“Let me see that.”
After the brief giggle-a-thon, Stump was able to leave some voicemail messages. That done, Richard popped his second Red Bull. “The hospitals in the area might be able to search their records for the day you were born and come up with some useful information,” he said.
“Why didn’t I think of that?” Stump wondered out loud. He glugged down the rest of his first can and popped his second one to stay up with his pal.
With all the calls made, and enough time for a small buzz, Richard grabbed some weights and returned to the front of the mirror. “I hear the high school football team is pretty good. We should go to a game sometime.”
“I guess we could, but I don’t have much money.”
Richard flexed his muscle in the mirror. “No sweat. I can always find a way to sneak in. You want to know what’s a kick in the pants at games?”
”No, what?” said Stump.
“I like to sit on the opponents’ side of the stadium and talk trash. Say they suck or were lucky when they scored, just to see what they’ll do.”
Stump’s stomach was full but he gulped at his Red Bull anyway. “I’ve seen people like that at baseball games and on TV. Sometimes they get in fights.” He lay on the floor to do a few sit-ups.
“I never let it get that far,” Richard assured him. “They know I’m just messing around. Besides, I lift weights. I can kick most of their asses if I have to.”
That was probably true. Even though Richard was younger than the high school crowd, he was about their size and probably could take on a lot of them.
All of a sudden, an insanely loud NASCAR ringtone came from Richard’s cell. He glanced at the read out. “See, Dude, I told you. It’s one of those textile places.” He turned on the speaker and handed the phone to Stump.
“Hello, this is Elizabeth. I work in the office at R & B Textile. I understand you want to know about Jean Randolph.”
Stump covered his mouth so she couldn’t hear him belch. Then, “Yes, ma’am. She’s my mom.” Fortunately, he and Richard had already worked out what to say. “Actually, I’m trying to find my dad. I’ve never met him, but there’s been an accident and my mom’s in the hospital. She wants to talk to him. Do you know who he might be or where I can reach him?”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I’ve been working here for over thirty years and I definitely remember your mother.”
Stump’s heart pounded harder. “What about my dad? Do you know who he is or where I can find him?”
The woman hesitated. Then she said, “I don’t mean to be indelicate, but she dated several men, including Robert, who worked on the loading dock.”
Stump sat down and wiped some sweat from his forehead. This could be the lead he’d been searching for. “What do you know about Robert? Where can I find him?”
After another stall, she said, “Well, this is awkward, but do you have dark skin or curly hair?”
“No. Why?”
Richard dropped to the floor and laughed so hard he made Stump smile, too. “I don’t think that’s him,” Stump assured her. “Is there anybody else?”
“Not that I can think of, but if I come up with anything new, I’ll give you a call. I’m sure your mother would appreciate it.”
“Thanks anyway,” he said. After they finished the call, Stump turned to Richard. “Don’t know if it’s the Red Bull or the call, but I’m stoked.”
“Probably a little of each. Hey, you want to stay the night?”
“Sure. I’d better call my aunt.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Stump’s mom hugged him so hard she squeezed a silent fart out of him. “I’m so grateful that’s over,” she said. Given that the jail had made no allowance for Stump to visit her at night, it had been two weeks since they last saw each other and one week since Uncle Dirk’s allergies had gotten the best of him. Instead of allowing Stump to spend the night at Richard’s, he insisted that Dogg be taken to a kennel.
“Can we go get Dogg now?” Stump pleaded as he buckled up. He’s been in jail, too.”
“We’re on our way, Honey,” Aunt Gerry said.
“That’s another thing I regret,” Stump’s mom said. “We leave Dogg alone too much. Poor thing has nothing to do. He needs exercise and to be with other dogs.”
“He likes to sniff their butts,” Stump said, relieved that he could squeeze in a little potty talk again.
Aunt Gerry shook her head in mock disgust, turned to her sister. “So, how you doing, Honey?”
“It wasn’t all bad,” Jean said. “I read the Bible and Chicken Soup for the Soul.”
“That’s a good one,” Aunt Gerry confirmed as she braked for a stoplight.
“That judge was right. All the loneliness made me understand how lucky I am to have a good family like you guys in my life. I don’t want to end up like some of the other women in there.” She spun her head toward the back seat. “I’ve learned my lesson for real this time, and I have you two to thank for it.”
“No more drinking?” he asked, wanting to hear her say it again.
“Nope. No drinking. Don’t need it now. Thanks to you.”
“That’s wonderful, Honey.”
An inner peace washed over Stump. There was strong conviction in his mother’s voice. Aunt Gerry sounded like she sensed it, too.
“Another thing I learned,” his mom continued. “There’s no love stronger than that which a mother feels for her children.”
Stump reached forward and rested his hand on her shoulder. “Me too, Mom. I love you, too.”
“I’m going to help you with your schoolwork and you can help me with the housework. That way, we’ll both do better.”
“Hey. Look at that,” Stump said pointing to the car in the next lane and slightly in front of them. “That license plate.”
“Oh, yeah. It says, MOM in it,” Aunt Gerry said.
Jean looked at the plate. “I’m also thankful to be with the only person I know who sees messages in license plates.”
Stump grinned.
“So how’s school so far? You got any new teachers or girlfriends?”
“He’s a dreamboat, alright.”
Stump snorted at his aunt’s snide comment. “I can bench press a hundred and twenty pounds.”
“Oh? With your new friend? How’s that working out?”
“I didn’t get to go over there very much,” he said.
“Well, Honey, Aunt Gerry has a lot on her mind and didn’t want you to get into any trouble.”
“How we going to get in trouble lifting weights and drinking Red Bulls?”
“Red Bulls? Where’d you get money for those?”
“Richard’s dad buys them by the case. Richard thinks I should join the rugby team.”
“That’d be nice, but we don’t have any money for sports right now. I’m lucky I have a job. It’ll be a couple weeks until I get a paycheck—then we’ve got to catch up on all our dumb bills.”
“Richard said the coach could get somebody else to pay for my uniform, but I turned them down anyway. I know how you always say when I start something—“
“Right. You have to finish it. You have to do well in school. It’s the only way you can get into college.”
“Here we go,” Aunt Gerry said as she pulled into the kennel.
After some paper shuffling and another small loan from Aunt Gerry, Team Randolph was back home and together for the first time in weeks. The mood was right. “I’m glad you’re feeling so much better, Mom, because I have a confession.”
She lit a cigarette and pinched his cheek. “You? A confession?”
“Uh-huh. While you were gone I wanted to find out who Dad was, and you always said I was born in Milwaukee, so I called the big hospitals back there. I had them check their records but nobody ever heard about me. Why not?”
The grin on her face melted. “I wish you hadn’t done that, Stump. It means you don’t trust me.”
“But
we agreed that we’re going to be honest with each other, and withholding information is the same as lying. Everybody says I deserve to know who my dad is. Why doesn’t anybody have records of me being born?”
“I don’t want to argue about that now.”
“What happened to being honest with each other?”
“I already told you. I didn’t want to be entangled with him or anybody else from that era, so I left there and ended up here. That was my choice and I don’t have to say any more.”
“C’mon Mom, ‘fess up. Richard says I deserve to know.”
“Then go live with Richard. As long as you live under my roof, you need to respect my decisions.”
“Decisions? That’s a laugh. How can a drunk make good decisions?” Whoops. Her head pivoted his way. “Sorry, Mom. I know you’re doing the best you can.”
She pursed her lips. Then, “Look, it’s my first day back and I’m exhausted. I have to work tomorrow and I’ve got enough drama on my plate without arguing about the past. I just want to take a nice hot bath and enjoy being home for now. If you’ll respect that, and not bring this up again for a while, you can invite Richard over for barbequed hamburgers tomorrow night and I’ll rethink your request.”
Chapter Thirty
Miranda sat across from Dr. Gravely’s desk, which was cluttered with files, journals and boring medical items in random piles. One of his pictures included him and three women. Based on their ages, it was probably his wife and daughters.
Fifteen minutes slipped by while Miranda contemplated Gravely’s motives. It was most likely one of two things. Either he had more interest in her previously veiled proposal than he first indicated, or it was some sort of set up; She’d just have to ease into the situation and make him play his cards first.
Finally, he entered and took a seat behind his desk. His hand jittered. “Hello Vivian – or whatever your name is,” he said in a monotone. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“I had the day off,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Is something wrong?”
He swiveled in his chair and lifted a slightly quivering finger. “I’d like to talk to you about that book of yours.”
Why was his hand shaking? Was he as nervous as she was? She raised her eyebrows to urge him on.
Neither of them spoke for a moment, then he leaned back in his chair. “After you left the other day I got a call from my neurologist. It was like others I’d been getting. After we hung up I got to thinking you and I might be able to scratch each other’s backs.”
As long as he was willing to do the talking she was willing to listen.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed my hands shaking, but I’ve been diagnosed with ALS, or Lou Gehrig’s disease. The brain stops communicating with the muscles.”
She’d heard of it. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“So far, I’ve hid it the best I could, but now people are asking questions. They tell me I’ve only got another year or so.”
If this was true, the poor guy was screwed. But it could still be a scam. “Isn’t there anything they can do?”
He shook his head and leaned forward. “It gets worse. I’m flat broke. About all I’ve done for my family is put my girls through medical school.”
“That sounds like a lot to me,” she said.
“It’s extremely expensive. So is my practice and my bank won’t make me any more loans.” He took a long slow breath and held it a moment before letting it out. “I must have thought I’d live forever, because I never bought any life insurance.”
As tragic as the doctor’s situation was, if he was on the up-and-up, he needed money and that meant he was reconsidering joining her.
“On top of everything else,” he went on, “my wife and I haven’t been close in years. She says I work too much, but that’s how I’ve hidden some of my symptoms from her.” He glanced at the photo on the bookcase. “The bottom line is, I still love her and can’t leave her with all my debt. She’d never make it on her own. I want her to know she always mattered to me a lot more than she ever knew.”
Miranda noticed his eyes tearing up. She nodded slowly. “I thought it was something like that.”
“I need some big money and apparently you’ve stumbled upon an opportunity to get it. But you obviously need me too, so I’ve decided to listen to what you’ve got in mind. If I like your idea I might join you.”
Wow. This may have been the best news since Mac agreed to come out to California. But discretion remained in order. “Before I say anything I want to know how I can be sure you’re being straight with me.”
The doctor nodded. “Fair enough. I have reports from my own doctor about my disease and letters from my banks indicating my situation.” He handed her a short stack of papers. “See for yourself.”
She took it. “What about you? You don’t seem worried about me. How do you know I won’t double-cross you?”
He shrugged. “I’ve got nothing to lose. But if you hurt my wife, I’ll find a way to make you wish you hadn’t. So, how about it? You give me the details. If I like what I hear, I’m in, and you can tell me your real name.” She looked him in the eye. He sounded sincere and his papers confirmed his story, but there was still a possibility that she was being set up.
“If I think you’re nuts,” he continued, “you can walk out that door and nobody knows who you really are or what we talked about.” A faint smile stretched his lips. “You can win but you can’t lose.”
Miranda had always been good at reading people. The sadness in Gravely’s watery eyes, coupled with the shaky fingers, were very convincing, but there was one hell of a lot at stake. He could be taping everything she said. “I’d rather we go for a walk and I’ll tell you outside.”
“Why? Nobody can hear us in here.”
“Bugs. I want to see inside your shirt, too.”
He grinned. “Smart. I’ll tell my staff we’ll be back in fifteen minutes. Will that do it?”
“Better make it twenty.”
A little later she’d spilled most of the details about the plan, her partners, her brother, and his patient, Rachel Johnson. “All we need you to do is help us make her think she’s pregnant,” she said. “And keep it up until we get the money.”
He stopped, faced her. “Alright, you’ve convinced me that you’re a clever bunch. Three twins, helping a fourth one. All without really hurting anybody. I’m not really sure how you can do all that and skip out on that woman without the cops knowing who you are, but that’s your problem. Just don’t drag my family’s name into it.”
Miranda twisted a strand of her hair. “There’s no benefit in doing that, unless you double-cross us.”
“Okay, then let’s talk numbers. Just how big is this trust and what’s my cut?”
“That’s one of the difficult things. We don’t quite know how much is in it, but my partner thinks it’s at least a million. The best I can tell you is we should know within six weeks.”
“Okay then. I want the first million and you guys get the second one. We split the rest.”
“We can’t do that. The whole reason I’m doing this is for my brother. As I said, he needs the money for medical reasons. You can understand that, can’t you?”
“You’re breaking my heart,” Gravely said sarcastically. “I’m struggling too, you know—or did you forget that already?”
Miranda paused and sighed. “If I don’t take care of my brother first, the whole deal is off. That means you don’t get a dime and your wife is on her own with no way to support herself.”
Gravely nodded. “What’s your counter offer?”
Miranda recalled how they once said they’d leave some money in the trust for Rachel but that seemed unlikely now. “The best we can do is split the first million between my brother and you. Then you get a third of everything else.”
“I want half of everything.”
She shook her head. “Can’t. There has to be some money in there for my partner
and me, too.”
Gravely’s shaking fingers scratched at his ear. “Okay, I’ll accept your proposal under one condition. Given the possibility that the trust is insignificant, I want fifty thousand, up front—let’s call it a good faith deposit.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Miranda took a bite of her doughnut and threw it back in the sack. Comfort food didn’t help. The good news was, Don was getting out in three weeks. The bad news was, Don was getting out in three weeks. Today would be their final conjugal visit.
In a way she missed the days when Don was originally locked up. Before conjugal visits, before Mickey declined, before stealing and cheating became justified.
There was a relative innocence in those days. They held hands above the table and talked away the whole hour, mostly about how great it would be when Don got out and their lives would magically return to what they had previously been. Now that day was near and nothing was like she thought it would be.
Some of it was Mac’s fault. He had been spiking Rachel’s late-night wine with sleeping pills so he could spend more time with Miranda and that was straining everything, including her relationship with Don, who deserved a lot more loyalty than she’d been exhibiting.
Hog wash. Miranda crumpled the doughnut bag and threw it on the floor of the rider’s side. Who was she trying to kid? Why was she blaming it on Mac? She loved his company and how he made her feel during those late-night stay-overs. But all that would have to change when Don was released. He’d want to stay with her, too. How was she going to cut Mac off?
At least her intimate moments with Don might improve. Lately the rare sessions in the love cabins had become pressure-packed brainstorming conferences after which she was expected to carry out the con’s intricate requirements. The few minutes of meaningless intercourse that followed might have impressed a prostitute in search of a fast buck, but it didn’t do a damn thing for Miranda.
As the prison came into view, her heart was cluttered with hope, guilt and confusion. She couldn’t deny there was a certain excitement to being entangled in the middle of a love-quadrangle, but a crisis point was fast approaching.
At the moment, all of Cupid’s arrows were pointing her in Mac’s direction, but under the surface where common decency resides, she knew that wasn’t even remotely fair. Don didn’t have a chance in the game of love if he was behind bars 24/7—all for protecting her. She’d always hated people who turned their backs on somebody they’d once loved, but there she was right in the middle of a big kettle of betrayal stew. How the hell did she let that happen? She had to regroup. Get her head out of her rear-end and remember all Don had done for her and Mickey.
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