two-time runaway.”
“Yes, that’s what Don told me. I hope we’re not wasting our time and, worse, prolonging Don and Charlie’s agony.”
After we enjoyed a lovely meal prepared by Sid, I called Mick. He seemed a little more upbeat, but we weren’t able to have a private conversation, and I promised to call back later. Brooks got on the line, and they shared their thoughts about Rachael, including their mutual plans to get her to come for a paid vacation. I hoped that conversation was therapeutic for Mick.
Afterward, the three of us sat in the living room for a couple of hours, catching up on other aspects of our lives. Around 9:30 p.m., my body suddenly felt like deadweight, and all I wanted to do was sleep. I excused myself, intending to go straight to bed.
Just as I stood up, the landline rang, and it must have really startled Sid because she literally jumped out of her seat and dove for the phone. That seemed odd, and I stayed put to make sure it wasn’t Don or Mick calling.
I know my friend very well, and watching her expression as she listened and then gently put down the receiver, I saw barely discernible fear flit across her face. She looked up at Brooks and smiled.
“Oh, just a wrong number, I guess. They hung up.”
The words were fine, but her rigid body and slightly trembling hands told a different story. I couldn’t believe Brooks didn’t notice how nervous she was
. Even more alarming, she appeared to be keeping something from him. I decided to ask her about the call when we were alone.
As much as anything in the world, I wanted her to be safe and free from harassment by her ex-husband, Paul Denezza. Surely, the call did not relate to him. Yet I couldn’t think of anything else that would frighten her and that she would hide from Brooks.
Despite being incarcerated at Super Max—the nation’s highest security prison—and awaiting trial on a second attempt on Sid’s life, Paul had colleagues in Vegas who continued to do his bidding. Mick and I often discussed our worries for Sid’s safety. Paul was unpredictable and hateful, and twice, she narrowly escaped being killed by his hired help.
Mulling over these facts, I suddenly felt a jolt, a bit like a cold spike jabbing into my spine. This dreaded yet familiar sensation usually portends a negative outcome. Due to my practical nature, these seemingly metaphysical early warnings used to confound me. Then I decided they were simply involuntary reactions of my limbic system—the part of the brain that controls emotions—probably linked to intuition.
6
Day 2
The next morning, Brooks was still at the house when I left to meet Don for breakfast. I hadn’t forgotten about the strange hang-up call and still planned to talk to Sid about it later in private.
At the hotel while I waited for my veggie omelet, Don explained more about what happened in Seattle. He said that Penelope did not warm to her sister as they hoped she would, and she seemed jealous of the attention they gave Pammie.
Penelope is a gifted child with a high IQ. But at the time her sister arrived in their home, she was seeing a therapist to help her cope with the trauma of her abduction. She was still suffering residual behavioral effects, and that is one reason Mick and I questioned their decision to add a teenager to the mix. Maybe we should have expressed our concerns to them, but we didn’t feel it was our place to do so.
Currents of Sin Page 4