Saturday Morning (37 page)

“No thanks. But I have a feeling two other angel friends dug deep in their pockets so we could have all of this.” She waved her hand to encompass the food and decorations on the table.

Julia shrugged. “Bettern buying a new skirt or something. I haven’t had this much fun shopping in a long time.”

An hour later, the party was in full swing, with some laughing at the apple bobbers. The smaller children lined up to pin the tail on a grinning black cat, and Adolph, looking mortified in orange tabby ears tied around his head, sat in the corner watching. To Hope’s surprise, he didn’t try to shake them off, but he did shoot her an under-the-eyebrow pleading look every once in a while.

“Police! Don’t anyone move.” Three officers pushed open the front door.

“Welcome to the party.” Roger hoisted his apple cider. “We’ve room for all.”

“No joke, Benson, this is official business.”

“Not another raid,” Hope said, suddenly feeling peevish. Why didn’t they pick on someone else? And what right did they have to just come barging in without a warrant?

Ophelia started to cry, and Hope heard mutterings. One of the street people made to escape through a side door but was told to halt.

Somehow Roger managed to keep smiling. “Aren’t you getting a little tired of all this foolishness, Korchesky?” When he didn’t receive an answer, he said, “Tell you what, you search all you want and let us go on with the party. We promise no one will leave the room.” He glanced around to make sure everyone understood.

Adolph shook off his tabby ears and crossed the room to stand by Roger.

“By the way, Korchesky, who’s the new man?”

“Watson.” Korchesky turned to the man on his left. “Officer Watson, meet Roger Benson, retired detective from SFPD.”

Adolph left Roger’s side and sniffed the man’s shoes, tail wagging slowly.

Hope watched Adolph.

“He’s trained to sniff out firearms,” Roger said, explaining Adolphs actions. “Come here, boy. Sure they’re packing. That’s their job.”

Adolphs tail stopped wagging. He stuck his nose on the man’s pocket and kept it there.

Watson took a step back. Adolph followed. “Call him off.”

Adolph lifted his upper lip and growled, a deep-throated rumbling that meant business.

Roger took a step toward Watson. “You know what this means?” He nodded at Korchesky. “Adolph never makes mistakes.”

Watson kicked out at Adolph. “Call off that dog before I … ”

“Freeze, Watson.” Korchesky gave the order.

“What in the … ?”

“Careful now,” Roger interrupted, keeping his voice conversational. “We don’t use foul language here. This is God’s house. Now, show us what’s in your pocket.”

“You said he’s a gun sniffin’ dog. That’s what he smells, my gun.”

“Your pockets. Just do as the man says.” Korchesky stepped closer.

“Are you going to let a civilian give the orders here? What kind of a department do you run?”

Korchesky put his hand in his own pocket. “An honest one. Your pockets.”

Hope saw Roger block the doorway.
Please, Lord, no violence.

“We already know what’s there, Watson,” Roger said. “Just show us how much.”

Hope glanced around the room to see everyone wide-eyed and not moving. This was better than a movie.

Watson glanced down at Adolph, whose growl got suddenly louder as his teeth became more visible.

“He usually doesn’t attack without command, but he hates dope, doesn’t suffer fools easily either.”

Watson, visibly shaken by Adolphs ferocious growl, dug in his
front pockets, extracted two small plastic bags, and placed them in Korchesky’s outstretched hand.

Korchesky nodded to the other officer. “Cuff him and take him to the car.”

“Okay, everyone, show’s over—let’s party!” Celia clapped and danced around in a circle, grabbing Alphi and Cassandra as she went.

As the noise volume rose, Hope smiled and chatted, but inside she steamed. That man had been going to plant drugs in J House. If he’d gotten away with it, they’d have been closed down. Someone here would have been framed for possession. Who would want to do such a thing, and why?

The next morning Peter called on Roger and Hope. “I don’t want to spoil everyone’s fun, but we’re going to have to make some decisions soon.”

“I don’t have to make decisions. I’m pregnant.” Hope delivered her line straight-faced.

Peter grinned at her. “Congratulations. I hear you had a bit of excitement last night—dirty cop and all.”

“You heard?”

“Everybody’s heard,” Peter replied. “Good old Adolph. Now to find out who’s behind it. But our main problem—retrofitting this building—isn’t going to go away. I brought all the letters of intent. I also have the letter from the historical society, reminding us that the exterior of the building has to be restored to its original condition. I’ve communicated that to all who expressed interest in purchasing J House, but that stipulation took several out of the running. But I still have three reputable companies, not to mention Blakely Associates, who would like to talk with you.”

“I don’t want to sell J House,” Hope said, her voice firm.

“Just because you sell the building doesn’t mean you can’t continue with the shelter,” Peter reminded her. “Now, one of these groups has presented an unusual plan.” He handed Hope and Roger copies of the letter. “They have an apartment building on the edge of the Tenderloin they would offer you as part of the deal.” He raised a hand to cut off Hope’s sputtering. “I know you don’t want to be in the Tenderloin, but I’ve inspected this building, and it could be easily made to suit your needs.”

“What about the Saturday Market?”

Roger laid a hand on her arm. “Hope, honey, we can’t expect to have everything we want.”

“Why not? We’re doing God’s work here.” Hope unfolded her arms. She had promised herself not to get upset, and she wouldn’t. “We won’t be the same without the market. What will happen to Starshine and some of the others? And the Tenderloin is really depressing. Here we’re in a real neighborhood.”

“The Tenderloin is better than out in the burbs,” Peter pointed out.

“Depends on your point of view,” Hope countered.

“I’ll file for another extension, saying that offers are being considered, and let you know if we get it. I don’t want the city closing the doors on you, any more than you do.”

“I know, Peter.” Hope dashed at the tear that managed to leak out in spite of her best efforts. “Forgive me and blame it on the pregnancy again. I seem to cry easily. Roger accuses me of killing the messengers. I don’t want you to feel that way.”

“I’m stronger than that.” He gathered up his papers and laid them neatly back in his briefcase. “I’m assuming you want this kept quiet?”

“Yes, please.”

Roger plunked down on the sofa beside his wife after moving a stack of papers. “You’re supposed to be taking it easy.”

“You think reading and making notes for Clarice to type up is hard work?”

“It’s not what I think, but what Dr. Cheong thinks.”

“I can’t just lie here and do nothing.”

“No, I don’t suppose you can.” He looked down at the paper she had been reading. “What’s that?”

“An e-mail from Andy. She got her church in Medford to sponsor our job-training program. They’re sending books on conducting yourself in an interview, on job qualifications, on talking to your boss, as well as clothing, shoes, purses, grooming supplies, even makeup.”

“Wow! That’s great. When’s she coming back?”

“In a couple of days. She says that she’s filled all her Christmas orders and that things will slow down now to a snail’s pace. She wants to stay in San Francisco a couple of weeks and work on her house so she can have a Christmas party for some of Martin’s fellow workers.”

She finished the rest of the e-mail and laughed. “She says she’s going to learn to be a good corporate wife if it kills her.” She looked up at Roger. “Don’t ever ask me to be a corporate wife, okay?”

He shook his head and started to laugh. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”
He reached up and tugged one of her orangy braids. “I don’t really see you as a corporate wife.”

She broke into giggles. “Me neither. O-o-oh.” Her whole body shivered, as if hit by a blast of cold air.

“Is Celia over her mood?”

Hope looked out the window. “I imagine there’s not a weed left out there. Clarice does rather outshine her in the area of office skills and organization, and … ”

“But Celia knows street smarts. And she always knows what our girls need before they ask,” Roger said. “She saw the signs and kept Chelsea from splitting.”

“I’m proud of Celia,” Hope said. “She’s made a huge effort to work with Clarice, and vice versa. If we could just get past this retrofitting stuff, the turf wars are in the bag.” She kissed him lightly on the lips.

“Alphi’s bringing over the checkerboard as soon as he finishes his homework.”

“I’d better hide my ego. He’s beaten me more times than I can count.” She put Andy’s e-mail in the trash pile, having promised herself she wouldn’t save anything that didn’t need saving. Clarice kept her honest and went through the save piles, pruning even more. “Have you told Julia about your lead on Cyndy?”

“Not yet. I don’t want to raise her hopes. I should know more in a day or two. You know how these things work.”

“Well, I’ve been praying that it’s her and that she’ll at least come to see her grandmother.”

“Me too.”

Hope knew she should head back into the bedroom and take a nap, but she loved her new position as mother confessor for the little ones. Earlier, Ophelia had brought over a doll and asked for help dressing her. Once that was done, Ophelia went to work setting up a tea party and inviting Hope to be her guest.

Would she and Roger have a little girl who liked to play with dolls and have tea parties, or would they have a little boy who wanted to play cops and robbers? She closed her eyes and pictured herself holding a baby, feeding it, nuzzling it. Shock jerked her eyes wide. She’d better find a baby or two and do some practicing. Roger, too.

Her thoughts turned back to the last baby who had come to J House—a three-month-old girl. The mother, a young woman in her early twenties, had come in the middle of the night, claiming that her husband didn’t believe the baby was his and had threatened to kill her. Hope had granted the mother and child sanctuary, but the next day the woman left, saying that she couldn’t live without her husband.

Later that evening, on the six o’clock news, Hope listened to the newscaster say that the mother had been brutally slain and that the child had been given over to Social Services.

For months afterward, she and Roger had petitioned the courts to let them adopt that baby, but the answer was no. J House, with its recovering addicts, its prostitutes, gang girls, and street people, was no place to raise a child. They’d finally decided they were to remain childless but for the children who came through their doors. Like Alphi.

“I’m ready.” Alphi stood beside her, checkerboard and checkers in hand.

“Okay, hotshot, but remember it’s my turn to win.”

The look behind his smile dared her.

“I swear, Alphi, you are a mastermind at checkers.” She flopped back on the sofa after being soundly beaten. “So if you’re so smart, and I know you are, why the struggle in math?”

“You think I’m smart?” He stared down at the checkerboard. “You don’t think I’m dumb?”

“I know you’re not.” She wanted to gather him into her arms and
hug him close. “If I can find someone to tutor you, would you let them help?”

He shrugged, the one-shoulder kind that told her how he hated to ask for help. “You be my tutor?”

“We’ll see. But if I find someone, you don’t go givin’ them no lip, you hear me?”

He ducked his head and grinned at her from under impossibly lush eye lashes.

You’re going to be a heartbreaker one day, little boy. Lord, please keep him on the straight and narrow.
“Go get your homework, and let’s see how we do.” They’d only worked a couple of minutes when Hope realized he had no grasp of the basics of math. She sent him to Clarice to get some school supplies. When he came back, she made a set of flashcards and wondered why she hadn’t made some a long time ago. She might not be able to preach lying down, but she could teach.