Guilt Game
Page 9
“Relax, or it will hurt.”
Emma forced herself to think about cute kittens. The stick of the needle was the worst of it, but even after, she couldn’t look at the sight of blood flowing from her body. She’d made that mistake the first time and passed out. She watched Margo put away the medical supplies. It was odd that Margo was a CNA, yet she was the only woman at Sister Love who didn’t wear scrubs. But Margo had to wear them at the hospital, so Emma didn’t blame her for not wanting to wear them at home. And Margo didn’t have anything to atone for. Emma and her sisters wore the scrubs as a sacrifice, to deny themselves the pleasure of pretty clothes. Emma squeezed the sponge ball in her hand again, trying to fill the bag as fast as she could.
When she was almost done, the door opened, and Deacon stepped into the room. He nodded at Margo. “Wrap this up.” Then he turned to Emma. “When you’re done here, come to my office.”
Emma nodded.
Margo shook her head. “She needs another minute to make a complete pint. My contact might not buy a partial.” She spoke through gritted teeth.
They sold the blood? Emma had assumed they donated it to hospitals. She kept quiet. The charity needed money to operate and feed people, and the blood still went to a good cause.
“Fine.” Deacon stepped back out of the room.
Emma squeezed the little ball harder, and a few minutes later, a tiny bell sounded, indicating the blood bag had hit its full weight.
“Good girl.” Margo came over, pulled out the needle, and wrapped pressure tape around the tiny wound.
But she didn’t offer her a cookie, like last time. Emma was disappointed—they got so few treats—but spending time alone with Deacon was better than a cookie. “See you later.” Emma gave Margo a friendly smile and hurried out, then strode down the hall.
She knocked on Deacon’s door, and he pulled it open, as if waiting for her. When she stepped in, he touched her cheek. “How are you doing?”
“I’m sad about Bethany leaving, but I’m holding on to my peace of mind.”
“Good girl.” He hugged her with one arm and led her to the couch. “We have something important to talk about.”
A shiver ran up her spine. She was curious, but she resisted the urge to sound eager. “Okay.”
“The charity is in trouble. We’re running out of cash, and we need a couple of large donations or we might have to shut down.”
“No! We can’t let that happen.” But she was confused. “How can I help?”
“You need to contact your parents and ask them to make a significant contribution.”
What? “But you said no contact with loved ones.”
“I know. This is an exception to save Sister Love. And you’re strong enough to handle it.”
She didn’t feel strong. Just the sound of her mother’s voice would make her homesick. Emma shook her head. “They will never give money to the charity. They don’t want me here.”
“But they do want to see you.” His eyes pleaded with her. “Tell them if they donate ten thousand dollars, you’ll get to meet with them for an hour.”
Emma was taken aback. Her parents had that kind of money, but it felt wrong. “I’m not sure about this. What if they call the police?”
“And say what? We’re a charity. We ask everyone for money.” He gave her a charming smile. “Except the veterans we serve.”
“But it feels like a bribe or something.” Was that the right word?
“It’s not. It would just be a donation, followed by a family get-together. After a year, you were going to earn a visitation anyway.” Deacon leaned in, kissed her softly, and whispered, “You’ve earned it.”
Oh god, that felt good. Emma kissed him back, hungry for his affection.
But he pulled away. “You have to make the call. Do this for your sisters. So I don’t have to put them out on the streets where they’ll do drugs to forget their pain.” His eyes locked on hers. “Or kill themselves. Remember how you felt out there on your own?”
She couldn’t let any of that happen. “All right.”
“Good girl.” He jumped up and grabbed a cell phone from his desk.
Disappointed to be done kissing, Emma braced herself. She hadn’t talked to her mother in four months. This might make them both cry. She hated the thought. She used to not care much about her mother’s feelings, but she did now.
Deacon handed her the cell. “Keep it brief. Tell her the meeting will be in a public place of our choosing.”
Her old phone! She had turned it over to Deacon when she’d moved into the Sister Love complex. Even though she didn’t need it, she was happy he still had it.
“Tell her she has only until the end of the day to decide. Put the phone on speaker and make the call.”
Emma pressed the familiar icon. After three rings, a familiar high-pitched voice said, “Emma?”
“Hey, Mom.”
“Oh my god!” Her mother burst into tears. “It’s so good to hear your voice. Are you okay?”
Just breathe. “Yes. I have a request.” Emma struggled to control her own emotions while she waited for her mother to calm down. “My charity needs help. We need you to donate ten thousand dollars.” She choked on the words.
“Are you kidding?” Her mother went from sad to mad in three seconds. “Why would I help the bastard who stole you from me? The bastard who won’t let me see you?”
It wasn’t like that, but there was no point in trying to explain. “If you make the donation, you will get to see me.”
“Really? For how long?” Hope and eagerness now.
“An hour. In a public place.”
A long pause. “So this is a shakedown. Ten grand for an hour of your time?”
Emma cringed. She’d known it was wrong. “I’m sorry. But we need the money to keep the charity going.”
Her mother let out a harsh laugh. “I have no interest in keeping the charity going. If the damn thing folds up, you’ll come home to me.”
Emma hadn’t thought of that. From the look on Deacon’s face, he hadn’t either. She decided to be honest. “Even if the charity closes, I won’t come home. I can’t ever go back to my old life. I don’t deserve it.”
“You have to stop punishing yourself!” Her mother was crying again.
Deacon gestured at her to wrap it up.
“I have to go. You have only today to make the donation. Bye, Mom.” Emma started to close the call, then blurted out, “I love you.” Tears rolled down her face as she hung up.
“You handled that well.” Deacon kissed her cheek. “She’ll call back and offer us the money.”
Abruptly the door burst open, and Ronnie stepped in. “The police are here.”
CHAPTER 12
Deacon strode down the wide hall over the scarred industrial floor. He spotted Skeeter watching him from a broom closet and snapped at her, “Go to your room and stay there for a while.” The skinny, freckled girl scampered off. Most of the members were in the main dorm, a separate building out back. He didn’t have time to coach them about what to say if the officers wanted to question everyone. But he had no intention of letting cops inside without a warrant. Deacon took a calming breath. The girls were all eighteen or older, and they lived here of their own free will. He had no reason to be worried and nothing to hide.
Well, almost nothing. They didn’t have an FDA license to draw blood, and their client sold the plasma on the black market to stem-cell researchers. The thought of being arrested gave him a jolt. Once he was out from under the care-center payments, they would stop the blood draws. He wanted to be completely legit—and never see the inside of a jail again.
Deacon stopped at the wide front door and glanced at the monitor. Two men in dark suits stood on the narrow cement step, looking impatient. Deacon spoke into the intercom. “Who are you, and what do you want?”
On the small screen, he saw them glance around for the speaker and camera. The taller man said, “Detective Wilson and Detective Stewart w
ith the Portland Police Bureau. Are you Deacon Blackstone?”
“Yes. What do you want?”
“We’d like to ask you a few questions. Can we come in?”
“Questions about what?”
“A girl named Bethany.”
Oh shit. This was trouble. But at least they weren’t looking for Emma. “What about Bethany?”
“We’d like to come inside and speak with you in person.”
“Do you have a warrant?”
“No, but we can get one.”
Easier said than done and likely a bluff. But it was better to just deal with this now. “I’ll come out.” Deacon pressed the small buzzer, leaned against the push-bar handle, and stepped outside. The brightness of the morning surprised him. He’d been so preoccupied with finding donations, he hadn’t left the building since Wednesday or noticed the weather.
Even the taller of the two detectives was shorter than him, and Deacon outweighed him by thirty pounds of muscle. Always an advantage to be the biggest man. “What’s going on with Bethany?”
“What’s her last name?”
“I think it’s Grant, but the members don’t use last names here.”
An eye roll from Detective Wilson. “When did you see her last?”
A stab of worry hit Deacon. “Wednesday, around seven. I hear she left the property sometime later that night. I know I haven’t seen her since.”
“Where were you Wednesday evening between nine and midnight?”
They were treating him like a suspect! “Driving home. I visited my father at the Linnwood Care Facility and got home around eleven.” He had to ask. “Why? Did something happen to Bethany?”
“She was murdered.” The detective’s expression was unflinching. “Did anyone see you arrive home that night?”
This shit was getting deeper. “How was Bethany killed?”
“Answer my question.”
No one had seen him come in. Margo had been at work, the night-crew girls had still been out, and the soup kitchen girls had gone to bed. He had to handle this just right. “People at the nursing home can vouch for when I left.” Deacon reached in his pocket for a cigarette and lit up, feeling instantly better.
“We’d like to question everyone who lives here.” The tall detective, Wilson, was still taking the lead.
“That’s completely unnecessary. We’re a charitable foundation. The members are good-hearted people. None of them had anything to do with Bethany’s death.” Deacon let his concern show, a rare display of emotion for him.
“We’d like to establish a timeline.” The detective took out a notepad. “Knowing when Bethany left here may help us determine where she went and who she saw.”
“I’ve already asked the members, and no one saw her leave. But I’ll ask again. If anyone has information, I’ll pass it along.” Deacon took a drag, wanting to wrap up the conversation. This was such a waste of time. “You’re looking in the wrong place. The only contact our members have with the outside world is to run a soup kitchen for veterans and occasionally solicit donations. Please leave the property now.” He started to step back toward the door.
The detective grabbed his arm, then quickly let go. “Do you own this land?”
“No. I lease it from Charles Zumwalt.” Deacon had met Zumwalt at the senior facility where his dad had lived before he needed full-time care. When Zumwalt mentioned the land and empty buildings he owned, Deacon had seen an opportunity and worked out a deal. They paid almost nothing for rent. It was the rich old guy’s way of contributing to a veterans’ cause—and getting some young-thing action as a bonus.
“We’ll be back with a warrant,” Wilson announced, sounding confident.
“To search for what?”
“We need to see Bethany’s personal belongings and check her cell phone and computer to see who she contacted.”
Deacon let out a laugh. “Sister Love members don’t have cell phones or any personal items. They leave it all behind when they join and devote their lives to service.”
Frustration flashed in the detective’s eyes. “No computer either then?”
“No.” Deacon realized he hadn’t expressed any grief, and it probably didn’t look good. “I loved Bethany. We all did. She was safe here. But she decided to leave, and whatever happened to her out there has nothing to do with us.”
The shorter detective cut in. “Is there any reason you don’t want us to come in and look around?” His tone was accusatory.
Because you’re a dick. Deacon gave him a nasty smile. “I’m a private person, and the Sister Love members are all wounded souls. Your presence here is already disturbing, and now I have to tell them that Bethany is dead.” Deacon honestly dreaded the chore. He’d done enough of it in his military service tours. “I hope you find her killer.” He dropped his cigarette, stepped inside, and slammed the door. Deacon watched on the monitor as the detectives chatted about what to do next. The tall one held up a business card and pushed it through the mail slot near the door. They both turned and walked away. Deacon grabbed the card off the floor and hurried to his office, where he planned to watch out the window to make sure they drove off.
Ronnie was lurking in the hall and called out, “What’s going on?”
Why wasn’t she at the soup kitchen? Her day off? He ignored her question. “Wait ten minutes, then gather everyone in the dining hall.” Deacon kept moving. Margo’s daughter annoyed the hell out of him, but he hadn’t figured out how to get rid of her. Yet. She’d been fun when she was younger, but her drug addiction while she was on the streets had ruined her looks, and now she was too old and fat. In the meantime, Ronnie helped keep the girls in line. He reached his office in time to see the dark sedan exit the gravel parking area and head back toward town.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Deacon sat down to gather his thoughts. He would get through this. The girls would keep quiet about the blood draws, and if the police ever got a subpoena to look at the charity’s financials, they would be disappointed. He and Margo dealt in cash as much as they could. But would the police find Bethany’s money? As far as Deacon knew, he and Margo had the only paperwork relating to her trust account. Without it, no one would ever know—unless the California bank informed them. The two grand in the account wasn’t enough to fix his money problems, but it would help—if they could find a way to access it without Bethany. And the royalties should keep coming.
He’d targeted the girl online a few months after her incident. Alone in the world after accidentally shooting her father, she’d been eager to join Sister Love. But Deacon wouldn’t contact the bank about the trust until the police investigation died down. So now wasn’t the time to think about it. He had to deal with the members first. He shut off his password-protected computer and headed for the dining hall.
The chatter in the room surprised him at first, then he remembered the girls didn’t know about Bethany yet. They quieted down as soon as he entered. Margo wasn’t present, and he wondered if Ronnie had even asked her to join them. But his girlfriend came in a moment later and strode over to him.
“What’s going on?” she whispered.
He should have told her first, but it was too late for that. “It’s bad news, and I have to tell everyone.”
Deacon scanned the room. Everyone was accounted for, except the four sisters at the soup kitchen. And Bethany, of course. He would have to step up his recruitment efforts, but he still had to be selective. He wasn’t impressed with Celine, a twenty-year-old that Margo was working. The charity had delicate intake-output equilibrium, and more members could mean more expenses—unless they came with resources or would be good at working the truck stops. Unfortunately finding girls with money was challenging.
“Sisters, I have some bad news.” Deacon tried to think of a way to soften the news but couldn’t. “The cops were just here to inform me that Bethany was killed Wednesday night after she left us. I don’t know anything else. The detectives wouldn’t tell me how or why.”
Deacon raised his voice to be heard over the sobbing. “The police need your help. I know I asked this yesterday when I found out Bethany was gone, but it’s even more important now. Did anyone see her leave?”
No one responded.
“Does anyone know why she left or where she was going?”
The crying continued. He tried again, nearly shouting. “If you know anything, please come forward. Otherwise, the police will be back with a search warrant and question all of you.”
Jewel, Emma, and Ronnie all looked up.
Jewel got up and came toward him, head down. “I think I know. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” Her big eyes were wild with grief and worry.
The poor girl had been Bethany’s best friend. Deacon gently touched her shoulder. “What do you know?”
“I didn’t see Bethany leave that night, so I didn’t lie. But I’ve seen her leave before. I think she was visiting a boy who lives near Barton Road.”
Rage filled Deacon’s chest, and he couldn’t speak. Bethany was his girl! How dare she cheat on him with some pip-squeak kid. Just because he’d lost interest in her sexually, that didn’t give her the right to fuck someone else.
“Please don’t be mad at me.” Jewel looked terrified.
“I’m not. Who is this boy, and how do you know she was seeing him?”
“I don’t know his name, but he’s often near the creek when the van drives by on the way to the soup kitchen. They waved at each other all the time, and once, she dropped a note out the window.”
Deacon had dealt with this once before, a girl named Jaylene who’d finally left the charity. One of the few who had. Most of them would age out eventually, and that was fine. They were harder to control as they got older and less desirable. “Do you know his name or where he lives?”