Chapter 13

Bill Carmody’s turn:

Yesterday’s wedding was a delight, especially watching my NEW daughter (!) and Cindy, my original daughter, looking and acting very much like twins. Can’t help but grin, just thinking about it. Both of ‘em have a little fire in their eyes, and when they’re together, you can nearly SEE the sparks flying between them. Couldn’t have asked for a more unlikely development, right up to matching green dresses they bought together for the wedding.

And my phone buzzes -- unfamiliar number. Okay. I’ll answer. “Hello, this is Bill Carmody with 3Sigma.”

“Mister Carmody, my name is Dawn Wilson, and I’m with Child Protective Services. I’m calling to arrange a visit with Mandy Simmons.”

“Very good, Dawn. How soon can we get together?”

“Mister Carmody, I’m a bit less than ten minutes away. Is that inconvenient for you?”

“Yes and no, Dawn. You’re certainly welcome to visit anytime, and I’m pretty sure Mandy is easily available, but I’m in the middle of a project. I can wrap up this segment in about an hour, I’m pretty sure, and I’ll get there as quickly as I can. But why don’t you go on over to our apartment? You can visit with my wife, Donna. Mandy will either be there or over at the lab.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll be over shortly.”

OK, I’ll call Donna and give her the heads-up. We were kinda expecting this.

{br}Dawn Wilson’s turn:

Let me be frank: I don’t trust men. Most of the ones I’ve met are users, assholes who want to turn their children into assholes. You know the type -- they smoke, they stink, they have bad breath, tattoos, missing a couple of teeth. And honestly, what kind of man is going to hang out with a woman who’s a druggie? I’ve read the case file on Amanda. I know some history on this girl’s mother, and it speaks loudly about any man who would live with her. This is going to be ugly. Maybe I can find a way to pull this girl out of that slime and get her into a good home.

The way I like to handle cases like this is to drive to within about 5 minutes of the residence, make the call, and then show up before they have time to arrange anything. “Apartment” my ass. How much you want to bet there will be bugs everywhere? It’ll stink, have dirty dishes in the sink, beer cans everywhere, and maybe a bong or two. Let’s go, and get this over with.

Arriving at the apartments, I’m a bit surprised. This place looks very nice! Clean, well kept. Hmm. Can’t judge a book by its cover, I suppose. Let’s see. Ring the doorbell, Dawn. The door opens, and I’m looking at a NICE lady! Odd.

And I got a shockingly welcome surprise. Very nice lady named Donna invited me into her house. Place is squeaky clean. Aroma of a pot roast fills the house, emanating from a cast iron Dutch oven. Met a little cutie redhead toddler named Elise, who will talk your arm off, given a chance.

I realized that I’m being defused.

No surprises when I opened Mandy’s closet door, to find it mostly empty. Apart from one VERY nice green dress, the other clothes were shabby, but clean. Cheap even when they were new. Donna apologized, saying, “That’s going to change, beginning this evening. We’re taking her shopping.”

My findings on her living conditions are favorable. I wish MY own apartment was equally well attended.

“Where can I actually SEE Amanda?” I asked. “Is she already in school?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Donna said. “We’re going to home-school her.”

My attention focused. This is one of the red flags we look for. “Are you aware of the state regulations concerning home schooling?”

The person standing before me with the redheaded toddler clinging to her leg is calm and rational.

“Yes, ma’am. Within our community we have several home-schooled students. We’re members of a consortium under a local church, and within our community we have TWO certified teachers as well as a staff of college-educated adults and teens, ranging up to, and including, my oldest daughter, who has a PhD in physics. She’s on the faculty at Auburn.”

“Where would she be right now?”

Donna smiled at me. “She’s at the 3Sigma Robotics lab. Let me give you the address.”

Got directed over to “the lab”, where I got the biggest shock I’ve had in many years. I met a college-aged female at the front. She was at a desk with a computer, immersed in her work, almost to the point of ignoring my presence.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s my turn at the front desk today. I’m working on a bit of code. Uh, how can I help you?”

“I’m with the Child Protective Services. I need to see Amanda…”

The girl squealed in delight. “Cindy’s new sister! Sure, if you can follow me…”

I followed her, walking through a door bearing a sign: “Hogwarts Technology Division”. Inside, several YOUNG girls, and several (obviously) college students. Electronics equipment and parts on several work benches, whiteboards bearing all sorts of diagrams, people pointing at the various boards, gesturing and arguing.

And at one whiteboard, a pair of twin redheads with their backs to me. The room got quiet, and in unison, they turned. (OK, not quite twins. One’s an inch taller, but the same khaki shorts and navy polos, bearing the “3Sigma” logo.)

They smiled, walked over to me, and the taller one said, “I’m Cindy Richards, and this is Mandy Simmons. Can we help you?”

I introduced myself. “Do you have someplace where we can have a private conversation?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Cindy said. “My office’s over here…”

“I’m here to interview Amanda privately, but allow me to talk to both of you for a minute. My first question is about this place. What is all this? What are you doing here? Actually, what were you doing just now?”

“Mizz Wilson, this is a robotics lab. They design robots here, build them, and sell the designs. The older kids are Auburn interns, and they get paid while learning. The younger kids can’t get paid, since we’re all underage. For us, it’s mostly a learning exercise,” Amanda said.

I said, “Amanda, there are child labor laws, work limitations, those kinds of things. If you’re going to work here, and if anyone is getting paid, YOU have to be paid.”

Cindy said, “Ma’am, that would be true, except for one important difference. These kids aren’t employees at all. Actually, they’re the OWNERS. And Mandy became a junior partner this morning.”

We wound our way past several workbenches and a cluster of cubicles with computers and desks, arriving at an office door that said “Dr. Cynthia Richards” on a nameplate and below it, a fluorescent Post-it note with a scrawled “nobody calls her that and lives”.

Cindy snickered. “Somebody wanted to be formal. It’s not how we do things here.” She opened the door.

I’ve seen worse offices. This one has a ‘lived in’ look. The standard diplomas on the wall, and pictures – young girl standing on top of a big block of something with about forty construction workers in front of it. Young girl beside an airplane with an older guy. Bunch of redheads next to a shiny new airplane.

“Do I need to leave you and Mandy alone?” she asked.

“If you don’t mind. I have to ask a few questions.”

“Expected that,” Cindy said. “I’ll be out there in the lab.”

She gently closed the door as she left us. I saw Amanda’s face change from happy to wary.

“Amanda, I’m here because we at Child Protective Services are charged with making sure YOU are safe and protected. Are you?”

“Did you start at my house?” she asked.

“Your house? You mean that apartment where I met Donna Carmody?”

“Mom. Two days and she’s ‘Mom’. Bill Carmody is ‘Dad’. Cindy Richards is Mom’s daughter. I’m her step-dad’s daughter. Cindy is my sister.” She looked resolute. “But yes, ma’am. That apartment.”

“I visited there.”

“Mizz Wilson, I was living with Grandma for the last year and a half. Grandma’s place was that clean. I helped out a lot because Grandma’s health wasn’t good. I help out there at our new apartment because it’s what I’m supposed to do. Nice place, isn’t it?”

“Yes it is, Amanda…”

“Mandy, please, ma’am. Friends and family call me Mandy.”

I’m looking at this child. Thirteen. I am parsing her conversation. I regularly work with children who cannot speak more than rudimentary English, if any English at all, immigrants, many illegal. And I work with children of American families and what passes for ‘English’ from many of them is grating to my ears. This child…

First, she’s a bit of a beauty. Looks like she’d grace the cover of ‘White Kids Monthly‘. Fresh, creamy complexion with freckles below a set of blue eyes. Red hair with a bit of natural wave to it, framing her face. Her clothes were clean, the shorts and polo shirt giving her a neat appearance. It’s obvious that she practices good hygiene, and when she speaks, it’s obvious that she’s not under stress.

I know, as a professional, some of the signs to look for. First off, I can’t remember finding what I’ve found thus far in this investigation. Second, interview in an OFFICE like this? Third, why is it that she looks so much like the lady at the apartment and like her ‘sister’ here?

Mandy said, “Mizz Wilson, when you walked in, you interrupted my schooling. I got here WANTING to learn. Cindy was teaching me. We were in involved in an analysis of Bernoulli’s Theorem, as applied to aerodynamics. It’s only algebra until you consider integrating along the length of the wing, and it then becomes an exercise in calculus. The important part is that it’s the mechanics of flight -- it’s how aircraft fly, and why.”

Calculus?!? Bernoulli’s Theorem?!? I know what calculus is. I vaguely remember hearing the term ‘Bernoulli’s Theorem’. Calculus is an advanced placement high school class. This child’s thirteen!

I asked, “Mandy, are you OK with all this? Are you being treated well? Do you feel pressured?”

Mandy said, “No, ma’am. I learned more this morning than I learned in the last two years at public school. This is much better than my best dreams!”

“Are you sure? I can take you back to that foster family…”

“They were wonderful, Mizz Wilson, but ever since Dad picked me up, it’s been beyond what I ever hoped. D’ya know he flew a private plane down to get me?”

“Your dad’s a pilot?”

“No,” she said with a head-shake, “but we got a bunch of ‘em around here.”

Okay, so THIS is not the norm for my investigations.

“Do you have any questions for me? Any needs? Requests?”

“No, ma’am. I wanna stay here. How long before I can make that permanent?”