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She passed an open door and peered inside to find rows of chairs before what appeared to be a chapel. Responding to shouts further down the hallway, she pushed into the gym where a basketball game was in progress with players from six to ten years old, all boys.
An ebony-haired woman in her twenties raced up and down the court with the contestants trying to officiate what appeared to be bedlam. Kelly watched a bit of the action. When two of the players fought over the ball and one of them went tumbling to the ground, the official raised a whistle hanging around her neck and blew shrilly, bringing the dispute to a halt.
“That’s it,” she shouted, hands on her hips. “Game over. I warned you guys.” The boys wandered off amid much grumbling and pushing and light punches on each other’s shoulders.
Kelly walked across the now deserted court where the official stuffed equipment into a duffel bag.
“Sister Aleta?”
The woman turned, pushed sweaty hair that had escaped a ponytail away from her face and smiled at Kelly. “Can I help you?”
“Are you Sister Aleta?”
“That’s what they call me.”
“Are you a nun?” Her mom claimed to be Catholic, but Kelly could count on one hand the times they’d attended mass. Kelly didn’t know much about the church, but was surprised a nun would wear shorts.
“No,” Aleta said. “But the kids all call me sister anyway.”
“Nancy sent me,” Kelly said.
“Ah,” Aleta said, her smile fading. “What are you on?”
“Oxy.”
Aleta nodded. “Do you want help?”
Before Kelly could answer, cries of “Sister Aweta, Sister Aweta” bounced off the high gymnasium ceiling.
A little boy close to the size of Jason Wentworth ran up to Sister Aleta and tugged on the hem of her khaki shorts. “Aweta,” he wailed in a childish voice, again reminding Kelly of the little dude.
Kelly gazed down at the child and her heart squeezed. He had a bruise on his right cheek where someone had slapped him so hard she could make out the outline of a palm. Suddenly she longed to see Jason, missing him with a physical ache in her core. Was he okay? Did he miss her?
She shook her head. Of course the little prince was okay, at least physically. He was safe, unlike this child. Trey would never strike his son.
And the Wentworth men had already forgotten she existed.
Aleta knelt so she was eye level with the child. “What’s wrong, Julio?”
“It’s my mommy. She won’t stop crying. Can you talk to her again?”
“Of course, sweetie.” Taking his hand, Aleta stood. “Will you wait for me?” she asked Kelly.
Kelly shrugged, playing the druggie unsure if she wanted to get clean.
“Go to your mom,” Aleta told Julio. “I’ll be right there.”
Julio bit his bottom lip, but trudged out of the gymnasium, glaring at Kelly over his shoulder. Guilt made her release a sigh. The people here may not all be addicts, but they were definitely in bad situations.
“What’s the deal with all the kids in this facility?” Kelly asked. “I was told it was a place to get clean.”
“Sunshine Center provides a multitude of services.”
“How can you have druggies hanging out in the same location with children at risk?” Kelly used her chin to motion the way Julio had exited.
Aleta’s gaze sharpened on Kelly. “Who sent you?”
“A friend told me she got help here,” Kelly said.
“Who is your friend?”
“Maria Navarre.”
“Is that so? I’m surprised Maria recommended us.”
“Why is that?”
“We were unable to do much for her.”
“She met a guy here,” Kelly said. “Adam Chandler. Have you seen him around?”
“Do you know Chandler?” Aleta’s tone turned sharp, so likely she knew Adam was a fugitive. Or maybe the FBI had already questioned her.
Kelly rubbed her cheek, as if she’d been slugged there. “He used to be my supplier. The thing is, he’s a bad dude. I owe him money and don’t want to see him, don’t want him to know where I am.”
“I can promise you he won’t come here.”
