The Cin Fin-Lathen Mysteries 1-3 (57 page)

I
put in another call to Harry.  I wouldn't let him put me off again. 

"Harry,
listen.  Stop whatever you’re doing and make a couple of batches of your famous
brownies."

"I
beg your pardon, private eyes don't make brownies."

"Yes
they do."

"Since
when?"

"Since
brownies make excellent bribes."

"Oh,
bribery to add to my other sins?  Sure.  Who are we bribing and why?"

"Buslowski,
and I will tell you all about it when I get home. Bye."  I ended the call,
put the phone down and turned the Posies back up.

~

Harry
was up to his neck in mixing bowls by the time I got home.  He held up his
hands and mumbled something about having too much batter and not enough pans.  I
ran next door and borrowed a couple of pans from one of my neighbors.  When the
batter had been sorted out and the first batch in the oven, I sat down at the
counter and told Harry what I learned from Dwayne.

"Well,
it seems like our first step may be to look into this Pahokee preschool." 
Harry opened the oven door and smiled.  "They’re coming along
nicely." His voice had a wisp of an accent.

"Hullo
what's this, you’ve been watching BBC America, haven't you?"  I smiled at
him.

"Yes,
how could you tell?"  Harry stood there aghast.

"I
think you’ve picked up a bit of an accent.  Same thing happens to me, not the
accent but the meter and phrases.  I wouldn't worry about it.  Tell me about
what you’ve found out so far."

"Well,
and you're not going to like this, Aunt Diane and Betty have moved down here
and are staying at the Breakers."

"Breakers
West or Palm Beach?"

"Palm
Beach.  I know if it were the West we would have them in our backyard.  Anyway,
Betty talked to Father David and was able to get the location of Father Peter. 
I have it all mapped out in the den.  Quite a drive from here, way down,
kissing the west side of the Everglades."  The buzzer on the stove went
off, and Harry exchanged the cooked brownies for another pan of batter.
"Aunt Diane..."

"I
wish you wouldn't call her that because you're going to slip and call it to her
face."

"Wouldn't
be too professional.  Speaking of professionals, why are you bringing in
Buslowski?"

"I
need to pick his brains, and it wouldn't be a bad idea since we may be dealing
with something more than a disappearance to have at least the county cops
alerted to what may or may not be going on.  Besides, maybe he knows
something.”

Harry
leaned on the counter and put his hands on top of mine.  "What if we’re in
over our heads?"  He looked in my eyes.

"Then
we turn it over.  Just the thought of Homeland Security scares the hell out of
me.  I get all these wild ideas in my head about terrorists.  I know I’m being
silly."

"Florida
seems to be a great place for them to hide, sometimes right out in the
open."

"I
hope we find Michael soon.  Dwayne called after I talked to Buslowski and let
the Pahokee Preschool know that we would be out there tomorrow.  So, let’s play
it by ear but we should be prepared to go all the way down to see Father Peter
if we don't have any luck getting a lead at the school."  I shuddered.

"See
now, aren't you glad I have that gun?"

"If
we’re dealing with terrorists, Harry, that gun isn't big enough.  Nope, not by
a long shot, no pun intended."

Harry
went back to his baking and I went to change into more casual clothes before
Dave Buslowski arrived.

Dave
handled it surprisingly well.  He sat there with a brownie in his hand, poised
to eat it, and his mouth opening and closing with each added piece of
information.  When we had finished, he calmly ate his brownie and drank the
large glass of milk he’d requested.  He dusted off his hands, reached into his
pocket and jotted down a few notes.  Harry and I sat there in silence, waiting.

Finally
he spoke, "So, this started off a simple missing person case and now we’re
talking terrorists?"

"Only
because Homeland Security came up in our talk with Father David.  No one
actually used the word terrorist," I explained.

"You
don't plan on going after these terrorists, if they exist?"

"Hell
no!  We would pass on the information to you or whomever we should.  We just
want to find Father Michael."

"Do
you think he's still alive?"

"I
don't know.  All we want is to try and find him.  We promised his aunt.  Her
brother was missing for over fifty years and..."

Dave
held up his hand to say he understood.  "I haven't heard of much going on
over on the west side of the county, but I will ask around.  The Pahokee
Preschool and Day Care Center is legit and they do good work there.  So, all
you have to go on is parts of a confidential confession that was overheard and
a toy drive flyer."  He sat there and thought for a while.  "Of
course, you both know that you’ve no legal right to be investigating a missing
person case.  You're not licensed.  But that hasn't stopped you before."

I
looked at Harry, and he avoided my eyes.  "I never intended to get
involved in this at all, but Father Michael is a friend."

"I
seem to remember he and you were responsible for quite a little show over in
England.  Are you sure he isn't a fed or a spook?"

"All
I know is he’s a Jesuit priest that ‘handles’ things for the Catholic
Church," I said, putting my fingers up to illustrate the quotes.  "I’ve
been very suspicious of him since I met him, but I really don't know that much
about him.  No one has stepped up to either claim him or tell us where to find
him.  There was nothing at his place but four toy soldiers designated as clerics,
a diary written in code, and - oh I forgot."  I dug in my pocket and
handed him the pouch.

Dave
emptied the pouch in his hand and whistled.  "Nice marbles."  He
picked one of the diamonds up and held it to the light.  "Could be real,
but what do I know.  You've been carrying these around with you?"

"Yes."

"In
your pocket?"

"Yes."

He
looked at me amazed.  "I could think of better places to keep them.  Do
you want me to have these checked out?"

"Does
it matter?  Noelle was afraid that it would bring an unwanted spotlight on
Harry and me."

"I
can see her point, but if these are real and if they’re diamonds that are used
to finance terrorist operations, then it would be better to know it now.  I can
pull some strings and have it done quietly, but I will have to let my superiors
know if they’re dirty."

"Would
it get Father Michael in trouble?" Harry asked.

"He
would have to explain why he has them.  That's if...” he stopped, acknowledged
my sharp intake of breath and corrected, “when you find him."  Dave scooped
up the marbles and diamonds, put them back in the pouch and held the pouch out
to me.

I
looked over at Harry and he nodded.  "Dave, take them.  We need to know
what we’re dealing with.  Is it just me or has it gotten colder in here?"
I shivered.

"Don't
be so dramatic. Women."  Harry looked at Dave for confirmation.

"Don't
get me into the grave you just dug.  I better get going.  I have to call the
wife and tell her I’m going to be late.  Pack up those brownies. I will need
some sustenance as I don't think she's going to hold supper for me."

"I
could write you a note." I smiled weakly.

"Cin,
what would it say?  Please excuse Dave for missing dinner because I’ve some
illegal diamonds I want him to look at?"  He got up and softened. 
"Don't worry, part of the job."

Harry
came in with a grocery-sized bag and handed it to Dave.  He lifted it and
judged the weight.  "I guess I will have some to share with the
guys."  He headed for the door, and before opening he stopped and turned
around.  "Are you heading for the school tomorrow?"

"Early."

"Be
careful, and if you find anything..."

"I
know, call you and don't touch it," I said automatically.

"I
hope you mean that."  He said sternly and walked out the door.

Harry
and I looked at each other for a moment before he said, "You didn't tell
him about the gun."

"I
thought we had stretched our friendship as far as we could already without
adding the gun," I said, walking over and putting my arm around his
shoulder.  "Anyway, it all may turn out to be a misunderstanding, and
Father Michael is on retreat somewhere."

"Do
you believe that?" Harry asked.

"No,
but I’m going to pretend so I can get some sleep tonight.  Let's go and find
something healthy to eat.  I have the sugar shakes."  I held out my
trembling hand for effect.

"Me
too."  Harry wiggled his hips and started to shimmy his way into the
kitchen.

I
started laughing and pushed thoughts of Father Michael deeper in my brain until
I could deal with them.  At the moment, the only thing I wanted to deal with
was Harry's cuisine.

South
Florida has many ecosystems, and as we drove west to Pahokee we saw a dramatic
change from the sand and palm trees to the muck soil and crops.  The change
also involved a drop of several feet of elevation.  Muck soil comes from
ancient saw grass.  When it’s dry, it doesn't blow away and deposit elsewhere,
which happens with most other soil.  It evaporates.  Buildings that were built
flush with the soil thirty years ago were now teetering atop five to ten feet
of concrete blocks.  The whole underside of the buildings’ plumbing and
foundations were now exposed to the hot humid air. 

This
was the most fertile soil you could have, and the farmers rotated their crops
to take advantage of this.  To hold the soil from evaporation, the farmers
tried to keep the water in the fields as close to the surface as possible. 
Unfortunately, they were in constant conflict with south Florida Water
Management as to how high the canal water levels needed to be.  One rainstorm
could, not only flood their fields but also wipe out housing developments
closer to the coast as the water flowed out to the ocean.

Sugarcane
aside, the region produced eighty percent of the winter vegetable crops that
the United States used.  Even with this fertile soil, the small operator still
had to fight many battles to keep afloat, some with the big cane farmers,
others with the migration west of condos and other developments.  But their
biggest fight recently was with the environmentalists that wanted to reopen the
river of grass from Lake Okeechobee to the Everglades.

I
pointed out the thirty foot earthen wall damn that surrounded the lake to Harry
as I negotiated our turn north.  I explained to Harry that in the late 1920’s
hurricane winds were so strong that they forced the water out of the lake and
drowned hundreds of people.  But it wasn’t until the 1940’s that the Army Corps
of Engineers built this damn.  Harry asked if I was around to see the
construction, and I responded with a glare that told him I wasn’t that old. 

Each
cane field had small canals that ran through them and connected with the bigger
canals that moved the water eastward.  The road I was navigating had deep
canals on each side of the pavement.  The roads were narrow, and motorists
shared them with the large cane trucks.  If you went off the road into a canal,
you would only have seconds to abandon your car before it sunk into the murky
depths.  Many south Floridians kept a tiny hammer in their vehicles to bust the
window glass.  I didn't have a hammer in the roadster, so I just put the top
down before a trip out there.  I hoped to never find myself in the water.  Not
only were the canals deceptively deep but they could also have alligators and
poisonous snakes in them.

The
recent droughts in the last few years had pushed the water level of the lake
down, hurting the sport fishing industry.  It was a hard way of life living in
the interior of Florida.  I was sorry to see the old Florida way disappear but
also could see the environmentalists' point of view.

Harry
and I saw a mix of thriving cane fields and empty businesses along the route
north before we came to Pahokee.  The school was northeast of the town, so we
took another dubious road, dodging potholes until we connected with the right
road.

The
Pahokee preschool stood out like an oasis amongst the waving fields of
sugarcane.  There were several one-story buildings connected by covered
walkways with several play areas shaded from the hot sun that were nestled here
and there.  The parking lot held only a few cars.  The several small busses
that the school used for transportation lined the entrance road.

Lined
up along one building were those amazing strollers that would hold four or five
toddlers at once.  I had a brief vision of myself trying to manage a handful of
toddlers and shuddered.  I didn’t have the temperament for little children
although I admired those that did.

Harry
got out of the car, and before I could speak he shushed me, cupped his ear and
motioned for me to listen.  I listened and heard children singing.  He smiled
at me, and we followed the sound to a classroom and stood outside listening.  I
didn't recognize the song they were singing.  It was the first I time I heard
it, but as it was sung with so much gusto, I was sure Harry and I would be
singing it on the way home.  We waited until they were finished before sticking
our heads in and asking for the office.  A volunteer aide directed us to
another building.  I had to take Harry's hand to get him to leave the
classroom, much to the amusement of several children.

We
walked into the office and were greeted by a very happy, round, short black
woman who was balancing on a chair trying to reach a box on the top shelf. 
Harry came to the rescue with his best foot and charm forward.  He helped her
down and with his young legs and long arms retrieved the wanted box.

"Why
thank you, young man.  I imagine you must be the Lathens."

"I'm
Cin and this is Harry."  I didn't add that he wasn't a Lathen.  Our
connection just took too long to explain.

"I'm
Chanel Mullens, but you can call me Mother Mullens just like everyone else
around here.  Dwayne tells me you're interested in our school.”  She motioned
for us to take a seat and sat herself down with the dignity of an Ivy League
dean.  “We take care of infants through five-year olds at this facility.  This
frees both parents so they can work, and the children get an education while
they’re here.  We also teach the young mothers how to take care of their kids.  We
have a large volunteer staff, including some of the parents who are expected to
take turns in helping out in the center."

"Are
all of these children from migrant families?" I asked.

"Most,
but not all.  We have Miccosukee Indian children along with Spanish speaking
children.  Every now and then we do see blond hair and blue eyes.  Poverty
doesn't have cultural lines.  Are you interested in helping out on a daily
basis or just for the toy drive?" Mother Mullens got right to the point.

"Harry’s
and my schedules are currently tight, but we’re interested in the toy drive.  That
reminds me, a friend of ours, Michael Williams, was supposed to visit one of
these centers and report back to the Williams Foundation about the schools in
this area.  Did he happen to come here?"

"The
Williams Foundation, I’ve heard of them.  Their money would be well spent
here.  But you said he was supposed to visit?  Wait, let me think."  She
walked back around her desk and flipped a day calendar backwards.  "Ah,
here it is.  He came or was supposed to come last Monday.  I was at a regional
meeting, but Abbie was here.  Let me get... No, better yet, let's go to
classroom five and talk to her."

We
followed her out of the building and around a labyrinth of walkways until we
came to the room.  The five year-old children were in the middle of a lesson so
we waited at the back of the classroom and watched.  The young teacher was
placing several pictures of buildings on the bulletin board.  Next to them she
had their names in English and also in Spanish.  She held up a picture and
asked first in English where this person belonged and then repeated the
question in Spanish.  Hands went up, and she handed a picture of herself to one
of the hand wavers when the child approached the board. 

"This
is a teacher, and she belongs in a school."  The child carefully stuck a
pin through the picture of Abbie and put her in the school building.

"Very
good, Markus!  Everyone clap for Markus!"

We
all clapped.  I think Harry clapped the hardest.  What a ham.  Next she held up
a picture of a sugar mill worker.  The next child chosen was a girl, and she
walked over and put him in the mill.  This game continued until all the
pictures of people had been used.  They then went over the names in English and
Spanish of the people and the buildings.

Abbie
settled the class down for some coloring and came over to us.  Mother Mullens
explained why we were there. 

"Yes,
there was a man here briefly."

I
pulled out a recent picture that Diane had given me of Michael.  "Was this
the man?"

"Yes,
Father Williams.  I gave him some materials and showed him the classrooms.  He
asked about one of the drivers and whether he could talk to him.  I thought
this was rather odd at the time.  I couldn't really help him as it was Manuel
Perez, and he hadn't come into work for a week or so, and we had to find
someone else. Why?"  She lifted an eyebrow.

"This
is a friend of mine who’s missing.  He’s legit, his aunt runs the Williams's
Foundation.  She asked me, since she knew I was going to be visiting, to ask
around if anyone knew of his whereabouts."

"I'm
sorry.  He was only here briefly.  I hope you find him." She turned around
and clapped her hands.  "Everyone, time to pick up."

The
children responded immediately and rushed around the room picking up crayons
and toys and putting them away in the brightly lettered corresponding boxes.  I
was so engrossed in watching the activity and wondering why I never got that
response at home with only two children, that I dropped my picture of Michael. 
I was alerted to it by a tug on my jeans.  I looked down, and Markus smiled at
me, held up the picture and pointed to it.

"I
know where he belongs."  He started walking towards the board.  I expected
him to put Michael in the church building, but he passed by the board and
pointed out the window.

I
rushed over.  "Where does this man belong?"

"The
man belongs in the old mill," he said, pointing across the street at the
overgrown buildings.  "Yesterday he was doing this."  Markus put his
hands together like he was praying.  "But today he is doing this." 
Markus put his hands under his head like he was sleeping.

"So
he is sleeping in the old mill?" I asked gently.

"He’s
sleeping and using some big wood boxes for his blankets."

"Oh.
Thank you, Markus."  I shook his hand and went back to the others. 
"Mother Mullens, thank you for the tour. Harry and I will definitely like
to help Dwayne out, and I will follow through with the Williams Foundation
myself."

She
nodded and we left building five together.  I tried to be as calm as possible
while we were in Mother Mullens's sight, but as soon as she went into the
office, I took off running to the car, leaving a very confused Harry to follow
me.

"What's
going on?" he asked, out of breath and fighting the seatbelt as I drove
out of the parking lot.  “Whoah!”  Harry closed his eyes as I flew across the
street and nearly tipped us over trying to navigate the hazards of the old mill
yard.

"Markus
told me he saw Michael over here in the old mill.”  I twisted around violently
in my seat.  “There are so many buildings which one is the mill?"

Harry
directed me to the largest of the buildings where I parked the car.  We got out
and looked at each other.

"It's
a big building," Harry commented.

"Markus
said he could see him, and I don't think Markus would have been able to get
into here.  It seems pretty secure," I said as I tried to open one of the
doors.  "So, let's look for windows that a five-year-old boy could look
into.  Maybe, we should look for a worn path because evidently Markus is here a
lot, at least yesterday and today."

Harry
and I walked around the building.  I went clockwise and Harry
counterclockwise.  I peered in every crack in the wood and metal siding.  I got
down on my knees and looked into low broken windows. I started to wonder about
Markus’s parents and the level of supervision he had.  Why he was allowed to
wonder around this hazardous area alone?  I heard Harry call me.

"Here! 
Cin, I see someone."

I
ran over to Harry who was on the ground, looking into a broken vent.  He moved
aside and let me look.

"There
on the ground under that debris," he instructed.

I
followed the lumber and whatnot downward, and there was Michael lying still on
the ground.  His legs were caught under the fallen materials. 
"Michael!" I yelled into the vent.  He didn't respond. I got up.  "We
have to find a way in."

"First,
we call Buslowski," Harry said, taking his turn at being the responsible
adult.

I
handed Harry my phone and let him call while I kicked and pushed until I felt a
panel give enough for me to squeeze through.  Aware that my entrance was ten
feet above the ground, I cautiously stuck my head in and looked through the
gloom.  There three feet below me was a concrete ledge.  I turned around and
lowered myself onto the ledge, carefully turning around before I jumped the
last seven feet down and landed with my knees bent.  I still fell over backward
and knocked my head on the wall, but I probably would have done it jumping two
feet, let alone seven.  I got up and rushed over to Michael.

"Don't
be dead, don't be dead, don't be dead."  I got down on my knees and
touched his face.  My fingers made an indentation on his jaw.  I felt for a
pulse and found one.  "Harry!" I screamed.  "Get my water bottle
from the car."

I
heard Harry's footfalls pound the ground, and before I had finished my
examination of Michael’s precarious situation, I heard him come back.  He
jumped down gracefully and soon was at my side.