Page 51 of Desperate Creed

The man wore khakis and a green polo shirt, a designer one with a little logo on the breast pocket. He was older. Maybe in his fifties, possibly early sixties. She used to be better at reading people when she first started at the advertising agency and was obsessed with demographics. One thing for certain, there was something about this guy that bothered Frankie, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. For some reason, he didn’t look like he belonged. He didn’t look like the type of guy who dropped in at a meat-and-three for lunch on a Saturday. Maybe it was the exhaustion, but her gut instinct had saved her ass already several times. Before she could study him further another woman walked in.

And just with a glimpse Frankie knew. This was the FBI agent.

Shoulder length auburn hair, taller than average, blue jeans and leather flats. A V-neck T-shirt but with a lightweight collared shirt over it, unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, tails untucked and billowing so it could hide the shoulder holster. No one would notice the strap or the weapon unless they were looking for it.

The woman glanced around the restaurant, taking off her sunglasses and allowing a second for her eyes to adjust. But that’s all it took was a second or two before she found Frankie and headed directly for her. She slid into the booth across from Frankie, put her hands on the table and laced her fingers together.

Then she smiled and said, “Hi Frankie. I’m Maggie O’Dell.”

36

Florida Panhandle

Ryder had told Brodie that their mother had wanted to be at her side in the Omaha hospital. Brodie didn’t remember. While her body was hooked up to IV fluids and connected to a variety of machines, her mind went into a delirious fever. Ryder said she slept in fits and starts, waking up wild-eyed, fists flying, legs kicking and not recognizing him or where she was. In the midst of all the chaos, one thing seemed certain. Her mother’s presence panicked her, so much so, that after several days the doctors asked she leave.

Although Brodie didn’t remember any of that, she’d never be able to forget her last days before she was rescued. Like a nightmare looped in her memory, it played over and over again. Instead of her sweat drenched hospital bed she was still imprisoned in the Christmas house where Iris Malone had left her.

The old rundown farmhouse, less than a mile from Iris’ house, had been abandoned when Iris and her brother Eli Dunn had committed their mother to a nursing home. The old woman had loved Christmas, and the entire place remained as she had left it, untouched for years, forever decorated and ready for the holiday.

For Iris Malone, the Christmas house was the last stop for the Charlottes she wished to be rid of. She left them there for her brother, Eli to pick up and do whatever he wanted. Some he sold. Others he murdered and deposed of after he was finished with them.

Iris Malone claimed she didn’t know what her brother did with the women. Now that the man was dead—along with Iris’ son, Aaron—the woman could say whatever she wanted and no one could contradict her.

The last years of Brodie’s captivity, and especially the last days, she had been starved. The Omaha doctors said it would take a long time for her to recover from the damage her malnourished body had endured. When they found her, she was severely dehydrated, too. Dr. Rockwood had tried to explain to Brodie how the mind tried to compensate, sometimes shutting down for long periods.

“Survival mode,” she called it.

All Brodie knew was that almost five months later she still felt the panic kick in every time she thought about her mother. Intellectually, she understood it wasn’t really her mother who caused the feeling. It was Iris Malone’s lies that had entrenched themselves firmly and completely inside Brodie’s mind. Without effort and without warning, Brodie could hear them:

“You’re such a naughty girl, your mother and father said they don’t want you anymore. Your mother told me to keep you. She never wants to see you, again.”

The woman had been so convincing Brodie never doubted her. Many times she’d tell Brodie these things even as she held a telephone receiver in her hand, as if Brodie’s mother was actually on the other end of the line at that very moment.

Brodie knew it wasn’t right to keep punishing her mother by keeping her away. She’d been so patient, following the rules of the doctors and then the rules Brodie had put in place. She knew it wasn’t fair, and yet, she still couldn’t keep from feeling nauseated. Her mother was the last link, the last reminder of Iris Malone’s evil manipulation.

Brodie had watched her mother on television hoping it would trigger good memories. Her show, Life in Style with Olivia James, was on every day, and Hannah rarely missed an episode. But the woman on the TV screen acted and talked so properly that Brodie hardly recognized her. She suggested linens and decorations and delicious recipes while she created a masterpiece right there in an hour.

Olivia James was a celebrity and looked much taller and younger than the woman now standing in Hannah’s kitchen. She was still dressed very nicely in colorful soft fabrics that made Brodie almost want to reach out and touch a sleeve. Almost.

“Hello, Brodie,” Olivia said, a smile caught at the corners of her mouth. The expression reminded Brodie of her grandmother, and she realized this older version of her mother looked very much like Gram.

Brodie couldn’t find her voice and simply nodded.

Hannah promised that she would stay with them. Both mother and daughter agreed they needed a mediator. Now Hannah turned around from the counter and gestured for them to sit down at the table. Instinctively, they chose seats across from each other.

A box on the edge of the table distracted Brodie. Its flaps were pulled back. She gave the contents a half-hearted glance then her eyes darted back. She stood up to get a better look.

At first she thought it was an interesting assortment: books, movies, toys. A white dragon captured her attention. Then she realized it wasn’t just any white dragon. It was hers—Puff the Magic Dragon, one of her favorite Beanie Babies.

She started looking at the rest...really looking, coming in closer. Standing above the box, Brodie could see Pokemon trading cards, more Beanie babies, Harry Potter and Lemony Snicket books and a purple plush dog with pink ears. Her fingers touched the dog.

Without thinking she said, “Puppy Surprise Eliza.”

The fur was still as soft as cotton candy. She glanced up at Hannah and told her, “Each dog came with puppies inside. You didn’t know how many you’d get until you opened the box and opened her tummy. You might get two, three or four. My Eliza had five.”

Her hands hesitated.

“Go ahead,” Olivia told her.