Hope House

by Tracy L Carbone

  He flipped open a folder and saw a picture of the prospective parents, a formal portrait. This was a requirement, not to show that they could get dressed up and make it to a JC Penney, but so Mick could match them with the right breeding source so their kid would resemble them. “See this? Look at these parents. They both have curly dark brown hair. So think, Angie. Am I going to get them a baby from Haiti?”

  “No, Mickey. El Salvador,” she whined. El Salvador made the brown-haired kids. Clarissa, Mick thought with a grin. That delicious British pre-med he met at Oxford. God was she sexy. All these years later he quivered when he thought of her. And so smart. Nice straight teeth too. She’d never had braces. He’d asked. Or rather Tad had. Her boyfriend was a good-looking guy too, as those things went. Big into Rugby and also at Oxford. No family history of hereditary disease. Impeccable genes all around. How could he resist?

  “Right. I know no one asks for special coloring but it’s common sense to give people children that will resemble them. I gave you this new responsibility because I know you can handle it.”

  She reached for the files. “Up yours, Mickey Mouse. I’ll go through them, already.” She hefted the stack and started walking out.

  “Damn it, Angie, don’t call me that!”

  “M-I-C, see ya real soon,” she sang.

  He sighed and she finished singing the song that she’d taunted him with since he could remember. He made a paper airplane while she plunked out the notes around a wad of gum. “K-E-Y, Why because we like you,” then the dreaded pause, “PU-GL-I-S-I. Mickey Puglisi!” She laughed from her desk and he couldn’t help but laugh too. He adored his little sister and always would, even if she was classless and tormented him around every bend. He smiled and leaned over on his desk till he had a clear shot of her.

  “Angie,” he called in the sweetest voice he could muster.

  She turned around and he launched the plane. A direct hit into her mass of blond streaked black curls. “All right already, Mickey,” she said pulling the plane out of her hair. “Let me do some work.”

  He smiled. A peek around his empty desktop confirmed he was free to go.

  Mick dialed Luke’s nanny and asked her to pack Luke an overnight bag. Mick had planned on working a full day, but he needed to head down to Haiti to tell Tad in person that Gloria Carpenter was in Miami, sniffing around. Maybe Joey would snuff her out today and deem this trip unnecessary. God he hoped Joey would just do his thing and get it over with. If not though, Tad needed to be apprised of the situation. He’s the one who brought Gloria into the enterprise in the first place.

  He picked up his briefcase, said goodbye to his sister, and left, whistling the old Disney tune Angela had planted in his head.

  3.

  Miami, same time

  Kurt Malone spent his morning at a café meeting with a client, some stockbroker who wanted to leave the country in a hurry and take his assets with him. Kurt had walked him through the process, arranged the necessary wires, and promised to leave false trails for him in case anyone might actually be pursuing the guy. Kurt had just been collecting his down payment for services when Gloria had called him. As she sounded hysterical, he’d quickly wrapped up business with the client and walked the few blocks to the store where he expected to meet Tommy Carpenter’s ex, a woman named Gloria Hanes. Tommy had given him a heads-up, sure that the ex would be in contact.

  Tommy Carpenter was a partner at a mid-sized criminal law firm. Kurt had helped a couple of the firm’s clients disappear and hide funds, and apparently the partners were pretty impressed. There was nothing to it, thought Kurt. All in a day’s work. A few false addresses and knowing which countries were safe and which weren’t, and he could get just about anyone a safe passage to a new life.

  Tommy had told him that his ex-wife was imbalanced, the elite euphemism for crazy. He explained that Gloria had a miscarriage six years ago and went to a mental hospital because she couldn’t accept it, kept saying that the doctors stole her baby. A big conspiracy. She’d been diagnosed as paranoid schizophrenic but had it under control all these years since the divorce. Until now. “You need to show there’s nothing to her story, that it was all in the past, and that she needs to accept the truth and look at the facts. You can set her straight, Kurt, if anyone can,” Tommy had said.

  Kurt had protested that it sounded more like a job for a psychiatrist but Tommy insisted otherwise, pointing out that she no longer trusted her shrink or any shrink for that matter. Malone was no one’s fool. He realized from the get go that Tommy needed Kurt for damage control while his loopy ex-wife ran herself in circles and got this out of her system. “Just keep her company, offer her someone to talk to. She’s bright and logical normally and if you just help her realize there’s no collusion—coming from a professional detective like you—then she’ll get over it and we can all move on.”

  So it was a babysitting job. Five thousand to babysit the guy’s ex, and she’d pay him too because she didn’t know Tommy had given him a retainer. Not a bad way to make money. Not bad at all.

  He walked into the clothing store and nodded to the hippie woman behind the counter. She wore small-framed glasses, and a knitted cap concealed part of a bush of curly, gray hair. Rail thin and about fifty-years-old. Smack in between the old and new Woodstocks. The shop smelled of incense. He looked at some of the tags on the faded clothing as he walked to the back of the store and laughed to himself. A hundred and twenty-five dollars for a used pair of Levis supposedly once owned by Joan Baez that the shopkeeper likely got for five bucks at the Salvation Army. Being a vintage, aka used, clothing storeowner seemed like a good way to make a living too.

  “Are you looking for something in particular, sir?” Her tone was light, almost flirtatious. “Can I be of service?”

  “My lady called me from her cell. Said I had to see this outfit. So much for waiting in the car.”

  The woman laughed. “She’s back there.”

  He walked to the wall of curtained cubes. Only one was closed. “It’s safe out here, Gloria. Come on out.”

  Kurt wasn’t prepared for what he saw. Gloria Hanes was hot. Really hot. She had flowing blond hair, high cheekbones and full, perfect shiny lips. Behind her sunglasses, he assumed her eyes were as luscious as the rest of her. They had to be. Her body was steaming too. Thin and tight but with curves. She pulled off her sunglasses and smiled at him. Her eyes were bloodshot but beyond the red, bright blue.

  “Thank you so much for coming.” She reached out to touch his arm and chills shot through him. “I didn’t know who else to call and I really need you.”

  The combination of her touch and her pleading tone sent blood rushing to his every nerve ending, including his penis, which swelled and pressed against his boxer briefs. His jeans hid this fact pretty well, but he was embarrassed. He hoped she didn’t look down.

  Her manicured slender fingers gripped his arm. God he loved it when women did their nails. “You can help me, right?”

  He had to step back and break the contact or he’d be tempted to follow the fantasy he was having about shoving her into the dressing room and—

  “Mr. Malone?”

  “Sorry. Yes, I’ll help you.” Big smile which may not be appropriate given her situation but he couldn’t help himself. His heart hammered in his chest. The thought of this sexy woman needing him drove him crazy. Some guys liked powerful corporate women, or old-fashioned girls, or leather-clad sex fiends with whips. But not Kurt. His big turn on was a woman who needed him. Throw in the fact this one was a perfect ten in looks . . .

  Maybe she was crazy; he couldn’t tell yet, but he’d stick to her like glue for as long as he could get away with it. The hell with the temptation. He reached out and took her hand. As soft as a satin glove. “Come with me, Gloria. Let’s get out of here. Let’s go somewhere safe and I’ll take care of you.”

  4.

  Same time, same location

  Gloria held Kurt’s arm as they walked toward his c
ar. Despite the angst she felt about her situation, she smiled at the comfort his closeness brought. He was a handsome man. Not pretty like Tommy, whose thousand-dollar designer suits and perfect hair made him look like a model. Kurt was sexy in a better way. Powerful, strong, rugged. A big brute who would hammer someone if they tried to touch her. Of course that was his job, to protect her, but beyond that, a base animal attraction. She didn’t just want him to protect her. Gloria blushed at the truth, having only just met Kurt, but the truth wasn’t going away. She was attracted.

  “What are you smiling about?” he asked, grinning at her.

  “I just, um.” She felt her cheeks redden. Am I that obvious? “Nothing. I just feel safer with you here.”

  He stopped walking and faced her. Brushed her cheek with his big calloused dry, strong hands and she considered how good those hands would feel squeezing her—

  “Where’s your purse?”

  “What?”

  “Most women carry bags. You don’t have a blazer or any pockets but you have a cell phone. No one just carries a phone. People use pockets or purses.”

  That snapped her out of her fantasy. “I had my purse at the store. It’s a small pink faux alligator Gucci. Damn, I must have left it in the dressing room.”

  Kurt looked up and down the street. “Look around. Do you see the guy you think was following you?”

  “I didn’t think it. He was following me.”

  Kurt nodded. “Fine. Do you see him?”

  “No. We’re pretty far from my car. It’s way down the street in the other direction.”

  “All right. You stand right here by this post. It’ll partially block his view if he’s still watching. I’m going to sprint back to the store.”

  “Can’t I come?”

  “No. You’re wearing high heels. You’ll slow us down. I’ll be quick and then we can go to my car where you can tell me what’s going on. I’ll take you back to my office.”

  She bit her lip. Just because she couldn’t see her stalker didn’t mean he wasn’t lurking in the shadows.

  “Hey,” he said and she felt her knees go weak. “I’ll be two seconds. I promised to keep you safe and I will.”

  “Just hurry. Please.”

  He quickly stepped off and broke into a jog. She decided to call Tommy and fill him in.

  Once his secretary patched Gloria through, her ex came on. “Tommy Carpenter speaking.”

  “Hi. It’s me. Gloria.”

  “I know your voice. How are you? Headed home?”

  “No. Tommy, it’s terrible. The people at the adoption agency won’t even talk to me. I came all the way down here and the bastards won’t even give me five minutes.”

  “Are you there now?”

  “No. They threw me—I left. I ran out. The man from the airport was there again, lurking around my hotel even though I went to a different one. And then he was here. Right by my car.”

  “What man? Gloria, do you have any idea how you sound?”

  “Yes, damn it, Tommy, I know how I sound for Christ’s sake! I sound as if I’m nuts! But I’m not. Listen, can’t you pull some strings? Order Alison Gander’s adoption records unsealed?

  “No. No one can do that.”

  “Someone can.”

  “Not me.”

  “Tommy, Alison is your daughter too. Don’t you even care? What? Now that you have the new kids and the trophy wife, you don’t care about your other little girl?”

  “Calm down, Gloria. I’m warning you.”

  “Warning me? Warning me how?” She squeezed her phone so hard her knuckles had turned white. She relaxed her hand and stretched her fingers.

  “Okay, bad choice of words.” She heard him sigh on the other end. “Did you call the PI? This is really a matter for an investigator. If anyone can help you accept the truth, it’s him.”

  “I did call him. He’s with me.”

  “Good. If he says there’s something to the story, I’ll listen. But all you’ve given me is hysteria and paranoia.”

  Gloria sensed a wave of panic before she felt two hands smash into her back and force her into the path of an oncoming bus. It all happened in slow motion. Her phone flew up and she watched it. Straight up. She saw her hands flay out before her. Saw the faces of the people across the street. The baby in the navy blue checkered stroller with the blue balloon waving in the breeze. The horn honked so loud her eardrums neared the bursting point. The scent of burning rubber filled her nostrils.

  I’m going to die. This is how it ends. Pushed in front of a bus by an assassin.

  It all happened within seconds, but it dragged out and every detail froze in her mind like a series of photographs.

  But then her heel caught on something and kept her from going all the way forward. Just as suddenly as she was propelled forward, her shoe held firm and she yanked herself back out of harm’s way by inches. Then she saw her phone fall to the ground and bounce. Her iPhone danced on the hot asphalt and the monster bus crushed it.

  It happened that fast, she thought. All in the time it took my phone to land on the street.

  She turned around but the man she expected to see had vanished. Everyone around her, all the pedestrians with the shocked faces, looked innocent. But how could she tell for sure? If nothing else, the man who’d been stalking her was no where in sight.

  Kurt ran toward her, purse in hand. She stepped out of her shoe, still caught in a crack in the pavement, thank God, and threw herself into his waiting arms.

  “Are you all right?” He panted in her ear.

  She buried her face in his neck and cried, nodding. “Yes. Call nine-one-one.”

  “Later. Let’s just get out of here. We’ll go somewhere safe, and then call the police.”

  She held his hand for dear life and raced toward his car. She limped and only had one shoe but was grateful for Kurt’s protection.

  5.

  Maison D’Espoir, Haiti, late afternoon

  Mick stepped out of the cool air of the black Lincoln Towncar that he kept stored at the airport and into to the stifling wet heat of Haiti. Within seconds sweat beads appeared on his brow. He frowned. Hated this place. It was a hell of a moneymaker though, and he didn’t have to show up all that often. When he did, his visits were short and sweet.

  He liked making surprise visits. Not that he didn’t trust the girls and Tad, but everyone knew that the mice played when the cat was away. He said hello to Boris who regarded him with a mere nod. No smile. No, “Welcome back, Monsieur Puglisi.” Just a straight-mouthed nod. Whatever. Mick was happy to walk through the gates and leave Boris on the outside. Maybe he would bring the matter up with Tad. See if he knew anything about this guard except his ability to look big and scare people.

  Mick loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar while he walked through the compound. He removed his solid gold P cufflinks and rolled up his sleeves. The hard dirt of the ground here always soiled his shoes, but he couldn’t change into sneakers. Even in this mud hole, Mick had an image to present here. Mick licked his thumb then bent down and tried to wipe away some of the grime. No good. Someone from the hotel could polish them later.

  There were quite a few girls walking around, flat tummies and big tummies. They all seemed relatively happy. Three of them walked up the hill by the woods, carrying baskets on their heads. Mick laughed and shook his head. They certainly didn’t need to forage through the woods for fruit anymore but old habits die hard. The compound was fenced in but extended down the hill a little way. Mick reasoned that there must be a few fruit trees down there within the limits.

  These girls were stubborn when it came to accepting the easy lifestyle Mick offered them. They didn’t trust the washers and dryers, and Tad told him many of girls still washed their clothes by hand in the sink. They requested manual buckets and washboards, but Mick had flatly refused. They must acclimate to the modern world. Still, Mick half-expected to catch them washing laundry by hand: guilty looks on their faces, hiding washboar
ds under their shirts when they saw him approach.

  It was beyond him why anyone wouldn’t want to accept all he gave them. All the modern conveniences at their fingertips. No need to do anything but relax and carry babies. The residents were ungrateful children.

  Off to his left he saw two young girls talking, sitting at one of the patio tables under an umbrella. One of them was wiping her eyes, crying. He approached.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  The one doing the crying immediately shut her mouth and stared at him, wide-eyed. Trembling. She said something in rapid speech. A garble of Creole.

  Her friend looked to Mick, pausing before she spoke. Whatever she was going to say, it would be a lie. He knew it. She chewed her lip and looked from the crying girl to him and back again. She finally offered a Creole explanation for what was going on but he had no idea what the hell the second girl said either.

  The tearful girl piped in and then the two of them were squawking back and forth, louder and louder, fighting parrots. Emotions ran high. The crying one grabbed the other’s arm hard and they both fell silent.

  This was useless. He couldn’t understand them and whatever petty problem they were worried about, he couldn’t be bothered. Let Tad deal with it. Mick had bigger issues on his plate right now.

  He put his hand up to let them know he didn’t want to talk anymore and was leaving.

  Mick wiped his forehead with his handkerchief and walked toward the medical building. Aah, a blast of cooler air. Not too cool because the girls didn’t like it too cool. Again with the refusal to enjoy the comforts he offered.

  When he walked into the medical center, Mick saw Martine sitting at the front desk, with Tad leaning on the counter talking to her. They both looked upset but Mick couldn’t hear what they were saying. Martine didn’t speak a word of English and he was impressed how well Tad seemed to be conversing with her in Creole.

  “Monsieur Puglisi!” Martine said as she stood up. It wasn’t a happy greeting but yelled as if to sound an alarm.