Derailed (46 page)

The nutmeg brown face nodded. “But she sleeping.”

The sound of the baby crying was louder now. From this apartment.

“What's your name?”

“Candy.”

“Is anyone else home?”

A solemn nod. “Otto.”

“Who's Otto?”

“Mommy's friend.”

Hmm
. “Can I speak to Otto?”

A shrug. The door opened wider and Michelle followed the little girl into the dim interior. The apartment smelled like urine and cheap alcohol. She tried to breathe through her mouth. The little girl pointed into the kitchen. Standing in the doorway, Michelle felt
like gagging. Otto was slumped over the table, his face smashed in his plate of food, passed out, dead drunk.

Michelle turned and followed the sound of the crying baby into a dark living room with old sheets covering the windows. A child about nine months old stood hanging onto the side of a netted playpen, wailing half-heartedly. The baby was wearing a shirt and a dirty diaper—full from the way it hung. And smelled.

She turned to the little girl. “Can you go wake up your mommy?”

Candy shook her head. “She tol' me she'd spank me good if I woke her up. Said she gots ta sleep, 'cause she gots ta work tonight.”

Yeah, I bet
. Michelle was unsure what to do. She felt like an intruder, even though she was there on official business and the child had let her in. The one thing she could do she didn't want to do.
Oh, suck it up, Michelle
. “Candy, do you know where the baby's clean diapers are?”

Candy nodded, disappeared, and came back with a disposable. “We only gots one.”

One
. Michelle was on the verge of either laughing hysterically or crying hysterically. The situation was heartbreaking! But she picked up the baby, found the bathroom, wrung out a used washcloth hanging on the tub, and tried to clean the baby's bottom—him, it turned out, when she peeled off the offending diaper. An ugly rash covered his entire genital area. She wished she had some zinc oxide ointment to soothe it.

It took several rinses of the rag to wash the baby, but finally the clean diaper was on. The baby had stopped crying and just stared at her. She picked him up and held him, noticing his large beautiful eyes as she returned to the living room. “What's your brother's name?”

“Pookey.”

“Pookey! Is that his real name?”

Candy shrugged. “That's what Mommy calls him. Just Pookey.”

“Who are you?” A harsh voice hurtled into the room from the doorway. Startled, Michelle turned quickly. “Whatchu doin' wit my baby? Give 'im to me!” A woman in a rumpled nightshirt stormed across the room and snatched the baby from Michelle's arms.
“Whatchu doin' in my house? Git out! Git out!” The baby let out a wail.

Michelle didn't move. “I'm from Bridges Family Services. My name is—”

“I don't care what yer name is. Git out!”

“Ms. Blackwell, DCFS has received calls about possible neglect, and we need—”

“I
said
, git out! Or I'm callin' the
po
-lice.”

You do that. Might be the best thing
. But the woman's face was twisted with fury and Michelle wasn't sure what she might do. “All right. But we do need to talk about these children.” She held out her card to the woman. “Please, give me a call. Our agency can help. We have resources—”

Parked on his mother's hip, Pookey started to cry again as the woman marched to the door and yanked it open. “I said, git out.
Now
!”

Michelle gave the card to Candy. “Don't lose it,” she whispered . . . and a few moments later found herself in the hall with the door slammed behind her.

But as she started down the stairs, she heard the door open again and the mother's harsh voice sailing after her. “How'd ya get in th' buildin' anyway? How'd ya get up here?”

Michelle just kept going and called back, “Goodbye, Ms. Blackwell! We'll be in touch!” By the time she got to the ground floor and headed for her car, she was muttering to herself. Could she make a case for neglect? Turn it over to the state attorney's office? Probably not. She didn't have enough information. But she wished she could get those kids out of that awful situation.

She hardly noticed it had started to rain.

By Neta Jackson and Dave Jackson

www.daveneta.com

The Yada Yada Prayer Group series
The Yada Yada Prayer Group
The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Down
The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Real
The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Tough
The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Caught
The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Rolling
The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Decked Out

The Yada Yada House of Hope series
Where Do I Go?
Who Do I Talk To?
Who Do I Lean On?
Who Is My Shelter?
Harry Bentley's Second Chance
Harry Bentley's Second Sight
Lucy Come Home

SouledOut Sisters series
Stand By Me
Come to the Table

Windy City Neighbors series
Grounded
Derailed
Penny Wise (2014)
Pound Foolish (2014)

First of all, we want to thank our agent, Lee Hough of ALIVE Communications, who believed in this series and especially the concept of Parallel Novels from the outset, and Worthy Publishing, which caught the vision and is making it happen.

Special appreciation also goes to Steve Parolini, our most excellent editor, who definitely made this a better read than what we wrote!

While we have always loved to travel by train, not even our 5,500-mile research trip on Amtrak—duplicating Grace and Harry's West Coast trip—provided all the information we needed. So, special thanks to Marc Magliari, media relations manager for Amtrak; Captain Gary Jones, overseeing Amtrak Police from Chicago to points west; John Clayborne, Amtrak detective out of Albuquerque, New Mexico; Sergeant Lisa Mueller, Chicago Police Canine Training Center; Officer Juan Martinez, Chicago Police Department (retired) and his fantastic K-9 partner, Rocky.

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