“Yeah, her little girl. I watch after Stephanie when Rena works. Sweet child, but it looks like she afraid all the time when her mama comes to pick her up.”
“Where does Mrs. Cole work?”
“At Bert’s Pharmacy, on the corner.”
“Thanks. Here’s another card. Could you please tell Mrs. Cole I need to speak to her right away?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Lupito.”
“No hay problema. And you should know something else too.”
“What’s that?”
“Sometimes I hear that child crying. She scream in the middle of the night.”
“Why? Why is she screaming?”
“How would I know?”
Stupid bitch. Why can’t she mind her own fucking business and just make her tamales all day? I hear the detective walk down the steps and Mrs. Lupito’s door closing.
My phone buzzes with a text message.
Hi, Rena. This is Claire from Mystical Haven. Thank you for coming to see me. As promised, I will be in your area and would like to invite you to a group reading. It’s tomorrow, at the West Park Inn on Central Avenue in Phoenix, at 2:00. Please let me know if you can attend. Looking forward to seeing you again.
I’d have to take Stephanie with me. Obviously, my next-door babysitter arrangement is totally over. I think about it for a second and then text: COOL, I’ll be there. Rena.
49
Claire
I flush the toilet, put the lid down, and sit on it, shaking. I reach for my phone.
“Rena’s hurting her child,” I sputter. “The salt water in my mouth that comes from nowhere? It’s a sign I’m supposed to pay attention to. I’m sure of it.”
“But you don’t even know this woman—”
“You’re the one who suspects Munchausen by proxy. Now you’re still thinking Rena’s just some overprotective super-mommy?”
“No . . . I don’t know, but . . .”
The rational part of my brain is saying, Don’t be ridiculous. Rena is a mom who’s trying to do right by her child. You’ve just started having visions that, for some reason, are turning out to be valid. But then the emotional side, which I’ve come to think of as directly linked to my psychic side, presents the counterpoints: Remember the child’s face, how gray and scared she looked. Something’s not right here, and you know it. And it’s up to you to do something about it. Much as I hate to become enmeshed in this nightmare and would like to crawl back under the covers and forget about this mother and her kid, for the first time since I had to take care of my father when he was sick, I feel I have to take responsibility for another person. I don’t want to, but I have to. I can only hope I’m prepared for the job.
“Listen,” I say, gripping the phone with a sweaty hand. “Not only am I sure Stephanie is in serious danger, I think it’s up to me to do something about it.”
“You what? Claire, come on. What are you thinking you can do about it?”
“Call the police.”
“And tell them what? That you’ve had visions about a mom hurting her child?”
I go to the bedroom and struggle into my jeans and a T-shirt, moving the phone from hand to hand as I do. “I really don’t know what I’ll tell the police. I only know I have to do something to help this little girl.” Cal begins to say something else, but I hang up.
“Phoenix Police, Second Precinct, Officer Mallory. Can I help you?”
All of a sudden, everything Cal has been trying to tell me floods my mind, and I can’t think of anything to say that doesn’t make me sound like a raving lunatic.
I decide to start with the basics.
“Hi, my name is Claire, and I live in Sedona. I’m a psychic here, and I think one of my clients may be trying to hurt her little girl.”
Office Mallory coughs once and then says, “What makes you think your client wants to hurt her child?”
I tell him about the cards and their possible meanings and then about the visions I had during the reading and finally about the salt water.
“Then, my boyfriend, Cal, who’s studying to be a psychologist, mentioned this condition, Munchausen by proxy, where the mother will do anything she can, including hurting her own child, to get attention, especially from doctors.”
“Uh-huh, I see, and what was your name again?”
“Claire. Claire Fontaine.”
I have no idea why I decide to do this—give him my mother’s maiden name. I don’t know, maybe it’s the tone of the officer’s voice, which is more than a little snarky, but I don’t want to tell him my real last name.
“And your phone number?” I provide him with my cell phone number.
“Tell you what, if I hear of anything going on that sounds like what you believe might happen because of your crystal ball, I’ll let you know, okay?” I hear snickering in the background before he hangs up.
The door swings open, and, seeing my face, Cal asks, “Not the response you were hoping for?”
“What are you doing here? I thought you had class.”
“I decided to bag it. What did the police say?”
“Pretty much exactly what you predicted. Hope you’re satisfied,” I snap.
“Now what?” he asks.
“Sometimes the direct option is the best one,” I say. “I’m going to Phoenix.”
“Right now?”
“No, but early tomorrow morning. I invited Rena to meet with me tomorrow afternoon. I told her I was doing a group reading.”
“You’re doing a group reading?”
“That’s what she’ll think. Before she left yesterday, I was so upset that I got her cell phone number. I wasn’t sure what to do with it yesterday, but now I am.”
“You are?” he asks.
“No, not exactly. But the first step that feels right is to get to Phoenix. If the police aren’t going to help, then I’ve got to do something myself.”
I go to the bathroom and start pulling out toiletries to pack.
Cal follows me, grabs an overnight bag from the closet, and says, “Okay, Nancy Drew, I’m going with you. There’s no way I’m letting you go alone to meet this potentially crazy person.”
50
Rena
After I don’t hear from him for most of the day, I finally end up calling Louis. He says he wants to come over to my place so I can cook him dinner. No way that’s gonna happen. I tell him I’ll get a sitter for Stephanie so we can go out.
I’m in the shower when someone knocks on the front door. Stephanie opens it before I can tell her not to.
“Daddy,” she screams. “Look, Mommy! Daddy’s here.”
I tighten the towel around me and try to put a smile on my face. “I can see that. Hi, Gary.”
When I come out of the bedroom dressed, Stephanie is sitting on his lap on the couch. He kisses her cheek and says, “Steph, honey, can you go to the bedroom with Jeffrey for a few minutes so Daddy can talk with Mommy?”
“Yes, Daddy. Then can you color with me?”
“Sure, honey.” He pats her back, and she skips away.
“I . . . I didn’t know your company sent you to Phoenix,” I say.
The smile he gave Steph is completely gone from his face.
“They don’t.”
“I was going to call you tonight,” I say, trying to brush the knots out of my hair.
“I’m not buying that,” he says, standing up. I can see his jaw clenching and unclenching. His voice is so low it sounds like he’s growling at me. “I’ve been trying to reach you for weeks, and nobody, not Janet, not even your own mother, knew where you were. Then I get a call from this guy, Adam something, from St. Theresa’s, who said he’s also been trying to talk to you about Stephanie. What in hell’s name is going on here, Rena?” His neck is getting red, which I know from our time together means he’s really pissed.
“Hey, listen, I’ve been busy with doctor’s appointments and everything. Did you know she was in the hospital last—”<
br />
“Cut the crap,” he shouts, but then makes himself whisper. “It’s not right I can’t see my daughter. I had to figure out on my own where you were. I contacted the insurance company, and since the policy’s under my name, they were able to tell me the hospital you’ve been going to. Through some finagling, I found out the address of this . . . place.” The disgust at where we’re living shows all over his face.
I go to the kitchen and grab a paper towel to wipe at my eyes. He follows me.
“I’m sorry, I really am. I didn’t mean for you not to see her. It’s that everything happened so fast, and I got wrapped up in caring for her and not sleeping and then . . . fuck, the time just goes by.”
“Yeah, well, I also called the Phoenix police, I was so concerned,” Gary says.
“Police? Jesus, Gary. You know what I’m doing out here. Why the hell would you call the police?”
I fill a glass with ice and tap water. I add the slice of lemon I know he likes.
“The water here is crap. Tastes a lot like pipe,” I say, handing him the glass. He takes it like he’s doing me a fucking favor. He walks back to the couch and sits, trying to avoid the torn cushion.
“Because I was frantic, that’s why. It was a while until I could make a trip out here,” he says, taking one of the mildewy couch pillows in two fingers and throwing it onto the floor. Dust flies up where it drops.
“How long are you staying?”
“I guess that depends. How is she? How’s my little girl? I have to tell you, she looks pretty bad.”
I give him the summary of what’s happened since we got to Phoenix, including my request for a bone marrow test and Dr. Norton’s flat-out no. I leave out the part where she suggested I see a shrink.
“Well, maybe she’s right, Rena. Maybe another test isn’t the answer.”
“And what do you think the answer is, Gary? Tell me, please, because then I can stop working on this fucking problem like I’ve been doing the past four years, twenty-four hours a day, every single day. And, by the way, I’m still waiting on the test results about that horrible disease you probably gave her.” I’m yelling, and Stephanie pokes her head out. I signal for her to go back into the bedroom. She does, but not before she blows a kiss to Gary. He blows one back.
“Calm down, will you? You’ll upset her. That’s one of the reasons I’ve been trying so hard to reach you. I wanted to let you know my test results were negative for Fabry. And I only meant that maybe we should look at other resources. Like maybe other doctors. Or . . . ?”
I look at the wall clock, turn to Gary and say, “You know, you’re right, and that’s really great news on the Fabry thing. We should definitely talk more about this. But I can’t right now. Stephanie’s little friend is coming here to spend the night, and I promised the mom I would feed them both dinner. Want to come by early tomorrow, maybe for breakfast? We can all catch up then and talk about plans and next steps and everything.”
“Fine,” he says, getting up and calling for Stephanie, who runs from the bedroom and takes a leap into his arms. Gary tickles her, gives her another kiss on the cheek, and sets her down. He promises her he’ll be back the next day, and then they can color. Before he’s out the door, he turns to me and says, “I’m spending all day with her tomorrow. Understand? I’m her father, and that’s what I’m going to do. And you and me . . .” He points a finger in my face. “We’ll have a long talk. I want to know everything. Every test that was run and each and every result. Why the guy from St. Theresa’s wants to talk to you. Everything, Rena.”
“Of course,” I say, closing the door behind him.
51
Claire
We’re on the road by eleven the next morning. I packed lunch, so the only stop we make is midway to switch drivers. Pulling into a rest stop off the highway, I hand the keys to Cal. He’s been sleeping most of the way, and now it’s my turn to catch up on what I missed last night.
We trade places. I unwrap the turkey-and-cheese sandwiches and pass one to Cal, who holds it in one hand, takes a bite, and turns the key with the other. He pulls onto the highway.
“You know what confuses me?” I ask, folding the foil on my lap into something resembling a duck.
“What’s that?”
“Why these women aren’t caught. The things they do to their kids are so awful and sometimes, right there in the hospital. Why don’t nurses or doctors notice?”
“I don’t know. These women are pretty slick.”
“But why don’t the kids say something?”
He wipes his mouth on his napkin, hands it to me, and gestures to the bottle of water on my lap. I twist off the plastic cap and pass it to him.
After a gulp, he answers, “From what I can tell, like any abuser—emotional or physical—these moms are masters of manipulation. They can pretty much get their child to believe anything, even maybe that what they’re doing to them is good for them.”
As we get closer to Phoenix, I can see the ring of smog pollution hovering above the valley, like some alien spacecraft.
“I guess I can understand how a mother could manipulate a little kid, like someone Stephanie’s age, but what about the older ones? Don’t they say anything? Don’t they tell the doctor or teacher or their grandmother or someone what’s happening?” I ask, redoing the buttons on my shirt, which I just now realize are fastened all wrong.
“Ozzie, there’s a bunch of mind messing going on here. It’s the kid’s mother. It’s probably impossible for kids to believe their own mothers could hurt them. And the rest of the world? They can’t believe someone apparently so caring could be doing such horrendous things.”
“So, does it happen mostly with younger kids?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
I have a terrible thought then, one I’m afraid even mentioning will make true. But I have to ask.
“Cal, what happens when the mother no longer gets the attention she needs from making up or causing these illnesses?”
He’s quiet for a long while before answering.
“She may up the ante by making the kid sicker and sicker until she can get back the attention from the medical staff. Or . . .”
“Or?”
He looks at me and says, “She decides the child is no longer worthwhile for her to have around.”
We turn into the hotel parking lot. I realize I didn’t get the nap I’d anticipated, but I highly doubt I’d be able to sleep now anyway.
There are signs all over the lobby touting new renovations. Based on the room we enter, it appears like putting up signs was as far as the renovations went. It’s a sad space with worn bedcovers and two identical prints of a forest scene positioned over two queen-sized beds. The bathroom looks like it does have a new showerhead, but that doesn’t make up for the broken tiles on the floor and the rust around the base of the toilet.
I text Rena to let her know I’m in room 312 and ask her to confirm she’ll be here at 2:00 for the group reading.
“When she gets here, maybe excuse yourself and go downstairs,” I say to Cal.
“Sure, and leave you with a potential killer. I don’t think so.”
Realizing he has a point, I suggest, “Fine, then you can be another person at the reading. After all, it’s supposed to be a group. You can be a group of two.”
“You know this is nuts, right? What are you going to do after she gets here? Say she actually admits to hurting her daughter, then what? I tackle her to the ground and you wrap her in duct tape?”
“Hey, you didn’t have to come with me.”
“Like I’d leave you here alone.”
I go to the bathroom and while I’m in there, my phone rings.
“Can you get that, please?” I yell.
“Hello, Claire’s phone,” he says in a chipper voice. He comes to the bathroom door and announces, “It’s for you.”
I finish up and reach for the phone.
“Hello?”
“Is this Claire Fontaine?”
I start to tell him he has the wrong number when I remember the alias I hastily threw out to the officer I called this morning. “Uh, yes, this is Claire Fontaine.” Cal raises his eyebrows.
“Miss Fontaine, this is Detective Larson with the Phoenix Police Department. I had a message from one of my officers that you called this morning.”
I mouth to Cal, It’s the police, before responding, “Yes, I did call before, but, frankly, Officer Mallory didn’t appear to take my concerns very seriously.” Cal’s head is dropped, and he’s shaking it from side to side.
“Would you mind telling me those concerns? It would be helpful to hear the issues directly from you.”
I repeat basically what I said to Officer Mallory, trying very hard not to sound crazy. I tell him about our Munchausen by proxy suspicions. He’s familiar with the syndrome.
“Then my boyfriend and I decided to drive down to Phoenix, which is where we are now.”
“You’re in Phoenix? Why is that, Miss Fontaine?”
It’s only then I realize how what I decided to do might sound to someone who does not do what I do for a living.
“When Rena came to see me in the store, I was concerned, so I got her phone number by telling her I wanted to invite her to a group reading in Phoenix. Cal and I are in a room at the West Park Inn on Central waiting for her now.”
I can hear the detective chewing on something I think may be gum, but then he swallows and asks, “What were you thinking of accomplishing by inviting her to this group reading?”
Fumbling for an answer, I again realize I don’t exactly have a clear idea of what I was trying to do getting her to come see me again, except maybe this: “Uh, I wanted to double-check my first reading conclusions to confirm the information I gathered was correct.”
“The first reading that told you she might harm her child?”
“I know it probably sounds ridiculous to someone who doesn’t believe in psychics, but—”
“You’re right about that, Miss Fontaine. As far as I’m concerned, it’s up there with Bigfoot and the Loch Ness Monster. A lot of malarkey.”
“Then why are you calling me?” I say, trying, but not succeeding, to keep the anger from my voice.
The Perfect Fraud Page 24