Читать книгу Broken Lullaby - Pamela Tracy - Страница 7

The wide-eyed young woman in the blanket struggled to sit up, then fell back and looked ready to cry. Now that her heart had dropped back into her chest, Mary could see she was no more than a girl, a teenager, really, with matted black hair.

“Are you hurt? Do you need me to call someone?” Mary did not need any complications. Not on her first day back to the Gila City and Broken Bones area. She’d wanted to slide in under the radar. A girl in a blanket hiding out in Mary’s abandoned car lot didn’t bode well at all.

The girl responded with a blank stare.

“Are you well enough to move?”

Still no answer. Mary had grown up around some of the best con artists in the world, namely her father, brothers and her late husband, and she knew when someone was playing her. She hadn’t liked the game then; she didn’t like it now. She reached into her purse for her cell phone and said, “I only speak English. What a pity. I guess I’ll have to call the police.”

The girl finally sat up. She hardly weighed anything and her torn and dirty clothing looked two sizes too big. Mary swallowed.

She punched numbers into her cell phone and waited. The girl didn’t have to know that the numbers she’d dialed were only to check her voice mail.

“No, please,” came the response in halting but clear English. “I will leave.”

Mary flipped her phone shut. Truthfully, she was hoping to avoid the police at all cost, but now what was she going to do?

The girl slowly got to her feet, took two steps, stumbled, fell and passed out cold. This was definitely not the new beginning in Arizona Mary had hoped for, but maybe it was the beginning she deserved.

Bending down next to the girl, Mary said gently, “I’m right here.” There was no response. Taking a breath, Mary reached for an arm. The girl was heavier than she looked but Mary was able to drag her into the main room and lay her on the dusty couch. Still, the girl remained unconscious.

“Who are you?” Mary whispered, “And what am I going to do with you?”

The girl still didn’t stir.

Justin chose that moment to stomp in. His unruly hair flopping over his sweaty brow; he stopped at the door. In his hand, he held up what looked like a tailpipe. “I thought I heard a scream. Are you okay, Mom?” When Mary nodded, he threw the pipe back out the door. “This place is a mess. Are you sure we want it?”

“I’m sure.”

“Are we leaving now to meet Uncle Eric?”

“I don’t think Eric is our main concern anymore. But, you’re right. We need to get moving and I need your help.”

Looking suspicious, Justin slowly moved from the door to the desk. Now he could see the girl lying on the rundown couch. “Wow! Who’s she?”

“I don’t know. I found her in the back room and—” Before Mary could say another word, Justin interrupted.

“Is she dead?”

“No!”

Justin looked intrigued. “Are you sure?”

Great. Not only did her kid assume the worst, but he did it in an offhand manner. Shades of her brothers? Too much television? Mary wasn’t sure, but it bothered her. “She’s not dead. She just fainted.”

Justin nodded, managing to look both interested and unfazed.

“Go out to the car and get me a bottled water,” Mary finally said. “And grab something for her to eat.”

The water woke the girl up, the small bag of chips lasted about thirty seconds and the sight of Justin made her cry.

“What did I do?” Justin asked.

“Nothing, she probably just needs a good cry.”

The girl hiccuped and asked, “Are police coming?”

“I didn’t call them,” Mary said.

The girl relaxed a bit and stared at Justin. “Your brother?”

“Oh, I like you!” Mary exclaimed. “No, this is my son.”

“Son?” The girl seemed to draw into herself. This time, when the tears flowed, it didn’t look like they’d stop anytime soon. They certainly showed no sign of ceasing while Justin and Mary finally helped her to her feet and propelled her toward the door and out to the car. She went willingly into the backseat and curled up in a fetal position.

Justin raised his eyebrows, glanced at his mother and shrugged. It was actually refreshing. For the first time in days Justin wasn’t bemoaning the move to Broken Bones, Arizona.

For her part, the girl in the back was busy talking to God in Spanish. Mary figured part of the prayer had to do with the way she backed up the car with the U-Haul attached. The prayer was enough to keep the bud out of Justin’s ear and inspire curious looks that might mean actual conversation.

“What are we going to do with her, Mom?” Justin positioned himself so he could stare at their passenger.

“Take her to the cabin, feed her, clean her up and,” Mary switched to a fake German accent, “ve haf vays to make her tock.”

Justin chuckled and looked back at the girl. She struggled to a sitting position as Justin asked, “Do you have a name?”

“Alma.”

Trust Justin to ask a simple question and get a simple answer. Mary felt relieved. “Well, Alma, now that you’re talking, why don’t you tell us where we can take you? What you were doing at the car lot?”

Alma didn’t answer. Obviously Mary hadn’t mastered asking “simple” questions. “Alma?” Justin said to himself. “I’ve never heard of that name.”

Alma answered in flawless English. “I am named after my grandmother.”

“Are you from Mexico?”

“Yes.”

“When did you move here?”

“Maybe it has been a week.”

Justin was on a roll. “We just got here today. Mom says I’ll get to go to school and play sports. Baseball’s my favor—”

Mary butted in. “Are you homeless? Are you hiding from someone?”

No answer.

“I can help,” Mary said softly.

“Yeah,” Justin agreed. “We’re real good at hiding.”

Alma frowned. “I am hiding. From…No. I’m looking for my husband and—”

“Husband?” Mary interrupted. Yikes! The girl barely looked old enough to be past Barbie dolls and high school pep rallies. “Where is your husband?” Mary asked. “Do you need me to call him?”

“I think he’s dead.” The words were soft and they tore at Mary’s heart because she could hear the sorrow infused in them.

“Oh,” Justin said. “My dad’s dead, too. He died just a few years ago.”

“Leandro has been gone six months.” Alma choked up and then continued, “He was coming here.”

Justin asked the question before Mary could. “What do you mean gone? Is he dead or just missing?”

“He is missing, but I know he is dead or he would come for me.”

“My dad’s really dead.” Just like that Justin bought into the missing equals dead explanation. Well, in their world, at one time, missing meant dead, but not anymore. After all, Mary had mastered the art of “missing” without dying. Her brother Kenny was missing, yet Mary didn’t think of him as dead. She also never brought Kenny’s name up in Justin’s presence because at first, the mention of Kenny’s name made Justin cry.

Mary may wish that Eric would be the favorite uncle, the role model, but in truth, Uncle Kenny had been around when the going got tough. And Justin remembered Kenny as a happy-go-lucky uncle. One who chased him down halls and put together train sets. Justin, fortunately, didn’t know that Kenny did all this with a gun strapped to his ankle. Mary didn’t want Justin to miss Kenny. Justin was too impressionable now.

Alma went back to her original fetal position. The fetal position was a surprisingly good don’t-ask-me-any-more-questions technique that Mary had used herself once or twice. Then, the cabin came into view and Mary slowed. “Home sweet home,” she told Justin, looking at the century-old cabin that had been Eric’s inheritance from their grandfather. But now Eric lived in Gila City with his new wife and family and he was letting them stay here rent-free.

“And you’re sure we’ll have TV?” Justin asked.

“I’m sure. Maybe not today, but by next week for sure.”

Justin sat up and peered out the windshield. “Is the dark-haired guy Uncle Eric? I don’t remember him. He’s not as big as Uncle Kenny.”

No, Eric wasn’t as big as Uncle Kenny. Both Mary and Eric looked more like their mother. They were tall, dark and sinewy. Their older brothers, Sardi, Tony and Kenny, looked like their father. They resembled tall, dark, walking refrigerators. Eric’s friend had good-looking down to an art, but he sure wasn’t dressed for the dirty work of unloading furniture and unpacking boxes.

Both men started walking toward the driver’s side window. The friend’s walk was sure, deliberate. He moved without a smile. There was something about him…“He’s a cop,” Mary muttered.

Alma ducked.

“What are we going to do, Mom?” Justin sat up, half excited, half worried. In the backseat, panic seemed to roll off the girl in waves.

Mary recognized the extreme fear. A lifetime of avoiding police detection came back too easily. “Justin, it’s more like what you are going to do. Jump out, run over, give your Uncle Eric a hug and turn them away from the car. Alma, you slip out when they’re not looking and go hide. You’ll need to hide for quite a while. They’ll be unloading the U-Haul. Take some food and water from the box on the floorboard.”

Justin obeyed, and Mary watched as he approached and the men turned to the side.

Glancing in the backseat and watching as Alma rolled trail mix, chips and bottles of water into her blanket, Mary knew Alma had no intention of coming back.

Being alone for two days must have damaged Mitch’s vocal chords. Yes, that was it. Two days without giving orders, conducting interrogations or heading up meetings had combined to render him speechless. Otherwise, he’d have to admit it was the gorgeous woman stepping out of the car who left him tongue-tied.

Speechlessness wasn’t a comfortable feeling for Mitch, especially over the likes of Mary Santellis-Graham. He could see that she wasn’t nearly as bowled over by him. She had already made him as a cop and he wasn’t surprised by her quick assessment. Mary was a Santellis who’d been on the run for the past three years. Cop and bogeyman were synonymous in her world.

Eric appeared oblivious to the tension between Mitch and his sister and asked, “How was the drive?”

That’s when Mary smiled and his tongue went from tied to gone completely. Mitch hoped he didn’t need to say anything because he couldn’t, even if he tried.

She flipped her long hair over a shoulder and confidently strode toward her brother. The resemblance was uncanny. And both had mastered the art of attitude.

“The drive was fine. Now, why did you bring a cop with you?” Mary spoke the words to Eric but shot the get-off-my-property look at Mitch.

“He’s not a cop, exactly,” Eric said easily. “Mitch Williams is with Internal Affairs, which means unless you’ve done something bad with a cop or because of a cop, you’re safe.”

“My mom doesn’t go near cops,” Justin stated. “Me, neither.”

It was the young boy who helped free Mitch’s tongue. He had the blue-black hair and attitude of the Santellis clan, but from Mitch’s recollection of his run-ins with Eddie, the boy had his father’s stockiness. “So who do you go to when you’re in trouble?” Mitch asked.

“I go to my mom.”

Mitch turned to Mary. “And who do you go to when you’re in trouble?”

She met his gaze head-on. “I distance myself from the problem.”

Mitch almost grinned. He was pretty sure she was thinking he was going to be a problem.

“Hey, hey,” Eric butted in. “What’s going on here? You two, stop it. Sis, Mitch is your nearest neighbor. He lives right up there.”

Mitch watched as Mary warily looked up Prospector’s Way to the only cabin in sight.

Eric didn’t appear to notice her discomfort. “Mary, I came out early because I wanted to scout out the area. I didn’t know Mitch was even at his place. I’ve been filling him in on a case Ruth is investigating, and he’s willing to help.”

“What kind of case?” Mary asked carefully. Her son edged a little closer, looking interested.

Eric continued, “A two-month-old baby boy was kidnapped Sunday in Gila City. We know the family. The local police have done everything they know how to do, but each hour that passes gives whoever took the baby a greater chance of getting away.”

Mary’s eyes softened and she reached out and put her hand on her son’s shoulder, as if checking to making sure he was really next to her, really safe. She was taking care of her own.

There was no one who felt that way about Mitch.

And it was his own fault.

“They already rule out family members?” she asked.

“Yes, pretty much.” Eric said. “The mother’s a sixteen-year-old girl, Angelina Santos. Her father, a police officer, died just a year ago. The father is a fifteen-year-old boy. His family’s taking a little bit more time to warm to the idea of being grandparents, but, hey, they had plans for their son.”

“Sixteen, huh?” Mary said, slowly. “And Hispanic?”

Eric nodded, and Mitch watched Mary’s face. Something was bothering her and it wasn’t just him. Finally, she continued, “And you’re sure neither family is suspect?”

“Absolutely sure,” Eric insisted. “The girl’s family attends our church and when little José was—”

Mary held up her hand for him to stop. “Is the mother way too thin?”

“Too thin? No,” Eric said, “What makes you ask?”

“Mom, don’t!” Justin suddenly jerked away from his mother’s hand and turned to face her. His whole face shouted, don’t trust the cop! Stop talking.

They learned so young, this distrust of the system—a system supposed to help not hurt.

“Mom, Angelina’s the wrong name. Our girl’s Alma. Don’t tell them anything!”

Mary shot her son a look that almost made Mitch want to back down. In the silence of the moment and because years of habit told him just what to do, he pulled a small notebook from his shirt pocket and starting writing down names. “Tell me more about Alma, son,” he urged.

“Should I show—” Eric started to say.

“Not yet,” Mitch said. He wanted to see how the story went both before and after showing the drawing.

Mary glanced at Eric, then began to talk. “We stopped at the car lot on the way here. We were running early and I wanted to see my inheritance. Justin was exploring outside and I started inside. What a mess.”

“Some things did get taken when we were working on your husband’s case,” Mitch said. “We did a full investigation. We have the books and a few other personal items. I’ll see that they’re returned. Now, tell me more about this Alma.”

“I heard a moan and went in Eddie’s office. Even though it was over a hundred degrees, I found a young girl in there rolled up in an old blanket. I thought she was dead, but she moved.” Mary looked at Eric. “Made sense to me. When you moved to Broken Bones you found dead bodies, the same could happen to me. But, she moved. She opened her eyes and looked at me and when I threatened to call the police—”

“Mom would never call the police,” Justin interrupted.

“—she sat up. She was a teenager, Hispanic. She spoke pretty good English. She was also undernourished.”

“Is she still at the car lot?” Mitch asked, looking at Eric’s old truck and wishing he’d brought his own vehicle.

“No, I brought her here. Back at the car lot, she got somewhat hysterical after Justin stomped in.”

“I didn’t mean to scare her,” Justin defended himself.

“You didn’t scare her, honey. She fell apart when I told her you were my son.” Mary looked at Eric. “She looked pretty young, maybe sixteen. She told us her name was Alma. Could she be Angelina?”

“No,” Eric said. “There’s no reason for Angelina to be hiding at the car lot, and I saw her last night. She’s not malnourished.”

“Did this Alma have an infant with her?” Mitch started for the car.

Mary yelled after him. “She’s not in there. And, no, she didn’t have an infant with her. I had Justin divert you guys and she slipped away. I told her to hide until you left, but I’m pretty sure she’s not of a mind to come back.”

Mitch bypassed the car and disappeared behind the cabin.

“Alma?” Eric shook his head. “That name doesn’t ring a bell as one of our missing children or their mamas.” Then, he took off after Mitch. Justin followed behind.

“Missing children?” Mary said, although no one, not even Justin, stuck around to listen. “You mean, there’s more than one?”