Ink for the Beloved Page 27

  I decided not to respond.

  Carol finished tucking the bedding around my mother and stood up. “Let’s go to the floor reception, and I’ll send a message to Roger. You can also give me the names of the people who should be allowed in.”

  “How about the people that should be blocked?”

  Carol laughed and patted my shoulder. “Those too.” The woman thought I was joking.

  As we moved out of the room into the corridor, I saw Ollie had arrived from parking his truck and had folded himself into one of the pale grey chairs in the waiting area. He looked miserable. I tapped Carol and gestured in Ollie’s direction.

  “That’s one of the people I would like to have on the list,” I said.

  Carol smiled. “I’ve seen him here before. We wondered who he belonged to.”

  “He’ll probably play classical music in my mother’s room. I must warn you. He likes opera.”

  ***

  Once again, Roger was freshly showered when he visited me in my mother’s hospital room. He hovered by the door as if he were afraid to take another step into the sterile space. “I’m glad to see she is still with us,” he said, looking at my mother lying on the bed. “She seems like quite a fighter.”

  I was by the window gazing at the view of the Berkeley hills that my mother couldn’t see. “I want to ask you about the letter you gave me,” I said. “You wrote the inscription on the outside of the envelope. Did you also write the message inside?”

  Roger nodded his head. “It was very peculiar. But she insisted I do it that way. Wouldn’t let us do anything for her until I had written the note out. No oxygen. Nothing. Not until I got the note right. I was worried about her, so I did what she said.” He winced as he spoke and looked down at my mother lying on the bed. His arms folded across his body as if he was warding off a chill.

  “Did she insist you write the words in that fashion – with them intersecting like a crossword puzzle?”

  Roger looked back up at me. “Exactly. And those were her words. She wanted me to give it to you directly, but she was worried someone else would see it.”

  “Did she say who?” I could guess. By this time, the danger had escalated with Todd, but she wouldn’t be aware he had taken Echo and disappeared for the weekend.

  “No. She kept saying, ‘I fixed it. I fixed everything’ over and over and that Bess will know what to do. She said if I write the words like that, you would know what she was saying.”

  But I didn’t know what she was saying. It appeared my mother had given me the answers to a crossword puzzle. Crosswords were Terry’s thing. They were not mine. Was I supposed to find the questions to these answers? Clearly, I was meant to do something with this, and I would have to figure out what it was. If the police didn’t catch Todd, the only way to make him go away was to find the bag. This word puzzle was the answer I just had to figure out what it meant.

  WHO IS MAXINE?

  “Pursue, Maxine. I fixed it. I fixed everything.”

  Those were the last words my mother communicated to me. What the hell did she mean? I stared at the cryptic words written down on the blood-stained paper. I read the words repeatedly, willing them to reveal their hidden meaning to me. “I fixed it. I fixed it.”

  “I fixed it. I fixed everything” seemed to be the message, and Maxine was the woman I had to find, so I would know how she fixed it. But I didn’t know anyone named Maxine. And if this woman was a chance acquaintance, how was I going to find her? I checked with Dusty and Ollie, and even Luther. I checked with all the adults who were familiar with my mother’s social contacts and clients. No one in the inner circle knew a Maxine or had a clue as to what Terry could be trying to say.

  Ollie went through most of the family papers with me, and we didn’t see the name Maxine on a relative or a business contact. My maternal grandmother’s name was Ellen, and she had a sister named Ramona. My grandfather had a sister named Katrina. I did some further digging on my mother’s side of the family, the Wynter’s side, but nothing surfaced. No Maxine.

  There was, of course, the possibility Maxine could be from my father’s side of the family. But the more I thought about it, the more I was convinced it was a dead-end and not worth pursuing. In the past, if I mentioned seeking Charles or his family members, my mother shot down the notion like an expert marksman firing at a clay puck launched into the air. It was a quick smackdown, with particles scattered to the wind. There was no way Terry wanted me to meet Charles. So, to have me pursue someone from his side of the family just felt absurd. That wasn’t the path she was guiding me to.

  And the reality was this, I believed she hadn’t known anything about him. She didn’t know anything outside of his first name and the apartment he had lived in sixteen years ago. There was an embarrassment from her lack of knowledge. From what I could tell, she never informed the couple who hosted the dinner party where she met Charles of my existence and had not bothered to learn his last name. But they would know his last name, of course.

  I knew the couple. I figured out who they were.

  Years ago, my mother slipped and revealed the couple’s name in a casual conversation. She was talking to someone about the genesis of a tattoo design. There was an art piece in a friend’s hallway that exhibited such a darling, whimsical painting style she had used it for inspiration. The person had asked if she knew the name of the artist of the painting. My mother had laughed and explained Frank and Heather didn’t have the foggiest idea who produced the artwork since they had found the canvas at Goodwill. The person interrupted, asking if this was Frank Hudson, and my mother replied no, it was Frank Bloom. You don’t know him. The story then veered off as she explained why Frank and Heather had been at Goodwill because that was a whole story in itself. I waited a few minutes and then slipped away to my room, moving quietly and slowly, so as not to draw attention to myself. Once inside my bedroom, I had quickly jotted down the names so I wouldn’t ever forget. I wrote the names down and folded up the paper and slid it under my mattress.

  Frank and Heather Bloom. Frank and Heather Bloom.

  I had heard another story about that infamous tattoo. It was a tattoo frequently requested for a couple of years and was integral in building public interest in my mother’s work. The design depicted a charming cat wearing a slightly skewed aviator helmet, a fitted paisley vest with an old-fashioned man’s watch swinging from a chain, and galoshes. The cat sported a rakish smile, and it caught the fancy of people who liked steampunk, science fiction, and Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland characters. The ink work on the paisley vest, and the cat’s ruffled fur was beautifully detailed. It was all about style and charm.

  There was a period where she was interviewed about the idea behind her steampunk Cheshire cat. (Later, there would be the mouse, the fox, and the moose. Then she moved into her rockabilly collection). The story she usually shared was that she saw a painting of a tuxedo-wearing cat at a friend’s party, and her imagination sparked to the level of a volcanic eruption. Sometimes she added the party had been a monumental event in her life in more ways than one. Most people took that comment as a reference to the line of successful tattoos that factored into her business. Still, I caught her looking at me sometimes when she made that comment, and I began to believe it was at this party she had met my father.

  It was strange my mother felt I had to be a secret, a secret from Charles and his family. She always told me she was selfish, and she wanted to keep me all to herself. When I was little, I believed those words. It made me feel special. But as I got older, uncertainty began to creep in. A lot of uncertainty. I began to believe she was ashamed of me -that somehow, I wasn’t the daughter I should be, and if Charles ever met me, I would be a huge disappointment. Luckily, my time spent with Luther took those feelings of doubt and shame away. Luther instilled strong feelings of pride, not only in me but in my black heritage. This is something my mother believed I would just absorb by virtue of living in a diverse-multicultural-anything goe
s city like Berkeley. I have found this type of thinking is misguided. Cultural identity doesn’t work in a Kumbaya hand-holding type of way, and it can’t be legislated in a city council meeting.

  I hope if the day ever comes where I get the opportunity to meet Charles, he will be proud to claim me as his daughter. Now whether the same could be said for me, and I would feel pride in him is another story entirely. We have already seen my mother’s choices for bedfellows leave a lot to be desired. It was this notion that always held me back from wanting to find Charles and reveal myself to him. As long as I haven’t met him, he can still be the heroic Fireman Charles or the benevolent King Charles of my little girl fantasies. He could be the father I needed him to be, and I could imagine anything. I wasn’t sure if meeting the man in the flesh was worth losing the fantasy for.

  Ollie did an extensive Internet search for the name Maxine and didn’t come up with anything of value. We checked literary references and my mother’s old school classmates. Nothing. We scanned her yearbooks and photo albums. Nothing. We linked the name to merchants and businesses in the area. Maxine’s Cupcakes and Maxine’s Deli were visited and then crossed off the list.

  There was a moment, okay two whole hours, where I panicked, believing Maxine was the name of a girl my mother met when she had traveled to Nepal. This was some gypsy-like girl with flowers in her hair, a beaded tunic, and a sunshine smile. She had joined my mother on her spiritual adventure when Terry sought enlightenment and peace, two things she never found.

  Dusty talked me down from that idea as she had known my mother when she returned from Nepal, and Dusty was positive if there had been a girl named Maxine back then, she would have heard about it.

  Ollie loves cop shows, and he set up a large whiteboard in the dining room. He was copying what he saw detectives do when they are trying to solve a murder case. Ollie created graphs and lists, showing our progress, and writing down the clues we followed as we attempted to unmask Maxine. He wrote up a list of questions to ask when on a phone call so pertinent information was not forgotten. Every crazy idea was tossed onto the board and investigated.

  The time spent on the investigation helped with the grief and the vacuum created by the absence of my mother’s spirit. As usual, Terry had left us with a challenge, and we were keen on rising to the occasion.

  I was wracking my brain. What was my mother trying to say? And why was I even supposed to pursue this Maxine? Had she given the bag of drugs and money to Maxine? If so, why didn’t she just tell Maxine to take the backpack to the police?

  If there were doubts about the importance of Maxine, the stakes were raised the next day to a dangerous level.

  BESS THE BOSS

  I don’t often drive since I have a bike, and I love the freedom of pedaling on my own and not having to worry about a parking place. I have plenty of responsibilities relating to the household and Cosmic Hearts, and I never wanted to add “errand girl” to the list.

  One of the great things with bike riding is if it doesn’t fit in your backpack, people don’t ask you to pick items up. And since my pack is already filled with books and notebooks, I had a ready excuse to decline, and I could always claim extra weight would throw me off balance. Ollie handled the purchases for the home, and Dusty took care of the studio if there were items that weren’t brought in by vendors. So, it was a rare thing to see me behind the wheel of a car. But as things go, my bike needed some attention, and I was borrowing Ollie’s truck to get the frame straightened and the gears checked.

  The family car, or my mother’s car, had disappeared with Todd.

  A week had passed since my mother had entered the hospital. The police were beginning to believe Todd had fled the area. Either that or he was dead. When Officer Lopez mentioned this piece of information, I was surprised. “He’d be killed?” I asked.

  “Oh yeah,” she replied emphatically. The police had taken my mother’s computer a few days ago (with my permission), and a picture of the book bag filled with drugs was discovered in her email. She had sent it on Wednesday morning. This confirmed she had possession or knew about the drugs. I pointed out to Lopez it also confirmed my mother wasn’t a part of the operation. She wouldn’t have taken a picture of it and emailed it to herself.

  “There was about a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of product in that bag,” Officer Lopez said. “People definitely get killed for that much. People get killed for less.”

  Hours after Lopez said that to me, Duane Rodriguez’s body was discovered in a warehouse in West Oakland. Officer Lopez called me that evening with the news. The discovery of Rodriguez fueled the theory Todd was dead. Todd’s blood was also found at the warehouse. There was no body. Just blood. West Oakland is near the harbor, so there was speculation his body was dumped in the water if, in fact, he was dead.

  Despite the belief, Todd was a dangerous man, the police didn’t think he had killed Rodriguez. Officer Lopez went mum when I asked her more questions. The only thing she would tell me is Todd had a police record, which is why they were able to match the blood found at the warehouse. (I bet my mother was not aware Todd was a jailbird)

  With Todd Mackey in the likely deceased category, the watch on our house was pulled back. Officer Lopez and Detective Kline sternly reminded me the rules allowing Echo and I to stay in our home without an official guardian were still in place.

  “HOWEVER,” Detective Kline added. (He wasn’t as nice as Officer Lopez, and the stupid toothpick in the mouth thing was right out of Hollywood casting.) “Expect a visit from Child Protection Services in the next few weeks. We had to give them your address to check, but since you are involved with an ongoing case, they will wait to come by until we say so.”

  “And we just might forget to say so,” Officer Lopez said softly, giving me a sly smile.

  With this freshly planted information in my mind, I allowed my mind to explore what a possible future would look like for my sister and me. I could leave high school and get my GED. Then, I could seek emancipated minor status. Perhaps I would be allowed to legally become Echo’s guardian. Those thoughts shifted into the details of what our life would be like. I would stick around and get a job somewhere. I could take classes at Berkeley community college. Echo would remain at her school. We could keep things close to the way they are. Of course, Ollie could stay at the house if he wanted. We would get a kitten, maybe two kittens. Things wouldn’t be so bad.

  I was waiting at a stop sign, when the passenger side door swung open, and Todd Mackey smoothly slipped into the seat next to me. It was so sudden I jumped a bit in the air, hitting my head on the low cabin of the truck. He had been running because his face was flushed, and his distinctive odor of musk assaulted my nostrils.

  “What are you doing?” I demanded. I may have sounded feisty, but I was shocked and alarmed.

  “Now, darling, is that any way to greet an old friend?” Todd flashed his movie-star grin. His smile rattled me, and I sucked in some air. Todd smoothed back his hair with both hands, and I could have sworn he checked himself in the mirror.

  “Get out of the truck,” I ordered. I was trying to maintain my composure, but my body was shaking. I was terrified of what Todd might do. “The police are looking for you, you know.” Maybe that would get him to leave. Suddenly, there was a sharp horn blast, and I jumped in my seat. I had forgotten I was still sitting at the stop sign.

  “You better get a move on, darling. You don’t want to draw attention to yourself.”

  “Maybe I do,” I said. I turned my face to look at Todd head-on. He was smirking. To him, I was just this little girl, an annoying and obstinate little girl.

  My direct challenge didn’t faze him at all. “I don’t think that would be wise for you and that cute little mop of a sister. You both staying in that big house all by your lonesome while your mother is in the hospital.”

  The car behind me honked again. The driver laid his palm aggressively on the horn for several beats, and the blaring sound filled the ca
b of the truck in stereophonic sound. I gripped the steering wheel tightly to keep my hands from noticeably shaking and stared straight ahead. I refused to move. Somehow, pulling forward with Todd in the truck seemed like an unwise move. It was like giving him control. The pressure mounted. “We’re not by ourselves,” I said. “We’ve got people around us. We’re protected.”

  Todd leaned in and leered. “You mean like now?” He raised his eyebrows in jest and looked around at the emptiness of the cab. “Don’t try to kid me, Bess. I’ve seen how that house is run. And I know the police are not watching it anymore.” He laughed. It was a deep, loud bark of a laugh, and I suddenly wanted to cry. “You’re the boss. You are the BOSS. Like a video game combatant. You can’t get to the next level until you handle the boss. You must take out the boss. And here she is, Bess the Boss.” He smiled like he just shared a private joke, and then leaned in even closer to me if that was possible. “Your bossiness is not in question, my little caramel chew. We both know you are not protected.”

  “We have adults around us.” I countered, but my voice cracked and filled with emotion. I focused on the view through the windshield of the truck to keep my emotions in check. The road in front of me beckoned, but I refused to move. The honking behind us continued. The pressure the driver placed on the horn matched the pressure building in my feverish head.

  “You can’t possibly be talking about homo 1 and homo 2. Those two couldn’t build a fire if they had two sticks, a pack of matches, and lighter fluid.” Todd chuckled at the thought of Ollie and Dusty, stumbling to work together as a team.

  Tears flooded my eyes. These hot tears rolled down my cheeks like steaming liquid embers. My mother had betrayed us. She had told this skulking fiend everything about the household. Without her dynamic and combative nature, we were in a perilous position. Todd would sell us out for his drugs and use the system to dismantle our fragile household.