Chapter 15: Maggy

Two days later, Peter drove Jonathon to Lake Havasu and delivered him to his aunt. The day before, Kathy took the boy shopping and went overboard, buying him new clothes, books, a Gameboy with every cartridge, a portable CD player, and all his desired albums. His treasures were packed into several suitcases and a backpack full of treats, snacks, comic books, and drinks to ensure he didn’t die from boredom or malnutrition during the 3-hour drive.

Aunt Vera was a single middle-aged woman with handsome Latino features and smooth brown skin. When she stepped out of her simple home to meet them, she hugged the boy fondly and thanked Peter for seeing to his well-being after the accident. While Jonathon made trips to carry his belongings from the car to his new room, Peter took the woman aside and spoke quietly to her for several minutes. He discreetly handed her a plain envelope with a $10,000 bank draft and a manilla folder with information on the college fund he had set up for the boy. The woman became speechless as he described how her nephew had acquitted himself during the chaos of the accident and afterward.

He regrettably declined her offer to stay for dinner. He wanted to return to Flagstaff and the four girls in his care, and he wasn’t comfortable leaving them while the state-wide manhunt for Reggie Morris continued.

They had learned his truck was abandoned in Holbrook next to the Wigwam motel a day ago. No stolen vehicle reports were made, but several thefts occurred within a day along the I-40 bypass. Roadblocks were set up, and authorities were on high alert for the fugitive. Truckers were advised to report suspicious activity, and temporary signs warned motorists not to pick up hitchhikers. Little attention was paid to the railroad.

On his return trip, Peter activated his cell phone and called his financial advisor for the first time in nearly a month. It wasn’t Jeremiah who answered, though. He had emailed the man two days before asking for help setting up Jonothan’s trust fund. So, it surprised him when the voice that greeted him over the phone belonged to a young woman with a distinct southern accent similar to his mentor’s. He even detected smooth creole inflections when she answered.

“Magdelaine Desormeaux at your service. How may I be of assistance?”

“Uh ... I’m sorry. Who are you?” he stammered, pulling over to the shoulder.

“You are speaking to Magdelaine Desormeaux, sir,” she replied eloquently. “You may call me Maggy for short.”

What the fuck? “Um ... I was expecting Jeremiah—”

“My apologies, Mr. Shipley,” she interrupted smoothly. So, she knows my name. “I am afraid Mr. Whitaker is unavailable now. I am his administrative assistant. I can take care of anything that you may require.”

The fuck you can! He felt frustration rising and struggled to contain it. “Yeah, I don’t think so,” he retorted. “I’ve never heard of or ever dealt with you before—”

“Sir, I can assure you that I am fully versed in your circumstance and situation, and I have Jeremiah’s complete confidence—”

“Yeah, that’s great,” he cut her off. “Have him call me, and we’ll discuss it.”

“Mr. Shipley,” she replied with a hint of angst. “I appreciate your reticence, I truly do. But contacting him might prove difficult now.”

“And why is that?”

“He instructed me not to call him and said he would be out of cellular coverage.”

“I just communicated with him the other day—”

“Yes, sir, your email was forwarded to me, and I took the liberty of arranging for the young man’s trust fund per your instructions—”

He held the cell phone away from his ear and stared at it incredulously. What the hell was going on? He put it back to his ear. “Where the fuck is Jeremiah?”

He waited impatiently for her to respond. After a moment, he heard a soft sigh.

“I’m sorry,” she replied hesitantly. “But I am not at liberty to—”

He hung up on her and swore loudly as he tossed the phone onto the passenger’s seat. The stress of being unable to reach out to the one person he could rely on above all else was disheartening. He clenched his jaw, ignoring his phone buzz, and gripped the shifter tightly. An instinctive glance in his rearview brought him up short as he recognized the familiar markings of an Arizona State Trooper parked behind him.

Ah, crap!

Even though the emergency lights weren’t flashing, he kept the Mustang in park and waited patiently until he saw the male figure stepping out from his vehicle and donning his campaign hat, adjusting it as he approached. Since the top was down, he had no reason to lower his window.

“Everything all right, sir?” the trooper inquired neutrally. His eyes were hidden behind his tinted sunglasses.

“Yessir,” Peter replied politely. He nodded at the phone beside him. “I just pulled over to make a call. Do you need my license and registration?”

The trooper hesitated before tilting his head. “Where you headed?” he looked over the car. “Rental?”

As if you didn’t already know. “Yessir, from Flagstaff. I traveled to Lake Havasu to return a young man to his family after a tragic Greyhound accident.” Chew on that!

The officer stiffened slightly as he continued to gaze at Peter. “Were you involved with that?”

Peter nodded. “You could say that. My girlfriend and I were first on the scene.” He poked himself with his thumb smugly. “I delivered the baby.”

Twenty minutes after returning to the road, his cell phone buzzed again, and he answered it without looking from the road, “Yeah.”

“Mr. Shipley,” Maggy intoned. “I must emphasize the sensitive nature involved with—”

He hung up again. He’d email Jeremiah as soon as he returned to his hotel. The cell phone rang again, but he ignored it as he drove on.

Peter’s rented suite was on the hotel’s top floor. He refused to leave until the search for Lenna’s fugitive ex concluded. The hotel staff were advised to be alert to any suspicious person matching the description of the crazed lunatic who tried to murder a busload of people.

They stayed in the luxurious suite for a week. Lenna had no complaints. For the first time in months, she felt safe and was surrounded by her two protectors, who helped her with her babies while she recovered from the delivery.

Later that evening, he received another call from an unlisted number. Indecisively, he sat up in bed, glancing at the LED screen. Finally, he climbed out of bed and shuffled away on his stubs before answering, “Hello.”

“What is so hellfire, burning important that my assistant can’t deal with it?”

He swallowed nervously. He’d never heard Jeremiah speak so harshly. There was something else he couldn’t put his finger on, but suddenly, he felt out of his depth. “Jeremiah,” he stammered. “I need your help.”

“You always need my help.”

That stung. “Jeremiah,” he continued, almost pleading, “This is really important.”

“It’s always important.” His condescension left Peter dumbfounded and reeling from the unexpected antipathy.

The specter flared indignation, and he embraced the sensation, responding defensively, “Someone tried to kill a friend of—”

“Are they dead?”

“Well ... no, but—”

“What’s the problem?

“Jeremiah, this is fucking serious!” he snapped angrily. “They will try again.”

“So, you need protection.”

“Yes!” What in the actual fuck was going on here?

“Call Maggy.”

Peter threw up his arms in frustration as he paced near the window, trying to keep his voice low to avoid waking Kathy. “Who the fuck is this Maggy?”

“She already explained herself...” the southerner drawled heavily. His voice sounded tired.

“But you didn’t!” Peter retorted. “Dammit, Jeremiah! I don’t know her from Eve, and you expect me to rely on her—”

“Boy, I ain’t your daddy! It’s time for you to grow up and stop being so damn dependent on everyone!”

His words stung more than any physical blow from his real father. He felt stunned, and his cheeks flared with shame. Tears stung his eyes as he struggled to contemplate the weight of what he had just heard.

“Call her back. Maggy has my confidence and support. Trust her.” His words were dismissive. “You both need to meet as soon as possible and get acquainted.”

“What?” he gasped, swallowing back tears. “Why—”

“You’re both in this together, boy.”

Several seconds passed before he realized the phone had gone dead in his hand.

“Is everything okay, baby?” Kathy asked quietly in the dark.

He turned to face the bed, seeing her shadow sitting up. “I don’t know,” he whispered emotionally. “Jeremiah’s—” he left his thoughts unspoken as he slipped on his feet and pulled a shirt on. He knew sleep was impossible now, even at this late hour.

Five minutes later, he strode into the lobby, helped himself to a cup of coffee, and sat in a plush chair in the vacant space. He stared at his cell phone quietly before sighing and pulling up the previous number.

“Look fucker!” She snarled, answering on the first ring. “I’m done with your bullshit!” her eloquent speech and smooth accent were gone. He shuddered as her words sent chills down his spine.

“Ms. Desorme...” he stammered.

“It’s Maggy!” she snapped.

“Maggy, then,” he said softly. “Look ... I am sorry ... For everything, for the way I treated you, for doubting you—for everything ... I am truly sorry.”

There was dead silence on the other end.

“Can we please try again?”

‘Maggy’ quickly made his acquaintance, reaffirming that she knew ‘all there was to know’ about him and his situation. He guessed by her voice that she was also African American, and he felt oddly at ease as she listened to his concerns.

“Cher, I am contacting a well-reputed private security firm out of Phoenix as we speak,” she told him calmly. “I will arrange for them to fly to your location and contact you by tomorrow morning. Here is the contact information for you.” She read off a number and address for Parthum and Associates et al. ‘Fugitive recovery—Bail enforcement—Private Investigations.’