Authors: Phyllis Smallman
CHAPTER 11
On the drive back to Jac, I tried to decide how honest Dan had been with me and what he had left out of the story. Dan was quick to anger, always had been; could that anger get out of control if his family was threatened? Holly and a baby could definitely stick a pin in his happy family bubble.
There were more questions bumping into each other in my brain. Had he known Holly was dead before he went to that apartment? I only thought of that one when I hit the ramp to the
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but I kept coming back to the biggest question of all. Did Dan know where Holly’s baby was? Hannah and Angel would be about the same age. Maybe Angel was hiding in plain sight. Maybe I’d already found Angel.
At the borrowed beach house I turned on an antiquated computer that the owners had left behind. Surfing the back alleys of the Internet and delving into the seedy side of paradise, I went through half a dozen Sarasota escort services before I found Holly at the Angel Escort Agency. On the screen she was no longer the woman I remembered, bubbling and alive. She’d been turned into a lifeless mannequin, a plaything for perverts.
The pictures were lewd but artful in their use of setting and lighting to create a mood and tell a story. Each woman on the site seemed to be speaking to a particular fantasy, from violence and domination to extreme vulnerability. That’s where Holly fit in. Pale and terrified, she was wearing a white thong and thigh-high white stockings with gold spiked heels. Sprawled on a bed with her wrists tied, a discarded girl-child, looking at least five or more years younger than her actual age, she was begging the camera for mercy while waiting for the blow that would end it all.
In another picture she was tied to a chair with her legs spread to the camera. The look on her face was one of sheer panic, a victim waiting to be violated.
“Oh, Holly, what happened to you?” This wasn’t the magentahaired laughing girl I’d known.
Holly had been turned into a victim. All of the shots of her were designed to appeal to the most base and depraved cravings of men. I felt sullied and corrupted just by looking at those images, complicit in her abuse. How do escort services get away with putting up these websites, advertising human flesh for sale with the prices laid right out there?
I searched for more information about Angel Escort Agency, but all I came up with was Angel Photography. According to the site, they did “Intimate pictures for the one you love.” The quality of the sample pictures showed the same talent as those on the escort website.
Angel Photography Studios also shot portfolios for models. Had Holly started out getting pictures taken for her modeling career and ended up in the escort trade? It bothered me that the name of Holly’s baby was the same as that of the escort service. That was just wrong, but maybe it would tell me something about Angel I needed to know.
I wrote down the telephone numbers for the photo studio and the escort agency and tucked them into my pocketbook. At least I would have something to show Aunt Kay before I asked her for money.
I checked my voicemail. At ten o’clock Clay had called to say goodnight. I tried his cell but it went directly to voicemail. I didn’t leave a message.
CHAPTER 12
Sleep was fleeting. By six o’clock on Monday morning I called it quits and went for a run on the beach. The crimson sky was opening like a flower above me and tiny birds ran ahead of me in the foam at the edge of the surf. Except for the brash call of gulls and the lap of waves, the beach was quiet, not another human in sight. The saltladen air was more of a caress than the heavy blanket of heat and humidity it would be later in the day.
The tide was out. The broad, hard-packed sand at the edge of the waves was perfect to run on, although it turned out to be a lot more like a bit of running with a lot of puffing and walking in between. It didn’t matter. I was in the place I loved best. I focused on the soft squish of my trainers in the sand, letting the rhythm hypnotize me into the moment.
By the time I got back to the cottage I was sweating and exhausted. I turned on the radio while I drank the last of the orange juice from the carton. The weatherman predicted another scorcher and talked about a tropical storm headed our way from Africa. It had the potential of becoming a hurricane.
Hurricanes need warm water to feed on. With the waters surrounding Florida hotter than normal, the hurricane season was going to extend far into November, another reason besides the economy for visitors to stay away. I switched off the radio.
There was no hurricane insurance on the Sunset. We call it selfinsuring down here in Florida, which really means, “I’ve got my ass hung out way over the line.”
In the drab bathroom, where mold grew and the blistered ceiling dropped paint flakes, I caught sight of myself in the mirror. I was wearing a tee-shirt, oversized, graying and ugly, which likely went back to my days with Jimmy. The top was matched with a pair of men’s boxer shorts with golf balls on them that I’d given to Clay for Christmas. I thought they were cute, but he’d refused to wear them so I did. When had I started dressing like this? Not pretty and not enticing. Maybe it was my own fault that Clay didn’t come home.
I noticed something else. I pulled the tee-shirt up tight around my waist and chest, bunched it all up in back and held it in a knot. Those ten extra pounds that happiness and living with Clay had put on had been taken off by anxiety and loneliness, the upside to bankruptcy.
My hair was caught up in a twist and nailed to the top of my head by a clasp. I let it down and squeezed up my face in disgust. My hair was mousy. No other word for it. I’d noticed months ago that it wasn’t looking its best and I’d even bought a box of color. It was still there under the sink.
Before I went anywhere I was going to shine this girl up. As Ruth Ann always said, “There’s no use feeling bad and looking bad too.”
An hour later I checked myself out in that same mirror. “Welcome back.” In the mirror, the new Sherri’s hair shone darkly and her nails were gleaming China Red.
My cell rang.
“Hi, Clay.” And even before he could answer I asked, “Are you coming home?”
“Not yet. The meeting went well and we’re still talking.”
I tried real hard to believe that was the only reason he wasn’t speeding south towards me.
There was another option. The highway ran both ways. But Aunt Kay’s money was the difference between keeping the Sunset and losing it. Those three months’ worth of grace kept me from packing.
Aunt Kay had moved out east of Tamiami Trail into a nice subdivision full of entry-level computer programmers, retired folks and self-employed tradesmen. The two-bedroom ranchers were built of cement blocks set on a slab of concrete. Each lot had a solitary citrus tree set in a precision-cut front yard.
I’m still a trailer tramp at heart, and the suburbs throw me into a panic, set me gasping for breath and looking for a line of attack to smash my way out. The neatness and sameness of this neighborhood had me hungering to see a house painted pink with purple trim in a rugged show of individualism.
Aunt Kay answered her door and left it open for me while she went to get her handbag off the kitchen table. She took out an envelope and handed it to me. “This is for you.”
I opened the envelope and checked the date. Like she’d warned me, the check was postdated to Saturday. “Look, maybe we could make a deal. How be you pay me half now and the other half on Saturday.”
“Nope.”
“Well, maybe we should go day by day.”
“Nope.”
“Why?”
“I want you as interested in finding Angel as I am. Money is a great motivator.” She pointed a finger at me. “And trust me on this . . . If you don’t put your all into this, I’ll cancel the check.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but her locked-down face plus past experience told me to save my breath. I’d only make the situation worse. I put the check away.
“I talked to Dan Raines.”
Her face lit with excitement. “Tell me everything.” She pulled out a chair and sat down at the kitchen table.
I did as ordered. Well, most of it. I told her that Dan likely was Angel’s father and that he was the one to find Holly. I didn’t tell her how Holly was earning her money, didn’t tell her about the pictures. I still had this feeling that I should shield her from such harsh realities. In truth, she needed protecting about as much as a rabid Rottweiler did.
Aunt Kay asked most of the questions I’d asked myself the night before. After I’d told her a half-dozen times that I didn’t know the answer to the questions she was asking, she got to her feet and said, “Okay, let’s go to Sarasota, go see where she died.” She slid the strap of her oversized handbag over her arm and waved me towards the door.
We weren’t even out the door before she stopped dead in her tracks. “I also need to see Dan’s baby. Maybe Hannah and Angel are the same child. Maybe Holly turned Angel over to her father.”
“People would know if Shelly was pregnant. Or do you think she faked a pregnancy?”
“If she did it would only be for a few months, or maybe it was handled like any adoption. It’s even possible that the adoption is no secret.”
She thought for a moment. “I’ll decide when I see the baby if it’s Angel.”
“Would you recognize Angel after all these months?”
“I’m not sure.”
I pulled my phone out and showed her the picture I’d taken the night before.
Aunt Kay studied the image a long time before she sighed and said, “I’m not sure. I have to see her in person.”
“Shelly and Hannah are in Orlando visiting her sister until Friday; besides, it’s been months and babies change. Let’s see if anything else turns up before we go bothering Dan’s family.”
“Credit me with a little sense.”
I bit back a retort and opened the door to the truck for her. The check I had tucked into my shoulder bag was making me more patient than I normally would be.
She put her left foot in and then attempted to hoist her hip up onto the seat. She was too short. We’d gone through this the day before when I brought her home. I should have remembered and gotten a box for her to stand on.
I looked around but couldn’t see anything that would help. Now, there’s where the trailer park has it all over the burbs. Back at the edge of the swamp there was so much junk lying around, I could have built a ramp for a rocket.
She managed to get her left hip up near the seat but she just wasn’t making it on her own. I planted both hands under her rear end and heaved. It did the trick.
Aunt Kay laughed. “I’m really not that kind of a girl, but thanks for the lift.”
“It may not be elegant but it worked.”
“Yes, but people will talk.”
I drove out to Tamiami Trail and headed north with Aunt Kay beside me, humming softly away to herself, and the hot road shimmering in front of me. Even if she hadn’t been paying me to chauffeur her around, the drive would be worth it just to see her happy.
CHAPTER 13
Sarasota is a gorgeous city south of Tampa on the Gulf of Mexico. With long arching bridges going out to Siesta Key and Longboat Key, it has some of the finest white sand beaches in the world. And for the tourists who don’t drool over Sarasota’s beaches and azure waters, there are historic areas, little pockets of lush tropical plantings with brick courtyards, art studios and restaurants. Best of all, Sarasota is only a short drive north of Jac, for when we want a taste of something more sophisticated than our own little Eden offers.
Holly’s building was a surprise—a glamorous structure about nine stories tall with a green copper roof perched on top like a Chinese hat. A smaller pergola-like arrangement, stretched across the front entrance, had a matching roof. The landscaping was elaborate. Bird of paradise and hibiscus surrounded a fountain shooting water twelve feet into the air. On either side of the entrance was a raked Japanese garden.
It all said money. I pulled up under the overhang and leaned towards the windshield, straining for a better view of the building. “I live with a real estate guy. I bet the one-bedroom condos here, even in this economy, are likely three-quarters of a million.”
“Perhaps Holly had a second job.”
What Holly was doing wasn’t a job, more like the oldest profession.
“Maybe she had a roommate.” Aunt Kay was still trying to put a shine on an apple with a worm in it.
“Even with more than one roommate she couldn’t pay the condo fees on this place.”
“Maybe she finally had some success.” She gave a weary sigh. The ugly truth was right in front of her face and hard to ignore.
I said, “How are we going to get in?”
“There are advantages to being old and harmless. I’ll get in and then I’ll let you in.”
“Oh, really? Okay, Houdini, this I got to see.”
Aunt Kay held onto the top of the door and slid off the seat to the ground. “Don’t be long,” she said. The door slammed.
I went to look for the visitor parking area, expecting her to be right where I’d left her when I returned.
I strolled back to the front of the building. The heat was already making my tee-shirt stick to me but it would be even worse for Aunt Kay. I calculated how soon she would tire of this and want to go home. It was going to be easy money.
At the entrance I saw her hurrying to the front door ahead of a well-dressed man. Hunting in her purse for something, she appeared totally confused and demented. She was mumbling, “Where is it?” The man swiped a card key over a black pad and opened the door, holding it nicely for Aunt Kay to enter.
“Oh, thank you, dear,” she said giving him a grateful smile.
He returned her smile, a beam that said, “Poor old thing, she’s just like Grandma.” Inside, Aunt Kay moved slowly, still searching in her purse while the man walked ahead to the elevators, already forgetting her.
When he was out of sight, Aunt Kay hurried back to open the door for me.
“Nice,” I said.
Inside, the lobby was welcomingly chilled and smelled of cleaning solution.
I peeked down the hall to the elevators. “Now we’re inside what good does it do?”
“I don’t know. We’ll have to figure out how to get up to Holly’s apartment. I watched that man. You need one of those credit-card keys to work the elevators.”
“Even if we get up to her floor, we can’t get into her apartment without a key. And won’t the police have it sealed?”
She considered it for a minute. “I don’t know that either.”
“Well, that’s the way it happens on
TV
. The scene of a death is sealed off until they decide what really happened.”
“But they already know what happened. She killed herself.” She looked at me, confusion and despair on her face. “I thought being here would help us in some way. I didn’t think it out too well, did I?”
I rubbed my arms. The lobby, which had felt cool when I entered, was actually frigid. “Perhaps we should go.”
The sound of a door closing down the corridor to our right set Aunt Kay digging in her purse again.
I distanced myself from her, checking for missed calls and trying to look as if I was waiting for someone.
I stole a glance at the person coming towards us. Mid-forties female, wearing a shapeless sweater over tan slacks and a black tee-shirt, her black bedroom slippers made slapping noises on the travertine.
Apparently Aunt Kay decided that this was the sort of person she needed. She looked up and smiled, addle-brained and feeble. “Excuse me. Could you help me?”
The woman took her hands out of the sweater’s pockets. Her voice was cross. She looked from Aunt Kay to me, but I already had my cell up to my ear as if I was listening.
The big woman, at least five foot ten with bones well covered with flesh, turned back to Aunt Kay. “How did you get into the building?”Aunt Kay was about to be shown the door.
“Oh, dear,” Aunt Kay said and sighed. Her hand fluttered and then she pressed her fingers to her lips. “So foolish.” Aunt Kay sank to a gilt chair standing by a glass console table. Her whole body seemed to wilt. I almost felt sorry for her myself.
“Can I help you?” the woman asked, right on cue.
“Oh, yes, I hope you can. I can’t find my niece’s address. Oh dear, so silly of me, I hope I haven’t left my address book on the kitchen table. You see, I got it out to check the address.” Aunt Kay’s hand fluttered in the air about her head. “I get so confused.” She went back to sorting through the jumble of her purse, taking things out and dropping them in her lap and onto the floor before retrieving some and stuffing them into her purse again. “I just can’t believe I could be so stupid.” Aunt Kay’s voice trembled.
The woman bent over and gathered wayward items from the floor. “It’s all right,” she said, handing back Aunt Kay’s things.
“I guess my children are right, I’m losing it. That’s what they keep saying, over and over. Whatever am I going to do now?” Her shoulders shuddered.
The woman’s voice was gentle when she asked, “Who’s your niece?”
“Holly, Holly Mitchell.” Aunt Kay looked up, all brightly eager and hopeful. “Do you know her?”
The woman’s mouth opened and closed. She turned her body slightly away from Aunt Kay, saying, “Better come with me.” The woman pointed down the corridor. “I’ll make you a cup of tea. I’m the super here. My name is Bella Gornoy.” She tucked her hair behind her ears. “It’s just down here.” She took a few steps down the hall.
“Oh, how kind.” Aunt Kay pushed herself upright and limped after the woman. “That’s just what I need, a cup of tea.”
I went outside to wait for Aunt Kay to return or for the cops to come and pick her up. Either way, I wasn’t going to be caught inside the building. Aunt Kay was on her own.