“She’s in county jail, Honey,” Aunt Gerry said, “not a state prison or federal penitentiary. It’s not very plush but most people are in for lesser crimes. They usually get out in a year or less.”
“I hope she’s not too scared.”
“What’s in your sack?”
“I brought the picture of mom and me with our chocolate faces. She likes that one.”
“She sure does, but I’m not sure they’ll let you bring that in. The website said all she could accept is reading material.”
“I know, but she was really mad at me when they took her away, and this is her favorite one.”
Gerry shrugged her shoulders. “We’ll try it, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”
A weird siren interrupted a song on the radio and a deep-voiced announcer butted in. “K.R.A.B. has just learned that local automobile dealer, Clifford Clifton, was arrested minutes ago. Our on-the-spot reporter, Lacey Abeytos, has more.”
“Oh, my God,” Gerry said as she raised a hand to her mouth. Stump leaned forward and turned the volume up.
“That’s right, Andrew,” the reporter said with a matter-of-fact tone. “I’m at Clifton GMC, where L.A. police have just loaded Mr. Clifton into the back of a squad car. The K.R.A.B. news team has learned that Mr. Clifton was charged with several crimes involving a date rape drug, including aggravated sexual assault on a woman who had to be taken to the hospital. Officers tell us the victim’s son, a student, walked in on Clifton and the victim. More amazingly, the student had the wherewithal to memorize the license plate number of the now infamous dealer’s car. Clifton proclaimed innocence to this reporter, but if convicted as charged, he faces up to twenty years in prison.”
“Thank God for that,” the guy at the studio said.
“We should tell all our listeners,” the reporter continued, “that the man we all see on TV doing Clifton’s commercials is really an actor by the name of Christopher Flossel. As far as we know, Mr. Flossel had nothing to do with the alleged crimes. Stay tuned to K.R.A.B for more information as we get it. Back to you, Andrew.”
Stump jumped with such force his seatbelt seized and nailed him to his seat. He slapped at the radio knob to silence it. “Ha! That’ll teach you not to mess with the Stumpster’s mother, you bastard.” Oops.
“I know you’re happy, Honey. So am I, but when you talk like that it makes you sound uneducated.”
“Sorry.”
“The Stumpster?” she asked. “Where’d that endearing term come from?”
“I dunno,” he beamed while shrugging his shoulders, “But I hope they hang the bast—oops—I almost did it again. I hope they hang that animal.”
She tapped his knee. “See? You boys can control your tongues when you want to.”
Stump could have told her that Cousin Willie had the foulest mouth Stump knew of but he had more important things to think about. There was good news to tell his mom.
His enthusiasm must have been contagious because a little later a deputy allowed him to give the picture to his mother, provided he removed it from the frame.
While he did as he was told, he wondered if they thought his mom was going to break the pane into a collection of weapons and organize a mass jailbreak.
After a brief pat-down, they were led to a small conference room where his mom was already sitting behind a stout oak table with her back against the far wall. Her hair was straight, she wore no makeup or jewelry and her shapeless jumpsuit made her look like a partially crumpled sack of oranges.
Her nonchalant glance in his direction made one thing perfectly clear: She was nowhere near as happy to see him as he was to see her. Aunt Gerry dropped her magazines on the table and hugged her sister; then it was Stump’s turn.
He reached his arms out. His mom allowed the embrace, but showed no matching affection.
“I don’t suppose you brought me any cigarettes,” she said. “Or are you trying to teach me another lesson?”
Stump and Aunt Gerry looked at one another. Why hadn’t they thought of that? “We’ll see if we can’t drop some off with the guards later,” Aunt Gerry said.
Jean turned away.
“Guess what?” Stump said in his most excited outside voice. “They arrested that car dealer. We just heard it on the news.”
Jean turned her head his way. “Great,” she said, sarcastically. “Now, I’ll lose my job on top of everything else.”
“I don’t think so, Honey,” Aunt Gerry added. “I called Lydia yesterday. She said they’re holding it open for you.”
“Is that the genius who said I had a lenient judge who never breaks up families?”
“Look what I brought,” Stump said, still trying to be cheerful. He slid the frameless picture her way. “I can leave it here if you want me to.”
“Everybody else gets four chances. I only got three.”
If Stump had been a balloon, all the air would have just escaped. “This is your fault, too,” he painfully shot back.
“Thanks for the support.”
“Look, you two,” Aunt Gerry offered. “Right now it doesn’t really matter whose fault this is. Let’s not play the blame game.”
There was an awkward silence, and then Stump said, “Dogg is doing better.”
There was no reply.
Although Stump desperately loved his mother and genuinely regretted his role in putting her where she was, the word “bitch” came to mind. So did the idea of bringing up his dad again, but even he had enough sense to bite his tongue once in a while. It probably wasn’t a good time to say he wished he had a cell phone either.
“We’ve gone back to your house a couple times,” Aunt Gerry said. “Stump watered the plants and we aired it out.”
Jean nodded.
“Five minutes, everybody,” the guard said.
“Is there anything I can do, Mom, to make you feel better?”
She didn’t reply. A few additional benign topics were similarly dismissed. Finally, the guard spoke again. “Wrap it up folks. We’ve got other people who need this room.”
If only Stump could have said something brilliant, but brilliancy was not within his grasp. Only regret. “I’m sorry I did this to you, Mom.”
His mom lifted her eyes toward him but said nothing until the last possible second. Then, “I love you both,” she said to their backs.
Stump spun around and grabbed and hugged her. “We love you too, Mom.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“Why was she like that?” Stump asked when they got near Aunt Gerry’s house. “Mad the whole time, except at the end.”
“She’s desperate, Honey,” Aunt Gerry said as they pulled up. Dogg was standing on the couch and looking out the living room window. “She knows we’re right, but it’s hard to accept. Change and jail are scary. But she loves you more than you can ever know.”
Sounded reasonable enough. Stump blew out a gentle breath. “I’m glad she doesn’t hate me.”
Inside, Stump and Dogg went upstairs to Willie’s room and Stump told him about the jail, Clifton’s arrest, and Aunt Gerry’s mistaken implication that only appropriate words ever come out of Willie’s mouth. “Screw that,” Willie said, with a mischievous grin.
“My mom wouldn’t talk to me most of the time but your mom said she was just scared. I hope this court stuff does her some good.”
“Rules suck.”
“Yeah. Like having to go to bed at ten o’clock,” Stump said, referring to one of the house rules. He patted Dogg on the head. “I know what we can do. We can go to my place and see if we can find the key to that box.”
Willie agreed and made up a plausible excuse to tell Aunt Gerry. “Mom, Stump wants to go to his house to get a video game.”
“Can’t you just play with one of yours?”
“But he has a new one that he borrowed from somebody else. We haven’t played this one yet.”
“I don’t have time to take you. I’ve got to finish making dinner.”<
br />
“You don’t have to take us. We can use our hurry-up trick and be back in less than an hour.”
“I want to take Dogg too,” Stump added. “He could use the exercise.”
Aunt Gerry’s head twisted toward the clock on her stove. “Alright then,” she said as she grabbed a potato peeler. “But be careful and get home by five.”
It took sixteen minutes to make the nearly two-mile trip. Dogg got to check out the backyard, while the humans looked everywhere they could think of for a key that might fit. Finally, Willie asked, “How long has it been since your mom used that box?”
“I don’t know, Dude. Maybe a year or so.”
“If it’s been that long, she might not look at it again for a long time. I say we pry it open.”
“I don’t want to piss her off.”
“You just said she might not see it for years and even if she does, she’ll probably think it fell off the shelf or she broke it herself when she was drinking or something.”
Stump lifted his head. If there really was a birth certificate in there, or anything else that could provide a clue as to who his dad was, he wanted to find it. “Good point. I’ll get a chisel and a screwdriver from the garage.”
“And a hammer,” Willie said.
Within minutes, they sprang the latch. The first glance inside revealed a second-place ribbon that Stump won on field day and an award he got for perfect attendance in second grade at his old school. Beneath that there was an old nametag that Jean must have gotten from a convention. It had her current last name on it, offering no hint if she’d ever used a different last name. Still deeper in the pile, there was a small stack of greeting cards along with some funeral schedules and wedding announcements. “I don’t know most of these people,” Stump said.
“Take them. Your dad could be one of them. We can do Google searches.”
Stump shoved them in his pocket and shuffled through the remaining items in the metal box. At the very bottom he nudged aside a very tiny red envelope, about the size of a business card. “There’s nothing else,” he said.
“What about that little red packet?” Willie asked.
“Don’t know.” On the back, it was stamped Palmdale Bank and contained its address. “Main Street. I think I know that building,” Stump said. He opened it, found an odd-looking key.
“I know what that is, Dude,” Willie said. “My parents have a key like that for their safe deposit box. I went with my mom once to get a car title.”
“Would the bank let us in this box?” Stump wondered out loud.
“They might. After all, we’ve got the key.”
“Doesn’t sound right. If it was that easy then anybody with a key could get into anybody else’s box.”
A wrinkled brow indicated that Willie’s mind was churning. “Come to think of it,” he said, “I think we had to sign some papers to get in.”
Stump crossed his arms. “Nothing is ever easy, is it?” He looked at the busted-up latch on the metal box. “I hope we didn’t do this for nothing.”
“I still think we should go to that bank and see if they’ll let you in that box. You can tell them your mom sent you.”
“I can take them a note, like we do at school. I know her penmanship well enough.”
Suddenly, in the back yard, Dogg burst into aggressive barking, which he usually reserved for stray dogs or other yard invaders of all types. Stump eased down the hall and gazed through his mom’s bedroom window. A uniformed cop was checking out the back yard. Uh-oh. Did they know about the metal box?
He gulped and quickly tiptoed back to the kitchen where he shoved the now–damaged metal box in a lower cabinet just as someone banged on the front door. “Police. Open the door; we know you’re in there.”
Stump’s heart pounded as if he’d just run a half-mile. He slowly cracked the door inward. “Can I help you?” he said, pretending to be innocent.
The officer’s hand was near his holster as if ready to draw his gun. “What are you guys doing in there?”
“Nothing,” Stump said, lifting his arms. “Just getting a video game.”
“Do you live here?”
“Of course he does,” Willie said, from behind.
The cop spoke to Stump. “Mind if I come in and look around?”
“I guess so.” He couldn’t remember if he put away the things in the box. Could they know about those things?
Two officers stepped in. One pointed. “You guys sit on the couch while we have a look around.” The other cop disappeared into the hall. Dogg growled and whined at the back door.
A few minutes later the policeman returned from his inspection with a pill bottle in hand, and asked Stump, “What brand of toothpaste do you use?”
“Colgate. You can borrow some.”
“No, thanks.” The officer held up the pill bottle. “What’s your doctor’s name?”
“Doctor Stuart. Why?”
The cop looked at his partner, nodded. “They’re good.” He addressed Stump. “Last week we got a call to keep an eye on this house for the next month. Somebody said that you and your mother were out of town for a while so when we saw the lights on, we had to check it out.”
“His mom’s in jail,” Willie blurted out before Stump could stop him.
“Oh, yeah?” the cop said, twisting his head Willie’s way. “For what?”
“It’s my fault,” Stump said. Then he proceeded to tell the police about his mom and the court.
Finally the cop butted in. “Alright, then. You guys be careful.” After they left it was too late to do anything but grab the little red envelope and return to Willie’s as they’d promised Aunt Gerry.
Chapter Twenty-Two
When Miranda told Mac that she had figured out a couple of different ways to make Rachel think she was pregnant, he accused her of watching too many Looney Tunes, but she parroted Don’s rebuttals and emphasized that this new idea could be carried out in just a few months.
Fortunately for her, Mac admired her devotion so he reluctantly agreed to stick with her, provided the sham was risk-free and wouldn’t take too long. That resolved, he sneaked into Rachel’s cell phone and secured the number for one of Rachel’s doctors. Now Miranda had arrived at the doctor’s office for an appointment of her own and under a false name.
She was certainly uncomfortable about taking her clothes off for a gynecologist she didn’t already know, but she reassured herself that he’d neither care nor know who she really was. Besides, after all she’d been through at the prison, modesty simply didn’t matter as much as it once did. She pursed her lips, entered the waiting room and approached the receptionist desk. “Hello, I’m Vivian Sanders. I have an appointment with Dr. Gravely.”
The young pony-tailed receptionist checked her computer, and handed her a clipboard and a cup. “After you fill out the new patient information, we’ll need a urine sample.” Vivian sat in the corner and filled in the form: her name, Vivian Sanders; new in town; one of her friends referred her; she planned to pay with cash; she waived the opportunity to have a nurse present during examinations; she was having stomach cramps.
After she turned in the paperwork and provided a urine sample, Vivian was escorted into an exam room and instructed to put on a white paper gown.
Alone, she could see herself in a small mirror by the sink. Was Mickey’s well-being really worth all the problems? Of course it was. Besides, it would all be over within a few months one way or the other. After that she and Don could move on—but what about Mac? Maybe she’d rather . . . No. Don’t think about Mac like that.
A gentle knock was followed by the entrance of a white-coated doctor with a stethoscope dangling at the ready. As he quick-scanned his clipboard and sat on a stool, Vivian Sanders quick-scanned him: not bad looking; in his early fifties; a touch of grey in otherwise sandy hair. “Hello, Vivian,” he said. “Says here you’re having cramps?”
Vivian extended one hand and tapped her tummy with the other. �
��Not real bad, but I thought I should check it out.”
“I see,” he said as he rubbed his fingers. “You’ll have to excuse me. My hand tingles today.”
She nodded. “I was thinking I might be pregnant.”
“What about other symptoms? Are you late?”
“A week or so, but that’s happened before.”
“How about nausea or cramps?”
“I’ve felt a little queasy in the mornings, lately.”
He made a note on his clipboard.
As Gravely progressed through the basic list of questions and then the examination, Vivian looked for opportunities to ask questions of her own, to draw him out. To seem nonthreatening. She remained calm, serious and deliberate and took special care not to rush him so as to eliminate any impression of careless haste on her part.
Then, near the very end, as Gravely grabbed his clipboard and was making his final notes, she had her chance. “Can I ask your opinion on something unrelated before I leave?” she asked in a very serious tone.
“Of course,” he said, looking up.
“You’re going to think this is silly, but I’m writing a book in which a gynecologist is having a hard time making ends meet. He wants to get his new religious girlfriend to marry him by making her think she’s pregnant. Then, right after they get married, he plans to kill her for the insurance money. Does that sound believable to you?”
He smiled. ”The financial part sure does. With the high cost of insurance and rent and everything else.” He glanced back at his clipboard.
“What about making her think she’s pregnant? How hard would that be to carry off?”
He raised his head again. “I suppose he might be able to rig some test results for a while, but obviously, the ruse would be over as soon as she has a period.”
“Yeah, but this particular woman goes months in between periods, so that might not happen for a while, just long enough to get married.”
“Well then, I guess it’s possible, depending on the woman. Some of them take those do-it-yourself pregnancy tests from time to time, just to reassure themselves they’re still pregnant.”
“So you’re saying it’s possible?”
“I suppose so,” he said looking at his clipboard, yet again.
Vivian hesitated for a moment. Then, “What kind of payday would make it worthwhile for this doctor?”
Dr. Gravely raised his head. “Payday? I thought you said he wanted insurance money?”
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