Karen MacInerney - Margie Peterson 01 - Mother's Day Out (32 page)

“It will be fine.  Everyone has a contact here, waiting to hear from them.”

“I hate for you to have to walk.  I don’t even have my car keys, though, and there are so many…”

“It is no problem.  My house is only ten or fifteen blocks from here.  A short walk.  I will lead them, and you can call the
policia
.”

Peaches nodded.  “Good idea, Eduardo.  Then, when they get here, they’ve got witnesses, but we can just say everyone escaped in the commotion.”

I hugged Eduardo.  “Tell Graciela I said hi.” 

“I will.  And thank you for helping us.”  He turned to Peaches and Jess.  “All of you.” 

“Our pleasure,” Jess said softly.  Peaches nodded.  Eduardo turned and said something in Spanish, and everyone hurried past us out of the squalid room, touching us lightly in gestures of thanks and murmuring to each other in Spanish as they jostled each other down the hallway.  The loading dock door squeaked open, and in less than two minutes, the men and women who had been enslaved for months—years, maybe—disappeared into the night.

“We’ll give them ten minutes,” Peaches said.  “Anyone got a cell phone?”

I grimaced.  “Maria took it from me when she caught me.”

Peaches sighed.  “I left mine out in the car.”

“I’ve got one,” Jess said.  “The holster’s on my belt, if you can find it.”

After a bit of fumbling that I suspect neither of them minded, she held up the phone.  “Ready?”

“Give it five more minutes,” I said,  “and we’ll call.”

“I’m worried about that fella over there,” said Jess.

I glanced over at the man in the hallway.  His brown face had an undertone of gray, and the pool of blood beneath him had grown alarmingly.

Peaches said, “Forget him.  What about you?”

“I think Jess is right,” I said.  “We need to call for help.” 

“I hate to put those poor people at risk on his account.” Peaches jabbed a finger toward the guy in the hall.

“Better to call now,” Jess said.  “I don’t know how long that stun gun works.”

She sighed.  “I guess you’re right.  Let’s just hope Eduardo gets a move on.”  She dialed, and a few minutes later, sirens wailed in the distance.

“I don’t think you need to worry about Eduardo and the others,” Jess said.  “Those sirens will put a spring in their step.  Besides, we’ll just put off telling the cops the details for as long as possible.  Give ’em a chance to get away.”

“I hope you’re right,” I said.  “Peaches, why don’t you stay here, and I’ll go out and meet the police.”

“Don’t forget your stun gun,” she said.  “Just in case that guy by the door wakes up.”

#

When the firefighters and paramedics arrived, the man by the front door was still passed out.  The police rolled up as the paramedics wheeled stretchers into the ambulances, and we spent the next hour repeating the story about everyone scattering into the night when the doors opened.  The fifth time Peaches and I went through it, they finally gave up and let us go home. 

  “So they’re going to question the president of the Junior League about using slave labor,” Peaches said as we pulled away from the warehouse in the Buick.  The keys to my minivan hadn’t materialized, so she was taking me home.  “I’ll bet that’ll raise some eyebrows when the next society page comes out.”

“And her assistant.  I hope Maria doesn’t take the fall for her, but I’m betting that’s what’s going to happen.”  I glanced back at the warehouse, which was still swarming with police.  Jess’s gunshot wound was minor, but the paramedics had insisted on taking him to the hospital anyway, along with the guy Peaches shot.  “It’s a shame, really,” I said.  “The organization could have done a lot of good.”  I shivered.  “She ordered Carlos to ‘take care of me.’”  I didn’t want to think of what that would entail.  Mexico? Or something more final? “I think she’s got a few screws loose.”

Peaches rolled her eyes.  “You can say that again.  Charity is one thing.  Keeping people locked up in a disgusting warehouse so you can look good in the papers is nuts.  Besides, I’d be willing to bet a good portion of the cash went right into her little Donna Karan purse.”

“I hope the police figure it out when they finish the investigation.”  I’d told them I thought Bitsy was involved, but I was betting she’d claim ignorance and say it was all Maria’s doing.  I leaned back into the Buick’s seat.  “I’m glad that guy you shot is going to be okay.”

“Yeah, it’s too bad, isn’t it?”

“Peaches!”

She reached over and patted my knee.  “You know, I was right about hiring you.  You’ve been working what—two weeks?—and you’ve broken up a high-society slave ring that’s been going on for years.  Pretty damned impressive, if you ask me.”

I slumped into my seat.  “Thanks.  Too bad I can’t figure out what’s going on with my husband.  Or who killed Maxted, for that matter.”  I sighed.  “Maybe I should have stuck with gardening.”

Peaches pursed her lips.  “There may be a few rocks you haven’t turned over yet.”

“What do you mean?”  I’ve been to Maxted’s apartment, Maxted’s office, the Rainbow Room, Miss Veronica’s Boudoir…”  I ticked them off on my fingers.  “I tried to talk with Maxted’s boyfriend, but they locked him up on drug charges before I got to him.”

“Well, you’ve
been
to Maxted’s apartment, but the way I hear it, you didn’t get much of a chance to look around.”

“Yeah, but how am I going to get back in? Even if Willie believed the story about the cat, why would she let me in a second time?”

Peaches shrugged.  “I don’t know.  Make something up.”

“I did that last time.  Now I’m stuck with a homicidal cat, my new couch is destroyed, and I’ve got a week’s worth of dirty clothes stacked up in my kitchen because can’t get into my laundry room.”  I sighed.  “Still.  I guess it couldn’t hurt.”

“We’ll go tomorrow.”  Peaches turned left onto Laurel Lane. “What number?”

“It’s two down from the corner, on the left.”  A moment later, the Buick rolled to a stop in front of my house.  “You want me to pick you up at ten? I’ll swing by the hospital and check on Jess, then I’ll come here.”

“Oh, that’s right.  I still don’t have a car.”  I bit my lip.  “I know you’re busy… are you sure?”

She rolled her eyes.  “Honey, I just helped you storm a warehouse full of armed men hiding illegal aliens, and you want to know if I’ll give you a ride to an apartment building?”

I hugged her impulsively, breathing in her musky perfume.  “Thank, Peaches.  You’re the best.”

As I hobbled up the front steps past the lavender, she rolled down the window.  “Nothing dangerous though, you hear? I’ve got a date at the Spoke this Friday night.”

I laughed.  “Good thing Jess didn’t get shot in the leg.  I’ll do the best I can.”

#

My husband leaped up from the couch, his white face drawn with worry, as I closed the front door behind me.  “Margie! Where have you been? What the hell happened to you?”  His eyes lifted to my hair.  “And why is your hair purple?”

I sighed.  “I found out Bitsy McEwan was running a factory on the east side of town.”

Blake’s brow wrinkled.  “What are you talking about?”

 “She was using slave labor—illegal aliens held against their will—to do it.  I found out about it, but her assistant caught me before I could go to the authorities.”

He blinked.  “Bitsy McEwan? The president of the Junior League?”  He narrowed his blue eyes at me.  “You’ve been drinking your mother’s weird concoctions, haven’t you?”

My temper flared.  “Do you really think I’d be making this up? She decided it was cheaper to use slaves than to pay workers in Mexico ten cents an hour for labor.  She’s a criminal.”

Blake paled.  “You’re kidding me, right?”

“No, I am not.”

My husband took a step back.  “But she’s in the Junior League… And Herb is a partner at Jones McEwan…”

“Look.  I don’t care what she is.  She had me tied up and stuck in a truck headed for Mexico, or God knows where.  I managed to escape before they killed me, or whatever they were planning to do.  Then Peaches and I headed back to the warehouse to get Eduardo and the other people out—she was keeping Graciela’s husband hostage, you know—before we called the cops.”

“I don’t believe it.”  He stood looking disoriented for a few seconds.  Then with a hurt-sounding voice, he said, “You called Peaches instead of me?”

“I called Peaches because I knew she’d believe me,” I said, suddenly feeling very tired.  “Anyway, the authorities will hopefully be arresting Bitsy shortly.  Maybe Herb, too.”

“I just can’t believe it.  Bitsy McEwan.”  He shook his head.  Then he suddenly pulled me into a fierce hug that stirred an ache in my heart.  “I don’t know what to think of all this, but I’m glad you’re okay,” he whispered.

“Me too,” I murmured, tears pricking at the backs of my eyes.  I didn’t know what to think of my husband right now either, but I still loved him.  After a long moment, he stepped back and studied me.  “That still doesn’t explain why your hair is purple.”

I smiled weakly.  “I needed a change.”  This wasn’t the time to discuss my incognito visit to Evan Maxted’s funeral. Or why my husband’s “client meeting” was being held at a memorial service.  The clock in the front hall chimed four.  “Look, I’m beat.  Can we talk about this tomorrow?”

He was surprisingly solicitous.  “You go take a bath.  I’ll just call my parents and let them know you’re okay.  By the way, your mom called.  Wanted to know if you’d tried some tea she sent you, and said something about our auras and karma, and coming to town next weekend…”  He rolled his eyes.  “Lord only knows what she was going on about.  I’m not sure
she
knew.  Anyway, I didn’t tell her anything, because I didn’t want her to worry.”

“Thanks,” I said, and trundled down the hall to the bathroom, where I stripped off my clothes and threw them into the trash.  Then I filled the claw-footed tub with hot water, poured in a capful lavender bubble bath, and sank into a mound of fragrant bubbles.  A half hour later, my feet bandaged and my hair still dripping, I slipped into bed beside Blake and fell asleep.

#

I woke up at nine-fifteen the next morning and hurried downstairs, cursing under my breath.  I’d overslept, and the kids were late to school.  I was tossing PopTarts into the toaster when I noticed a note on the kitchen table; Blake had taken the kids to school, and Prue would pick them up for me.  My eyebrows shot up in surprise.  Had my husband had been replaced by an alien during the night? If he had, I was thinking I might be able to get used to it.

After putting on a fresh pot of coffee, I headed upstairs to throw on jeans and a t-shirt.  My hair was still the color of an eggplant, but today, that was the least of my worries. Peaches honked her horn at ten-ten.  I took a last swig of coffee and headed out the door.

“Your hair’s still purple,” Peaches said when she saw me.  She had traded in her green dress for purple hot pants and a close-fitting white top.

“Thanks for noticing,” I said.  “According to the bottle, I’ve got about nine more washes to go.  Then again, the bottle said my hair was supposed to turn black, not purple, so who knows? Maybe I’ll start a new trend.”  As I closed the Buick door behind me, Peaches pointed to the Mexican Sage, whose cascade of velvety purple blooms was a perfect foil to the jewel-like orange flowers of a butterfly weed.  “Nice place you got here.  You’re quite a gardener.”

“Thanks,” I said, looking back at the stone cottage nestled among leafy ferns and pale impatiens, honeysuckle clinging to the chimney.  Despite the overgrown lawn, it looked idyllic, like a fairy tale house.  It was amazing how much had changed. Two weeks ago, I was happy, secure, relatively content, queen of my little domain. Now, everything had been turned upside down.  I watched the house until it slid out of sight.  Then, I turned to Peaches.  “I called the police this morning and left a message about the warehouse.  And Bitsy.”

She nodded grimly.  “We should have thought to call last night.  Chances are they’ve covered their tracks, but it’s worth telling them.”

“How’s Jess?”

“He’s heading home this morning.  He’s going to call me later.”

“Looks like you caught yourself another bus,” I said as we turned onto Congress Avenue.  “Any idea how you’re going to get into Maxted’s apartment today?”

“I figured I’d wing it.”

Peaches grinned.  “Well, if what you did yesterday was ‘winging it’, I’d recommend you take a parachute.”

“I’m hoping a seventy-year-old woman will be a bit less hostile than a group of heavily armed thugs.”

“You thought that about the Junior League lady, too.”

“Good point.  But I doubt Willie is running a slave-labor factory in her bedroom closet.”

“You want me to come with you?”

“The more, the merrier,” I said as we pulled into a parking spot across the street from Evan Maxted’s apartment building.   

“Pretty swanky place,” Peaches said as we tip-tapped across the marble floor toward the elevator.  The doorman’s mahogany desk was still vacant. 

“Maxted was doing pretty well for himself, I guess.”

“So, what are you going to do when we get up there? Tell this Willie woman you forgot to pick up the cat food?”

I sighed and stabbed the button marked
11
.  “To be honest, I’m considering telling her the truth.”

“The truth? Are you nuts?”

I shrugged.  “You haven’t met Willie.  Somehow I’d think she’d be okay with it.”

Peaches groaned.  “I was wrong.  You need more than a parachute, honey.  This is a frickin’ suicide mission.  Why don’t you say your cat was on some kind of medication, and you have to go through the apartment and look for it?”

“I don’t know.  I’m not sure she bought the cat story last time.”  The elevator dinged, the door slid open, and we stepped out onto the plush carpet of the hallway.  As we walked past Maxted’s door on the way to Willie’s apartment, I noticed that the crime scene tape was gone.

“Why don’t you just try the cat thing first? Then, if it doesn’t work, you can spill the beans.”

“This is it,” I said as we stopped outside Willie’s door.

“Couldn’t you just tell her you forgot the litter box?”