Читать книгу Too Many Crooks Spoil the Plot - Sarah Osborne - Страница 8

Chapter One

Nothing warned me that my world was about to tilt on its axis and never tilt back again.

Early spring in Atlanta was a magical time, and this morning was no exception. A few cumulus clouds drifted overhead, the temperature was near seventy, and my garden was already in bloom. I got up with the sun, so I’d already made cinnamon rolls, some of which might actually last until the next day, Saturday, when I could take them to work. I planted myself on the open porch of my Virginia-Highland home to drink in the scent of my gardenia bush and watch my tulips sunning themselves. No work for me today, just pleasure.

Hermione, my half German shepherd, half collie bodhisattva of a dog, put her head in my lap, partly to say she loved me and partly to see if she might get a bit of cinnamon roll. I gave her what I had left and sipped my coffee. I would not let this perfect morning be ruined by the hit-and-run visit of my brother. Tommy came when he wanted something and always left me with collateral damage. This time the visit had been on his way to work to see if I’d finally agree to sell the family farm in Iowa.

“We could make millions in condos,” Tommy said. For him, everything was about the dollar sign. No, I told him. I hadn’t changed my mind and wasn’t likely to. The dairy farm had been in our family for generations. We had a good tenant. While I didn’t love the farm, our mother had. It might have been the only thing she really had loved. Tommy left in a huff, driving over my Texas bluestar on his way out.

I did my best to breathe new life into my half-flattened plant and then sat on the porch musing about the future. Was it time to leave Atlanta? I’d stayed in this city longer than most that I’d lived in. First for medical school and residency. Later for a job in a refugee clinic. I loved my work, but as a pediatrician, I could work anywhere. Why had I come back? To try once again to mend fences with Tommy? Clearly that was not going to happen. Was it because I loved being near my best friend, Lurleen? She and I kept up through Skype and visits wherever I landed.

I really didn’t need to stay any longer.

The desire to roam was getting stronger. I could feel it like an itch that I couldn’t quite scratch. Sure, I loved my garden, my house, my work, Atlanta. But there were other homes and cities I could love just as well.

“Ditie?” someone called. I stood up. No one but my closest friends called me that.

My dad called me Aphrodite, Ditie for short, because he thought I was beautiful. My mother said that was absurd. She christened me Mabel Brown after her hard-working grandmother. “You’re no Aphrodite,” she told me later, “and it’s a sorry day your father put those thoughts in your head.”

I looked up and down my tree-lined street. I lived in the perfect neighborhood on a street that had little traffic. I saw no one.

“Ditie. It is you!” someone called again.

This time I saw her emerging from behind my neighbor’s dogwood tree, running toward me, arms outstretched. Ellie! Tall, slender, her magnificent blond hair swirling around her face, her deep-set blue eyes the color of the Gulf of Mexico. It was how she always appeared. Out of nowhere. Unexpected.

She threw her arms around my round body, squishing my head against her ample breasts. The last time I’d seen her was two years earlier when she’d called for help with a bad-news boyfriend—getting away from him, that is. Eleanor turned up when she was in trouble and not much in between. I’d learned to accept that, sort of, but it was hard.

Ellie was the person I wanted to be from the time I first saw her. I was five years old and she was seven. She stood in the doorway of our classroom with her long blond hair catching the light. She was a goddess to me, the real Aphrodite. I followed her around like a lost bear cub. I was pudgy and short, with curly brown hair. I think I’d just chopped it all off to spite my mother, who insisted that girls had to wear barrettes and dresses when they went to school. Once I saw Eleanor, all I wanted was long silky hair. I didn’t cut my hair short again until I was sixteen and headed off to college.

“How did you find me?” I asked. “I tried to call you when I moved back to Atlanta, but they said your number was disconnected.”

“Hi, sweetie. I googled you and there you were. Funny how we all ended up here—you, me, Tommy. I live ten minutes away in Little Five Points. Small world, huh?”

Small world maybe, but I wondered if Ellie had moved to Atlanta in hopes of working something out with Tommy. They dated in high school and then broke up when Ellie got a better offer from the quarterback. Loyalty wasn’t Ellie’s strong suit. Forgiving wasn’t Tommy’s. She eyed me, and as usual around Eleanor, I wished I’d combed my hair and put on makeup.

“Tommy was just here,” I said to get the focus off me. “You missed him by thirty seconds.”

“I thought I saw his car,” she said.

“So you two have been in touch?”

“No, no,” she said quickly. “Haven’t seen him in a year. Tommy doesn’t have time for me.”

“You and me both. It’s funny though—I thought Tommy just bought that Mercedes.”

Ellie shrugged. She looked over my yard and my 1920s brick bungalow. “This is a big house. You live here all alone?”

“I don’t have a man in my life right now if that’s what you mean. But I do have my cat, Majestic, and my dog, Hermione.” I looked around. “Where are the kids?”

Eleanor seemed to be out for a stroll with no kids in sight. She looked good. Her hair was shorter and her figure was as great as ever. The only thing that looked off was her smile. It didn’t light up her face the way it usually did.

“What’s wrong? Are the kids sick? I’m seeing a lot of norovirus in the clinic these days.”

“No, no. The kids are fine. Thank God. Nothing with the kids, and I want to keep it that way. They’re in school. I just stopped by, so we could . . . chat a bit.”

“Chat a bit” was Eleanor-speak for “I have a problem.”

“Come on in,” I said after giving her another hug. I could hear her gasping for air. “Sorry, sometimes I forget my own strength. I’m just so glad to see you. Where is your car?”

“Repossessed. I took a bus. You’re right on the line from Little Five.”

“Why didn’t you call me? I could have picked you up.”

“I wasn’t sure I’d actually have the nerve to see you. Not after how I left the last time. I never thanked you for saving my life. Again.” She gave me a momentary mea culpa look and then shook it off with a quick twitch of her slender shoulders.

Occasionally, Eleanor spoke the truth. This was one of those times. I had rescued her from a thug who would have been happy to beat the crap out of her for promising something she didn’t deliver. That was the story of Ellie’s life. She promised and didn’t deliver.

“Something smells delicious,” Ellie said as I ushered her inside. Hermione wagged her tail and then settled on the couch.

“Home-made cinnamon rolls. Can I get you some along with coffee, tea?”

Eleanor shook her head. “I can’t stay long. It’s a wonderful house,” she said, looking around. “Just the house I’d expect you to have—a house with character.”

Eleanor knew all my soft spots and most of my vanities. Houses mattered to me. God knows I’d lived in enough of them. Majestic, my large orange cat, swished his way past Eleanor and sat down beside the open door to preen and see what the birds outside were up to.

Eleanor stood near the front door. “I have a favor to ask. A big one.”

“Maybe we ought to sit down first,” I said.

Ellie perched on the edge of my grandmother’s rocker, and I squeezed onto the couch where Hermione was sprawled. “Okay, shoot.”

“I know this is a huge imposition, but I don’t know where else to turn. You’ve always come through for me in the past. It wouldn’t be for long. Just till I got a few things sorted out.”

This was going to be quite a favor. “Tell me, Ellie.”

“Do you think the kids could stay with you for a few days?”

I stared at Ellie. She looked desperate. Frantic—if the way she rocked back and forth on the edge of the chair was any indication.

“Of course,” I said. That was always my first response to Eleanor. Tommy said I picked up trouble the way other people picked up a favorite book to read. He swore I had a deep-seated neurotic need to be everyone’s rescuer, the bigger the problem the better. That was Tommy’s latest interest—shrink talk. Ever since he’d gone to therapy for about two weeks, he understood the world of the psyche.

“But why do you need me to do that?”

Ellie fidgeted. “There’s just something I have to do. And I can’t do it with the kids in tow. I need to know they’re safe.”

“Safe?” Now I started to fidget. “Ellie, what are you up to this time?”

“Don’t press me, Ditie. You’re the only one I can turn to. The only person I know I can trust. The only person I’d leave my children with. Lucie talks about you all the time. When will she get to see her Aunt Di?”

Ellie found another of my soft spots—a kid who likes me. Kids in the practice like me well enough, but they’re a lot less enthusiastic after I poke them or give them a shot.

“Lucie must be eight or nine by now. And Jason is what, five?”

“Jason turns five in a couple of days and Lucie will be nine in September.”

I was silent, and I’m sure I looked worried.

Ellie glanced at her watch and stood up. “I have to go. I’ve got something I have to handle, and I don’t want the kids in the middle of it. If you can’t help me out, I’ll find someone who can.”

“Take it easy. Of course, I’ll help you. But I need to know what’s going on with you. You look frightened.”

Ellie composed her face. “Not frightened,” she said. “Excited. I’m about to make a killing. Maybe I’ll buy a house next door and we’ll become the sisters we were always meant to be.”

I smiled. Ellie was like a sister to me. Not always an easy one, but one I loved.

“The kids won’t be a burden,” she said. “They go to Morningside Elementary. They take the bus from our apartment, but they could walk from your house. Lucie is very responsible. She’s as much a mom to Jason as I am.”

I nodded. She’d been a mom to Jason the last time I saw them. Lucie got her responsibility gene from somewhere, but it wasn’t from her mother. “Do the kids ever see their father?”

“Of course not. He’s no good, you know that. Doesn’t pay child support, much less alimony. I don’t even have a current address for him.”

Eleanor, for all her looks, never had good luck with men. Her father was a run-around, and maybe that’s just what she expected and got from the men she hooked up with. She left her husband before Jason was born and I never knew why.

“When shall I pick up the kids?” I asked.

“At five or six, if that works for you.”

“Sure.” Why did that word fall so easily from my lips? I didn’t actually know how this would work. It was Friday, my day off, but I had a morning shift at the Refugee Clinic on Saturday, and what about Monday?

Ellie read my mind. “Like I say, Lucie can walk Jason to school and home again. No problem. They’re used to being home alone.”

“I’m not comfortable with that. I can probably get my friend Lurleen to help out in the afternoons, and I can drop them off at school on my way to work.”

“You’re such a problem solver. That’s why I love you. Here’s the address.” She handed me a slip of paper on Sandler’s Sodas letterhead.

“You work for Sandler’s?” I asked.

“Used to. Long story. They are about to make me a very good retirement offer. I have to go.”

“Do the kids know about this arrangement?”

“Well, sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“I didn’t want to tell them until I was sure about you. They’ll be fine.”

“I’ll drop you at home,” I said.

“You don’t need to drop me off. I have an errand to run first. If I’m not home when you get there, Lucie can help you get everything you need. Not to worry.”

Not to worry. Right. I could feel my shoulders tense—a sure sign that something wasn’t okay.

Ellie flicked her fabulous hair back from her face and gave me her megawatt smile. “I’ll explain everything when I pick the kids up in a few days.”

Explaining wasn’t part of Eleanor’s vocabulary. I nodded. I’m no shrinking violet, but with Eleanor I seemed to lose my adult self and become her five-year-old slave again.

She got ready to leave with a kiss on my cheek and a promise to call in the evening. The sky had darkened and we were in for an afternoon storm. I could hear the first drops on the porch. I offered again to take her wherever she needed to go. She refused.

“At least take my big umbrella,” I said as she headed out the door.

Probably to get me out of her hair, she grabbed the umbrella, gave me another peck on the cheek, and darted down the front steps. She headed up the road toward Highland Ave., and I went into action mode.

That meant calling Lurleen. I explained the situation. Besides being my best friend, she lived a block away. She hadn’t worked since her aunt left her a small fortune and she was always ready to help.

“Oh, chérie, you know I would do anything for you.” I could envision her twisting one strand of her luxuriant auburn hair. “Anything at all. But children? What do I know about children? They are so little and squirmy.” The usual excitement in her voice took on a new timbre of anxiety. Something I hadn’t heard before.

“It’s okay, Lurleen,” I told her. “They aren’t babies. They’ve been looking out for themselves their entire lives. I just need a responsible adult to stay with them when I’m at work. They’ll have a great time with you. You’re so much fun.”

“You think so?” Her voice settled down into a soft southern drawl with French highlights that was music to my ears. Her full name was Lurleen du Trois. I never knew if that was her given name or something she created. I did know her French accent had never seen France, or Quebec for that matter. It was pure Lurleen. “C’est vrai. I can be very amusante when I try. But kids—I’m not sure what kids find amusing. Maybe we could play badminton or croquet or charades. I’ll make a list. And what shall I feed them? Do they eat regular food or do I need to buy something special—like those little fish crackers and alphabet soup?”

“Regular food will be fine,” I said. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this, Lurleen. Do you have time to stop by tonight and meet them?”

“Bien sur. Anything for you, chérie. When you make your chocolate chip cookies, will you save some for me?”

“Of course. How did you know that was next on my list?”

“My dear girl, you always bake—when you’re happy, you bake. When you’re bored or upset, you bake. I think today you’re worried about your friend Ellie.”

“I am.”

Lurleen said she’d stop by around seven.

I picked the kids up at five in a run-down section of Little Five Points. They didn’t know I was coming and there was no Ellie or babysitter in sight.

“It’s okay,” Lucie told me. “We don’t need a babysitter. I can look after things.”

Ellie and I would be having a long discussion about this when I saw her next. We gathered up the few things they had. Jason brought his action figures and Lucie brought her stuffed monkey but only when I insisted. “I’m really too old for that, Aunt Di,” she told me.

“Well, I’m not,” I said and tucked it in her book bag.

Lurleen arrived on the dot of seven.

“I hope I’m not late,” she said and grinned at me. Lurleen was never late. She wore a jaunty beret that sat atop her massive auburn curls, and she stooped to kiss me on both cheeks. Lurleen was six feet tall, slender—a sharp contrast to my five feet of well-rounded flesh.

“Bon soir,” she said to Lucie and Jason. She knelt down beside them and shook each of their hands with great solemnity. They looked at her as if she might be from another planet.

“That’s French for good evening,” she explained. “Ah, I see you have the latest action figure, Jason. The Transformer, isn’t it?”

I could imagine how Lurleen had spent her afternoon—searching the Internet for what little boys liked to play with. That was all it took to hook Jason. He showed her the intricacies of the Transformer, changing it around from human to machine and back to human again.

Lucie was equally enthralled with her. “I took French once in school,” she said shyly. “But only for a few weeks until we had to move.”

“Ah, no problem. Or should I say, pas de probleme. We’ll speak French every day, and you’ll catch on in no time.”

Lurleen’s first encounter with the kids was a glowing success. I had no doubt it would be. Lurleen could charm a cow into giving more milk, a coop full of chickens into laying more eggs, a judgmental mother into being kind to her daughter. When my mother came for my med school graduation—after Lurleen called her and insisted she come—I never heard one word of criticism. Lurleen entertained her, sang my praises. She had my mother laughing out loud, something I’d never heard before. That had been a good visit, two weeks before my mother died of a massive stroke.

After Lurleen left us, I ran a bath for Jason, who insisted he needed no help in the tub.

“I’m five years old in two days. I’m big now.”

I left the door ajar, so I could keep an eye on him.

I got them tucked in bed by eight and kissed them each good night.

“Can Her My Only sleep with us?” Jason asked.

“Of course. Hermione would love to sleep with you. She may jump up on the bed and want to sleep there.”

Jason grinned.

“Is that okay?” Lucie asked.

“Fine with me if it’s fine with you.”

I closed the door, poured myself a glass of wine, and gave way to my frustration with Ellie. Where was she? She was supposed to call this evening. She’d left her children in a terrible place. Lucie was resourceful but she was an eight-year-old child, not an adult. No child should be left in that flea-bitten apartment alone at night.

I must have dozed off on the couch. It was midnight when I got the call.

I grabbed the phone so it wouldn’t wake the kids. “Ellie?”

A detective corrected me and asked if I knew an Eleanor Winston. Then he asked if he could come over. He already had my address.

I met him on the porch, so he wouldn’t ring the bell and start Hermione barking.

“I’m Mason Garrett,” he said. He showed me his credentials and waited patiently while I examined them.

“I have the kids inside. Can we talk here?” I nodded to the swing, but he remained standing. He suggested I sit down.

“Something’s happened to Ellie,” I said.

He nodded. He was a kind-looking man, in his late forties, with a bald head and a sturdy build. His gray eyes said he’d seen it all and didn’t care for most of it.

“I’m sorry to tell you this. We found a dead woman we believe to be Eleanor Winston, shot in the head on a street in midtown. She had your address in her purse and a message that said you were to take care of her kids if anything happened to her.”