Ten Times Guilty (25 page)

Ignoring it all, she sauntered over to him.

“If you change your mind, just let me know.” With her index finger at her lips, she blew him a silent kiss, then slipped out the door.

Whew! Grinning, and mentally kicking himself in the ass, he shut the door and picked up the phone.

***

Tracy sat in the kitchen, feeding Ritchie breakfast and talking to Amy and Wendy. They arrived last night at a two-story brick bungalow on Federal Boulevard, just south of I-70. A large treed lot surrounded the house and it appeared neat and in good repair, just like the other homes in the neighborhood.

“That’s it?” Tracy had asked when she first saw it. Pushing strands of the blonde wig away from her eyes, she peered through the windshield of Suzy’s car. Inside the screened front porch, rectangles of yellowed light glowed behind drawn shades. “But it looks like any other house.”

“That’s the idea.”

The ride to the house had been perfectly planned, with two cars stationed at different intervals along the way. The first car had been parked just a couple of blocks away from Diana’s, and the second waited at a motel parking lot on Federal Blvd.

“They’ll stay for about ten minutes and when they’re sure no one is following, they’ll come along,” Suzy explained.

They pulled into the long driveway on the south side of the house and Suzy stopped the car before a high wooden fence. Like magic, the gate opened. They eased forward and stopped in front of a closed double garage. Suzy shut off the engine.

“You’ll be safe here.”

Tracy wondered if she’d ever feel safe again. Would she always wonder if he was out there, watching, waiting?

Thankfully, Ritchie was still asleep. She got him from the box and held him close.

“Thank you, Suzy. I don’t know what I would have done...”

Suzy smiled. “Let’s get inside.”

A heavy woman in her late forties held the back door open for them.

“Welcome, Tracy,” she said. “We’ve been expecting you. I’m Amy, the unofficial housemother.” In contrast to Suzy, Amy wore no jewelry or makeup, and her grey hair hung to her shoulders. Inside the roomy kitchen, Ritchie woke and Amy reached for him. “Let me take this little fellow and give him some juice.”

Tracy yanked off the wig and ran her fingers through her hair. She looked at her new home for the next few days. Or weeks.

At the far end of the long kitchen a cozy eating alcove was fitted into a bay window overlooking Federal Boulevard. Next to the back door, a coffee can half-filled with quarters sat on a small snack tray.

“When anyone goes out, “Amy explained, “they take two quarters in case they have to call here. In an emergency. It doesn’t happen very often, mind you, but once in a great while, a husband tracks his wife down. She sees him, calls here, and we all make a beeline to get her.” 

“And if the quarters aren’t needed,” Suzy said, “they’re put back into the can. We hope one day to afford cell phones, but right now we use the old-fashioned way. It still works.”

Tracy felt comforted by their system, but hoped she’d never have to use it.

“I’ll take you upstairs to put your things down, then we’ll take the tour,” Suzy told her.

“I’ll come along and get fresh linens.” Amy, still holding Ritchie, followed them.

Upstairs were four bedrooms and a full size bath. Amy led them to a tiny room with a cot, its metal springs supporting a bare, sagging mattress. An old-fashioned oak baby crib with small nicks in the wood hugged the wall, and a white three-drawer chest with a table lamp on top stood next to it. A reddish oval braided rug lay in front of the crib.

“Not very luxurious, I’m afraid.” 

“Right now, the Waldorf couldn’t look any better,” Tracy told her.

“I’ll get the linens.” Amy left and Suzy showed Tracy the rest of the house.

The attic held a large room with four cots and assorted chests of drawers. Two of the cots held personal items. Downstairs, mismatched furniture filled the house. Hardwood floors showed scuff
marks from many feet, but like the furniture, were free of dust. A screened porch held assorted lawn furniture. The back yard vegetable garden and garage were all enclosed in an eight-foot wooden privacy fence.

After Suzie left, Tracy got Ritchie ready for bed. Her eyes watered and burned. She yawned, and once started, she couldn’t seem to stop. Maybe it was because she was starting to relax. She was surprised to feel a little more safe in the house, even if it was full of women in similar circumstances. 

“Why don’t you go on to bed,” Amy suggested, arms full of sheets and towels. “You must be absolutely exhausted.” She opened the top chest drawer. Inside was a small packet filled with assorted hygiene items:  toothbrush, paste, comb, a generic deodorant, and motel-size soap, plus assorted baby items such as baby powder and shampoo.

“How thoughtful.”

“Some of the women come here quite suddenly. We try to provide some of the necessities.”

Later, Tracy gave Ritchie a big hug, then put him into the crib with his blanket and stuffed dinosaur. She noted with relief that he did not seem to mind all of the changes, just as he had not minded staying with Diana when she had been in the hospital. He was an adaptable child who seemed to love everyone. Thank God that what had happened recently had not, apparently, left a mark on him.

Tracy covered him, then, she collapsed. Like a puppeteer letting go of his puppet’s strings, she simply folded. All of the energy she’d used to just get through each day left so quickly she barely made it to the cot. She fell into such a deep sleep she didn’t even hear Amy cover her with a blanket.

Now, in the bright light of the morning, Tracy sat at the kitchen table and spooned oatmeal into Ritchie’s mouth, who wanted to play and kept grabbing the spoon. Amy sipped coffee and Wendy munched on toast.

Gail entered the kitchen, poured a cup of coffee and joined them at the table.

“Everyone’s been so nice,” Tracy said. “I never even realized places like this existed. Especially when they look so normal.”

“Maybe that’s why husbands don’t find us.” Gail remarked.

Wendy pulled a pack of crushed cigarettes and a book of matches from her sweater pocket. Everyone’s eyes went to her as she lit up. Tracy caught a sudden whiff of sulfur. Wendy inhaled, then glanced up. And froze. “What?”

Amy frowned. “You know you can’t smoke in here,” she said. “Use the smoking room.” With a nod of her head, she indicated the back yard.

Wendy sighed. “All right, all right.” She looked for something to crush out her cigarette, finally going to the sink to run water over it. She threw the sodden mess into the garbage.

“Suzy’s wonderful, isn’t she?” Tracy put Ritchie on the floor with a yellow plastic truck from the toy box. “I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone like her.”

Everyone laughed. A woman about twenty entered, robe buttoned to her throat. She poured a glass of Coke and sat at the table.

“You talking about Suzy? I’m Kim,  she said to Tracy, then joined the conversation. “Suzy’s one of a kind, all right. She’s nothing like my family. Maybe if I’d had a mother or grandmother like her, I wouldn’t’ve married the first jerk that asked. Then maybe I wouldn’t be here.”

“Maybe none of us would be here if we’d had someone like Suzy,” Amy mused.

Later that morning, Suzy called.

“I’ve got a message for you from Diana.” In order to keep tight security at the house, relatives and friends of the women didn’t have the telephone number. Information and messages had to be relayed through Suzy or one of the other social workers connected to the house.

Tracy gripped the phone. “Is everything okay? Has there been any trouble?”

“No, no, nothing like that. Diana said Officer Cooper called.”

“Oh. I’m sure she’ll find out where I am, but I don’t want to talk to her.”

“Well, maybe I can keep you under wraps for a few days. We’ll see. But you should know Sergeant Sanders called. I had to tell him where you were.”

***

Reese hung up after talking to Suzy. So the sonofabitch was still in the area. What a stupid bastard.

Or did Wolfe, for some obscure reason, have a personal thing for Tracy?

She must be terrified. Reese wanted to rush to her, but it wasn’t to see the note like the professional he was supposed to be; it was to hold her and try to give her comfort.

Damn, he had to get his head out of his ass. How the hell could he function if he let his emotions rule? He couldn’t afford to forget that Tracy was his only witness, for Christ’s sake.

But he couldn’t bring himself to pounce on her, not after what she had been through. He’d allow her today to try and get back some feeling of safety.

Meantime, he’d make a little trip.

***

Tracy decided to take Ritchie into the back yard. He had been cooped up in the house, first at Diana’s, then here, and some sunshine would do him good. She’d just stay close to the back of the house.

Holding Ritchie close, she reached for the screen door latch, but couldn’t make herself lift it. It was such a simple thing. Grasp the handle and lift. That’s all. But the yard seemed so far away from the safety of the house. Ritchie squirmed and fussed, wanting down.

At the table, Amy rolled crushed apples and walnuts into a rectangle of dough.

“Don’t worry,” she said, “when you start to feel safe, things will be different.”

Tracy sighed and put Ritchie on the floor. “I wonder if I’ll ever feel truly safe again.”

“It just takes time.” Amy dipped her knife in cold water and sliced through the rolls, then put them into a large baking pan coated with melted butter. She slid it into the oven. “You’ve had a terrible experience, but you will get better.”

They were both silent as Amy adjusted the timer on the oven. Tracy hoped with all her heart that one day she would get over her terror and dread. This was no way to live, not with fear gripping her heart. Because of one man, her home and her way of life had been taken away from her, and she hated him for it. But more than hate, she was frightened. More frightened for Ritchie than she ever imagined. No matter what she lost, she had to make sure he was safe. She just prayed that one day, there would be an end to her fear.

“Looks like Ritchie’s restless.” Amy said, jarring Tracy from her thoughts. “There’s an alley in back of the house.” She washed dough from her hands. “It leads to a nice park just about three houses down. A lot of kids play there. I bet Ritchie would enjoy it.”

“If I can’t even make myself go into the back yard,” she said, a hopeless look on her face, “how can I possibly take him to the park?”

Chapter Thirty-Two

High-View Mobile Home Estates sat on the plains forty-five miles southeast of Denver. Most of the homes in the family community were older single-wides, all of them were skirted, and some had narrow front porches with metal awnings for shade. Reese drove the winding streets looking for number forty-eight, the residence of Mrs. Rose Wolfe, Karlton’s mother.

He found her home, an older, narrow one, the blue paint splotched and faded from the sun, the green outdoor carpeting on the porch ripped in several places. Reese stepped carefully to the open front door and knocked on the screen. From inside, a small dog barked, a high-pitched yapping.

“Quiet, Sam!” a woman’s gravelly voice commanded. “Be right there,” she called through the screen. When she shuffled to the door, she stood, silently appraising Reese. She appeared in her late sixties, dressed in a pink cotton duster. Faded pink slippers covered her varicose-veined feet. Behind her, the dog kept up a steady barking. “Shut the hell up, Sam!” she shouted.

“I’m Sergeant Sanders,” Reese said, pulling out his shield, “and I’d like to talk to you about your son, Karlton.”

“Step-son. Ain’t no kin of mine. What’s he done now?” She opened the door. “Might as well come in. No use giving the neighbors more to gossip about.”

Reese hesitantly entered the tiny living room, keeping an eye on the dog. The small ones were the yappers, excitable and fast moving. They rushed in, took a chunk out of your leg then darted off before you could react.

Sam was one of those little brown Mexican things. He planted himself next to Mrs. Wolfe and growled, baring front teeth an inch long. His eyes were big and round in a skinny face.

“Just ignore him and he’ll quiet down,” Mrs. Wolfe advised, hobbling through the tiny living room filled with worn furniture to the kitchen. A flowered plastic cloth covered the table, and on top, a glass sat next to a can of beer. An orange ashtray held a lit cigarette, smoke sending a trail to the ceiling.

“Wanna beer?” She opened the yellow refrigerator and looked at him.

“No thanks. I could use some water, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“It’s free.” She ran water from the faucet into a glass, handed it to him and sat down. She picked up her beer, filled the glass and drained it.