by T. Doyle
“I still want to go through the cabin,” Krakauer said. He drained his cup. Apparently, he had an asbestos tongue, esophagus, and stomach.
“Fine,” Joe said.
“I’ll go with you,” Ray said.
Krakauer sighed, but he didn’t argue.
“I’d like to see the list of tournaments and people you interviewed,” Simms said.
“Sure. After we’re done in Oscar’s cabin.” Ray said in his cop-voice.
Krakauer knocked on the table. “Anything else you think we should know, Mrs. Sanders?”
“No. But I have questions. How did Tyler overdose Oscar? It’s not like he could inject him without Oscar putting up a fight. If he laced Oscar’s food or drink with insulin, how did he get Oscar home before he went into a coma?”
Krakauer cleared his throat. “We can only speculate.”
I leaned forward. “Tyler might not have had anything to do with Oscar’s death. I think he had a partner. And what’s going to happen to the adopted children? Will they be reunited with their families?” I asked.
Simms tight-lipped smile was not comforting. “It’s going to take some time to find the parents.” She wrapped her hands around her half-filled coffee mug. “In some cases, the mother may not be found.” She glanced up at Ray and then to me. “We start the search using the missing children reports, but if the child wasn’t reported it’s difficult to find their family.”
“Why wouldn’t the baby be reported as missing?” I asked.
She studied her cup. “It could be the baby was sold or the mother was forced to give up her baby.”
I looked at Joe, not understanding Simms.
He glanced at Simms. “You mean human trafficking?”
“Yes.” She pushed back from the table and stood. “It could take us some time to sort it all out.”
Human trafficking in Forest Forks. Cold slinked down my spine and goosebumps spread across my skin.
Joe stood and showed the agents and Ray out. I gathered the coffee cups and pot and entered the kitchen.
Numb.
I heard the lock snick on the front door and Joe joined me in the kitchen. He pushed two business cards into his wallet and slid his wallet into his back pocket. He picked up my wine glass and refilled it and grabbed a beer for himself.
“I can’t believe it,” I whispered.
Joe tossed his beer cap into the garbage. “Babe, a human trafficker probably cut your brake line.” His low voice growled.
“I’d rather not think about that.” I sipped the wine, cool against my lips but now flavorless. I walked to the living room and slumped into the couch. “I’d rather watch Longmire.”
Joe grabbed the remote and settled next to me. He turned on the TV and pulled up Netflix. “Promise me you’ll be safe.”
“I promise.” I cuddled close to him.
He hugged my shoulder. “Other guys’ wives just make the waiter angry, you managed to annoy an organized crime ring.”
I rested my head on his shoulder. “I’m an over-achiever.”
He kissed the top of my head.
“And I’m a little scared,” I admitted.
“Me too. Taking a couple of weeks off and hiding somewhere is starting to sound like a smart thing to do.”
I twined our hands together. “No. The benefit of small-town living and everyone knowing your business is that I’ve got every single person in Forest Forks watching me right now. Besides, the guy scared me and killed Tyler so he has no reason to stick around.”
“Just the same, I think it’s time to stop asking questions. Not even Ingrid, okay?”
I craned my neck to look at him. His eyes pinched in the corners and a furrow seemed to set up permanent residence above his nose. “You’re frustrated you can’t lock me up in a cage while you’re at work, aren’t you?”
His lips twitched like he was fighting back a smile, but it erased the furrow. “Maybe a little. I need you, Babe.”
“You’ve got me. I’ll be safe. No cage locking required.”
I felt like a celebrity after church on Sunday. People approached me concerned about my brake lines being tampered with or asking if it was true the FBI consulted me about Oscar’s death. I didn’t admit the FBI considered me a murder suspect and wanted my alibi for the time period when Tyler Rigby was murdered. Mrs. Ingersoll, an ancient retired third-grade teacher, was certain I should take Liz’s advice and disappear. She offered me her time-share in Maui. I’d never met Mrs. Ingersoll before but I thanked her for her offer and concern. I loved Forest Forks and how the community supported each other.
We had an awkward lunch with Joe’s family at Momma’s. Angela couldn’t look at me and didn’t say much.
My father-in-law, Chuck, hugged me. “Angela’s friends with a lot of the other adoptive parents, honey.” He tilted my chin to meet his eyes. “She loves you, and she doesn’t blame you, but she’s grieving for her friends, too.”
“I feel awful,” I admitted.
Chuck rubbed my back. “It’s going to be okay. It’ll all work out. You just need to have faith.” He kissed the top of my head. “And whatever you can’t handle, you just give over to God. He’s got your back.”
“I love you,” I whispered against his chest. He was the best man I’d ever met and always knew how to make me feel better. I was lucky to have him as a father-in-law and the grandfather to my children.
“I love you, too.” He stepped back and eyed his quarreling children. “We all do.”
Liz stood, both hands held high, to quiet the fighting. “Look, I’ll make a list of places Charlie can go and organize everything.” She nodded at Joe. “I’ve heard from five people already who have cabins or condos where she can hide. I’ll get the keys and directions and tell everyone that’s where Charlie is going. Then you guys take off somewhere else.” She shrugged. “It’s simple.”
I was present, but apparently not allowed to participate in the conversation or decision of “what Charlie should do”.
Joe, my sweet husband, rather than disagreeing with his bossy sister said, “Thanks, Liz.”
So, while Mike and Anisa argued over where would be the easiest to live on the lam, Ian and Momma worked out a budget so that I’d bring enough cash to stay off-the-grid.
“They mean well.” I pressed a fresh glass of iced-tea into Joe’s hand. “But I’m going to work on Monday.”
“I know.” Joe winked at me and put his iced-tea on the kitchen counter. He made a show of pulling his phone out of his pocket and replying to a silent text. “Hey guys, we’re gonna head out now.”
“Now?” Liz’s eyebrows shot up and I expected them to hover above her head like a cartoon character’s.
“Yes. It’s got to be very hush-hush, and with the FBI involved we really can’t go into detail.” Joe looked at his watch. “We’ll contact you when we can, I promise.” His sincere doctor-tone really sold the story.
We hugged and kissed everybody and hurried outside. Buckled in the car with the windows closed and half-way down the block I finally relaxed and slapped Joe’s shoulder. “You are going to be in so much trouble when your family discovers you lied.”
“Nah. I’ll text everyone tomorrow at lunch time. Want me to tell them the truth or that we’re in Bogota?”
“What I really want is for them to stop worrying. Although, if you told Ian the FBI made our clones and we’re really in Saskatchewan but he can’t tell anyone else, it might make up for him convincing Ann there are ghosts in our house.”
Joe grinned. “I like it. I’ll tell him the FBI needed twenty-four hours for the clones to mature.”
“Like that episode in Black Mirror.” Black Mirror was a sci-fi Netflix series our son, Drew, insisted we’d love. Drew was very wrong.
At home, I paced. Anxious energy needed to be burned off, but I was scared to leave the house. I felt like a target, waiting for a drive by shooter to roll down the street. For the first time in my life, I wished we had a fence around
the yard.
I forced myself to sit at the kitchen table and search through Pinterest. Usually, I’d search for a recipe and accidentally spend hours of my time clicking on unrelated but pretty pictures with interesting articles. But today, it felt like my skin was charged, making me twitchy, short-circuiting my brain until the pictures unfocused.
I gave up and opened the file I’d written about the adoptions, because that’s what I really wanted to do, regardless of the FBI’s involvement. In addition to Ingrid’s son, I found three more families who lived in Forest Forks and had a family member at Sunnyview Villages. What I wanted to know, just for me, was how the parents got the babies. Did they meet the couple that were putting the baby up for adoption before the baby was born? Did they just receive the baby at Tyler’s office, or did he bring the baby to them? Did his partner pretend to be the bio-dad? How did it work?
Google led me down dark and twisty paths to horrible stories about human trafficking and baby farms. Statistics from the DEA and Homeland Security made me wonder how bad human trafficking in Lexington or Cincinnatti could be.
One thing was certain, if the adoptive parents hadn’t met the mother, the chances of the baby being kidnapped seemed more likely. I could ask Ingrid about how her son and daughter-in-law first met their baby. It seemed like a safe question to ask. The first time they held their baby would’ve been a joyous moment, remembered and retold.
Photographed.
I opened Facebook and typed in Ingrid’s daughter-in-law’s name. I hoped I could scroll back three years and locate the baby announcement, but her privacy settings wouldn’t allow me to see any pictures. Weird, since I’d pulled them off Facebook a few days ago. I switched to the next family, Ann and Greg Hansen. They also changed their privacy settings and so had Libby and JJ Crane.
The back of my neck prickled and I felt like someone was watching me, but it was guilt. I’d started this investigation and now the adoptive families were reacting, protecting their family.
Maybe Ingrid wouldn’t tell me about the adoption. And maybe it wasn’t Tyler’s killer who tampered with my brakes. Maybe it was a very angry parent, scared and frustrated and punishing me for asking too many questions. Everyone at church had been so nice this morning, but would they still be friendly if parents lost their adopted children?
Chapter Twenty-Five
Work on Monday started off just fine. Breakfasts were served, physical therapies administered, medications given, and then Jenny McGuffin accused the CNA of poisoning her.
“Oh good,” Marabel said in a flat tone and hung up the phone. “I wondered what the next emergency would be. I’m so glad it’s not Mrs. Almond’s diverticulitis. Come on, Jenny likes you.”
We hustled down the hall to Jenny’s room. I texted Ray. Your mom accused her CNA of poisoning her.
He replied, What’s a CNA?
Certified Nursing Assistant. You know, the person who gets your mom to eat.
He answered, On my way.
It didn’t take long for me to calm Jenny, and she was right about her lunch smelling funny, but I think that had to do with the cafeteria using a new detergent rather than poison. I read through her chart and realized she had been diagnosed with a urinary tract infection which was most likely causing her confusion and dementia to be worse.
Ray arrived with a bag of Dewey Dogs and a large soda and gave me a chin nod as he sat down next to his mom. “Ma, I brought you lunch, okay?” He turned the TV to the murder channel.
“Thank you. You look so handsome with your hair cut. When will you shave that growth on your chin?” She pulled a Dewey Dog out of the bag and bit into it.
“I like the growth. It keeps my chin warm,” Ray answered.
Jenny focused on the TV, seeming to have forgotten all about the possible poisoning.
I returned to the nurses’ station when Jenny snapped, “Amateur! Cover the body with lye.” It was good to have her back.
Vi raised an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”
“Sure. Jenny has a UTI and it’s making her confusion worse.”
“Poor thing.” Vi frowned. “Charlie, doesn’t it bother Joe that you spend so much time with Ray?” Vi’s honest face seemed sincerely concerned for me.
And it made me angry. It made the ringing in my ears become deafening. “No, because Ray’s a family friend. In fact, Joe asked Ray to drive me home until Oscar’s murderer is caught.” I leaned closer. “You realize someone tried to kill me Friday, right? And Ray is willing to guard me until Joe gets off work. So, in between trying to figure out a good long-term solution for his mother who is falling deeper into dementia, and finding work in a small town where everyone still thinks of him as the eighteen-year-old kid he was when he left, he’s also putting his life on the line by protecting me from someone who has killed Oscar, Tyler, and cut my brake lines.” I added my disapproving mom-glare. “He’s like a brother to me and Joe. He’s a Sanders now. If that’s a problem for you, then I suggest you change shifts.”
Vi’s face paled and she grabbed my arm. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I didn’t think… It’s just that he’s, he was… I mean the past is complicated. And when he first got to town he acted the same.”
I remembered Ray’s Raychology about either wanting to feel attractive or wanting to sleep with him. Had Ray’s hook-up with her niece damaged Vi’s body-image confidence? She was beautiful, but approaching forty. Things weren’t where they had been when she was eighteen, although with lycra, you’d never know it.
“I don’t know what he was like, and maybe that’s why it’s easier for me to like him. He’s been generous with his time, respectful, and kind to us. Maybe it would be better if you buried the past and thought of him as a patient’s family,” I said calmly.
She scowled, like the idea tasted bad in her mouth. “I suppose I can try.” She released my arm. “But we’re okay, right?”
“Yeah.” I gave her a quick hug and went to check on my patients.
At two, Ray approached the nurses’ station to drive me home. He nodded to Vi, who scowled in reply.
I grabbed my things and waved good-bye to Vi. In the car, I broached the subject with Ray. “I think you may have something with your Raychology.”
He smirked in my direction.
“I think some of the women you dated in high school are probably hating you for dating younger women because it makes them self-conscious about their aging.”
Ray tapped the steering wheel. “Well, give them the memo that I’ve stopped, okay?”
“You have?”
“You know, what you have with Joe is rare.”
His statement surprised me. “Rare?”
“Not many people stay together. Dad was never faithful.” He glanced over at me. “You wonder why I never had a serious girlfriend? Because my Dad’s advice was ‘keep it wrapped and play the field. Bail when they start to get clingy or you’ll end up a miserable married man’.” Ray shrugged his shoulders. “Who says that to an eleven-year-old kid?”
“He was wrong.”
“Obviously.”
“Look, he was an idiot, and he might still be an idiot, but he doesn’t control the choices you make now.” We neared the hair pin curve that nearly killed me and I held my breath. Ray took the curve slowly. I wiped my sweaty palms on my scrub pants and continued our conversation. “Just because a couple stays married doesn’t mean they’re happy. My mother had an affair. I don’t know who my biological father is.”
Ray looked at me, mouth open.
“I never felt like I belonged, but all kids go through that. But then Jess did a school project on blood types, I realized my Dad was not my biological father. I asked my mom about it and she freaked out.”
“I bet.” Ray’s voice was flat.
“She begged me to keep it a secret. Refused to tell me who my father is. And now, with this stuff about the kidnapped babies, I wonder if my biological father would want to know me? Does he even know about me? Would he want to me
et his grandkids?”
Ray cursed under his breath.
“I’m going to do one of those DNA kits and see if I have siblings, and I was wondering if you’d help me find my dad?”
“Absolutely.” He reached out and grabbed my hand. “And your biological father would be thrilled to know you. I’m sorry your mom won’t tell you the truth.”
“I’m sorry your dad was an idiot.”
Ray barked a laugh. “He’s still an idiot. Hey, when he messes up with Evie, will you promise to tell Kristi it wasn’t my fault?”
“I promise.” I nudged his shoulder. “You like Kristi.”
“What’s not to like?” He rolled his shoulders. “I’m taking it slow.” He put the directional on and turned. “I figured I should probably have Mom situated and a job before I ask her out.”
“You could enjoy dinner as friends,” I suggested.
He winced. “Charlie, once a man is in the friend zone it’s nearly impossible to get out. And what would you know about dating? You’ve been married forever.”
“True. But I got it right.”
“Like I said, what you’ve got is rare.”
“I hope not. I hope everyone finds their perfect half. It makes life so much better.”
Ray made a gagging sound.
I punched him.
The car swerved.
“You’re worse than my sister,” he muttered.
“And don’t you forget it.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ray followed me inside my house. Being home alone with Ray set off my spidey-senses. Vi’s earlier comment made me wonder what the neighbors thought of me being alone with Don Juan McGuffin. But then I noticed Oscar’s box was missing. The hair on the back of my neck felt like little exclamation points prickling.
“Ray,” I whispered and pointed to the dining room table.
“Yeah?” He waited for me to continue, wariness in his eyes.
“I left Oscar’s box on the table.” I stepped into the dining room, and craned my neck to see if the front door was locked. I could hear nothing but my heartbeat pulsing. I tiptoed into the foyer, looking into our family room. The air pressure felt different, but maybe I was being jumpy. Everything looked normal. I stepped into our formal living room.