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“D-donna,” she stuttered. “My name is Donna.”
“Do you have a surname, Donna?” I took out the checkbook and a Montblanc pen from my inner pocket.
“What do you mean?” She swayed from foot to foot, ogling me openly now. Like once she hopped through the mental barrier of looking at me, she couldn’t stop.
“A last name.” I smiled.
“Oh. Yeah. Hammond. Donna Hammond.”
“I’m writing you a check for two thousand dollars, trusting you to buy food with it, Donna.” I scribbled as I spoke, my eyes still holding hers.
She seemed mesmerized, and it depressed me, how different her baby’s life was going to be from ours.
How my baby would never have to think about where the next meal was going to come from, or have to deal with an untreated medical situation because we couldn’t afford the bill that came with it.
I ripped the check and handed it to her. Before she plucked it from between my fingers, I raised my arm in the air, stopping her from taking it.
“There’s a catch.”
“I knew it,” she huffed, baring her teeth. “What is it?”
“I’ll give you this check. No questions asked. But,” I drawled, “I will give you a check for ten thousand dollars and secure you a spot at a women’s shelter if you do two things.”
She looked behind my shoulders frantically, licking her lips. “Okay. But with a condom. I don’t want no diseases.”
Was that what she thought I had in mind? Some of my loafers were older than her, for crying out loud.
“It’s not sex I want from you, Donna. I want you to give me any information about your boyfriend’s whereabouts. Call me as soon as you hear from him.” I produced a business card, handing it to her. “And I want you to promise me that you are packing your bags and leaving this apartment. I’ll send someone over who’ll take you to a women’s shelter.”
“Deal,” she said.
I handed her the check. She took it with trembling fingers, looking up at me again.
“But what if I never hear from him again? He’s not taking my calls. Will you cancel the check?”
I shook my head. “Not if you keep your end of the bargain and leave him for good.”
“I will. I am,” she corrected herself. “He screwed me over. I’m not going to forgive him for what he did to me and my baby.”
I tucked the checkbook back into my pocket, giving her a wry smile. Even if Belle wasn’t safe from Frank, his ex-girlfriend now was, and that was something too.
On the way back to my office, I called Sam. He picked up on the first ring.
“If this is about Frank, I’m still trying to find him. He slipped under the radar.”
I choked up the steering wheel. I did not like to be in a point of disadvantage, but right now, that was exactly where I was.
“Are you looking into Louisa and my mother too?”
“Yes.” I heard Sam clicking away on his laptop. “And I can’t yet rule them out. There’s a lot of money anchored to that goddamn will you’re ignoring, and all of it’s tied to assets and valuables. I can see your mother’s incentive.”
“What about Louisa?”
“Ah, that bag of fucking English Delights,” Sam spat out. “Yeah, she is still an option too. It appears that her family is not half as wealthy as they claim to be. I pulled some reports from the private Swiss account they’re using. Whatever they have in HSBC in Britain, both private and business accounts, is not enough to maintain their lifestyle for the next five years. So I can see why Butchart is being pressured to marry you. She needs to save her and her brothers’ skin. The cash pool is dwindling fast.”
“Well, that’s a shite show.”
“Word, Nancy Drew.”
“How the fuck did it get this far?” I wondered aloud.
For two decades, I’d been careful to stay out of trouble, and now it seemed like trouble found me every step of the way.
“Well, let’s see. You had unfinished business across the pond, as you Brits like to call it, the woman you’re with is a goddamn menace and shouldn’t be left to her own devices, and on top of all this, you seem to have a golden cock because everyone wants it.”
“My cock only wants Emmabelle,” I said grumpily. “Isn’t that sad?”
“Fucking tragic.”
“Promise me one thing,” I said.
“No,” Sam answered flatly. I went ahead anyway.
“That nothing happens to Belle.”
There was silence on the other line. I slowed my Bentley and came to a stop in front of a traffic light. Finally, he spoke.
“Nothing’ll happen to Emmabelle. You have my word.”
Fifteen Years Old.
I end up spending summer break in Southie.
Mom and Dad are bummed that I haven’t gone to a training camp. Even more so that I don’t want to go back to cross-country next year. They’ll survive.
