The Child Snatcher Page 11

  Chapter 15

  Equally startled to see me, Ava gave a little gasp, and then tried to hurry away. But I grabbed her, clutching the sleeve of her shiny pink-and-black, animal-print jacket, which clashed badly with her tri-colored, yellow, navy, and pale green hair.

  She tried to yank herself out of my grasp, but I held on to the fabric, entwining it inside my fist.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded harshly.

  “Why would I bother? You knew the plan, and you made it clear that you weren’t happy about us trying to start a family.”

  “That was before Brandon—” I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head ruefully, unable to complete the sentence, unable to bring myself to utter the word, died. “Clearly, the circumstances have changed dramatically. I can’t believe that despite everything that’s happened, you didn’t have the common decency to let me know. How could you be so heartless?”

  She gestured nonchalantly. “I probably would’ve mentioned it if I hadn’t heard about you flipping out. With you being locked up in the, uh, loony bin and all, I didn’t think telling you would make any difference.”

  Mean to the bone and completely unremorseful about the role she’d played in Brandon’s decision to take his life, Ava smirked at me. I wanted to strangle her with my bare hands, but lashing out in violence wasn’t the answer. She was carrying a part of Brandon inside her and I had to play nice until the baby was born.

  But the moment that baby took its first breath, I planned to file for legal custody. Over my dead body would Ava and that girl, Muffy raise my precious grandchild. They both were unsuitable parents who saw nothing wrong with burdening the state with the financial responsibility of the child.

  My mind was racing. If I expected my plan to work, I had to pull myself together. Had to get off my meds and return to work. No judge would turn over a newborn to a full-on whack job that was too nuts to function without prescription drugs and unable to hold down a job. In court, I would present as a model citizen, and I planned to hire a pitbull of a lawyer that could win my case even if my mental health was called into question.

  Luckily, I had quite a windfall saved. Brandon’s college tuition money was still sitting in the bank. And I’d never touched a dime of the support checks Howard had sent over the years. I’d let that money pile up in the bank and had planned on giving it to Brandon when he turned twenty-five. A hefty nest egg like that would have given him a good start into his adult life.

  “How many months are you?” I asked, returning my attention to Ava, and loosening my grip on her sleeve at the same time.

  “Six,” she said dully.

  I did the math in my head and deducted that she’d gotten pregnant back in June, probably around the time that she’d told Brandon she was ovulating. Apparently, she’d never admitted to him that they had successfully conceived. The conception had probably been a secret between her and Muffy, and when she no longer required Brandon’s services, she’d broken his heart to pieces.

  When the police returned Brandon’s belongings to me—the clothes he was wearing, the items in his pockets, including his cell phone—it took a few months for me to muster the strength to power on his phone and read the text messages between him and Ava.

  From what I ascertained, she’d started an argument with him over a video game he’d purchased with money I’d given him to buy personal items. He was already giving her his entire paycheck, but apparently she resented him spending any amount of money on himself.

  It pained me to remember the acrid words she’d hurled at him in those vicious texts. As I stood facing her in the toilet seat aisle of Home Depot, I could have broken down and cried when recalling how he’d begged and pleaded for her to give him one more chance, promising to never withhold money from her again. The saddest thing he’d confided to her was that the way she treated him had made him feel insignificant and life no longer seemed worth living.

  She texted him back: Stop whining like a little bitch and do it already. Oh, that’s right, I forgot . . .you don’t have the balls to off yourself.

  Ava had goaded Brandon into suicide. As far as I was concerned, she might as well have put the gun in his hand. Filled with rage, I looked into her hateful face and clenched my teeth so tightly, it was a wonder they didn’t crumble inside my mouth.

  “So, have you had a sonogram? Do you know whether it’s a boy or girl?” I asked in a cheerful tone.

  “It’s a boy,” she said dully.

  “Oh, that’s wonderful!” I wanted to suggest she name him Brandon, but I didn’t want to overstep my boundaries. I planned to change his name to Brandon after I got full custody and had legally adopted him. “Are you taking your prenatal vitamins?” I asked, thinking of the baby’s well-being while also marveling over the intensity of my hatred for Ava.

  “Yeah, I take ’em,” she responded with a hint of irritability, and then looked around distractedly. “Listen, I’m in a rush and I gotta go. It was . . .um . . .good to see you, Ms. Wilkins.”

  “Please, call me Claire.” I patted her hand affectionately. “Well, now that we know the gender of my grandchild, I have to go shopping for baby things. I can’t wait to set up a nursery at my house. You’ll never have to worry about a babysitter, dear.” Ugh, I wanted to call her bitch instead of dear, but I was playing her game of deception. And I was playing to win!

  “How are you holding up, moneywise?”

  At the mention of money, a glint appeared in her eyes. “I’m doing okay, but the state is only paying for my medical expenses. They won’t give me any cash until the baby is here.” She patted her stomach. “I’m trying to eat right for my child’s sake, but organic food, green juice, and the rest of that healthy stuff costs more than I can afford.” Suddenly chatty, Ava poured it on. “The doctor might put me on bedrest soon, and if that happens I’m going to need a lot of help.”

  “What’s going on that you’d need to be on bedrest?” I asked, my concern heightening.

  “I miscarried when I was nineteen and I’m considered a high risk.” She shrugged like it was no big deal.

  Nervous about her ability to reach full term without miscarrying, I had an unpleasant image of me having to haul groceries to her apartment once a week while she was on bedrest—groceries that she and Muffy would devour while cuddled together watching TV.

  As if reading my mind, Ava said, “Muffy walked out on me and took the car, so now I have to get around on public transportation, which sucks.” Playing on my sympathy, she slyly glanced downward.

  “Do you need a ride home?” I didn’t want her walking to the bus stop and possibly slipping on ice and hurting my grandson.

  “No, I have a ride waiting for me in the parking lot.”

  “Well, I want to help out in any way I can, so please don’t hesitate to call me,” I said, knowing what a greedy little money grubber she was.

  “I don’t have your number, Claire.”

  Now that the topic of money had come up, Ava didn’t seem to be in as big of a rush. With a smirking smile, and giving me the impression that a money-counting machine was going off in her head, she took out her phone and patiently waited for me to rattle off my number.

  After I gave her my number, she took off, disappearing into the crowd of holiday shoppers.

  Excited about the baby news, I stood in place for a few moments, smiling and hugging myself. Then I flung the toilet seat I’d been holding back on the shelf.

  No longer interested in toilet seats or in the garden center, I abandoned my shopping cart and exited the store. I had a new lease on life, and I preferred to make plans to nurture a living and breathing human being instead of a family of houseplants.

  The blood of my blood—my son’s child! I was getting an opportunity for a do-over, and I vowed that this time I would get it right. My grandson was not going to grow up to be socially awkward or become a recluse. I would make sure he began interacting with other kids at an early age, and I envisioned myself setting him
up with playdates shortly after he learned how to walk.

  I’d failed to protect Brandon from an uncaring, narcissistic sperm donor who denied him love and destroyed his self-esteem. But I wouldn’t fail this child. He was going to feel loved and cherished the moment he exited his birth mother’s womb and was cradled in my arms. I wouldn’t allow anyone to psychologically damage him—neither Howard nor Ava would get the opportunity to mess with his head.

  • • •

  In the parking lot, I checked online for the nearest Babies“R”Us. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on cute little hooded pajamas , soft booties and beanies, and tiny jeans!

  Before backing out of my parking spot, I checked my rearview mirror and had to slam on the brakes when a car whizzed past me from behind. I noticed the driver, an older man, had an angry expression. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him. Even more strange, seated next to him was none other than Ava. Judging by her frenetic hand gestures, the two of them were in the midst of an argument.

  I racked my brain for a full ten minutes, trying to remember how I knew the guy. Then it finally dawned on me that the driver was Winking Walter, the man who volunteered twice a week in my department at the zoo.

  What in the world was he doing with Ava? Were they related—was he an uncle or a grandparent? Or was something else going on? As unscrupulous as Ava was, I wouldn’t put it past her to scam a senior citizen out of his retirement fund.

  Worried for Walter, I considered calling Veronica to find out if he had a young, rough-at-the-edges relative living in our area. I dug my phone out of my purse and then dropped it back inside. If I contacted Veronica, I’d have to reveal the nature of my association with Ava, and that was something I wasn’t ready to divulge.

  Chapter 16

  Although I didn’t correct the technician at the ultrasound imaging center when she referred to me as Ava’s “mom,” my body tensed in protest. But my discomfort subsided as soon as the show began! The joy of seeing live footage of my unborn grandson tossing and turning and even smiling in 3D was an exciting adventure. The high-quality, detailed image of the baby that I was given as a keepsake was worth every second of the discomfort I experienced having to spend time with Ava.

  The baby looked so much like Brandon, my heart swelled with love. I couldn’t wait to drop Ava off at her place, get back home, and stare at the picture in private.

  But I should have known that an opportunist like Ava would expect to be rewarded for enduring a second ultrasound at my request. After we left the imaging center, she complained that her boobs had gotten so big they were bursting out of all her maternity bras.

  The trip to the mall to get her larger-sized bras turned into a full-fledged shopping spree for Ava. She managed to wheedle not only maternity bras out of me but also a ridiculously expensive pair of Nikes, a fluffy coat with a fur-trimmed hood, cosmetics from Macy’s, a shopping cart full of toiletries from CVS, and several cases of Snapple iced tea, which she ignorantly claimed was a healthy substitute for the beer she’d given up during the pregnancy.

  I didn’t even bother to try and educate her about the high sugar content in iced tea and the harmful effect that sugar had on a fetus. My precious little grandson only had a few more months to be subjected to Ava’s sugar cravings.

  Unbelievably, after I loaded up my trunk with her shopping bags, Ava announced that she was dying for a Chai Latte from Starbucks.

  Spending an entire day with someone I loathed was so unpleasant and exhausting, I had the sensation of lightheadedness as I sat across from her in Starbucks.

  She didn’t simply get the Chai Latte, but had greedily ordered practically everything on the menu. There was a feast before her: an Ancho Chipotle Chicken sandwich, Hearty Veggie and Brown Rice Salad Bowl, Apple Fritter, and two orders of Butterfly Cookies along with the Chai Latte. There was no way she could consume all that food, but it was as if she were compelled to get as much out of me as she possibly could.

  As she prattled on and on about the difficulty of the pregnancy—stretch marks, insomnia, heartburn—I escaped her never-ending complaints by daydreaming about the future child prodigy I would be raising. A concert pianist, a math whiz, or maybe a software developer, fluent in dozens of programming languages.

  “So, what do you think? Can we start looking into cosmetic surgeons next week?” Ava asked, cutting into my thoughts.

  “Hmm?” I had no idea what she was talking about.

  “I heard it was best to get consultations with at least four doctors before selecting one.”

  “I’m sorry, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said, sincerely baffled though I strongly suspected she was about to hit me up for more money.

  “I told you that after the baby comes, I want a tummy tuck. And I’m going to have to do something about these stretch marks, so we need to start setting up appointments with qualified surgeons.”

  We? I almost laughed in her face. She was a bigger fool than she thought I was if she truly believed that I was going to be an unlimited source of revenue for her for the next eighteen years. But she was too narcissistic to realize that I’d have no more use for her after my grandson was safely in my arms.

  But needing her to remain happy and healthy until the baby arrived, I pretended to go along with the farce. “Sure, we can look into that, but what’s the rush? You have to wait a couple of months after giving birth before it’s safe to have surgery,” I said, sounding wise and giving the impression that I gave a damn about her body image issues.

  “So, have you thought about names?” I asked, knowing full well that I was going to name him Brandon.

  “Not really.” She turned up a corner of her lip as if she couldn’t be so bothered as to stress her brain with such an insignificant topic. She had better things to think about—like improving her body, for instance. And how to bilk the welfare system.

  She was a despicable girl, not fit to be a mother, and the more she revealed her repugnant character, the better I felt about duping her into believing that I gave a damn about her.

  Her phone jangled and she frowned at the screen for a few moments before deciding to take the call.

  “What do you want, Walter?” she asked, wearing her trademark sour expression. “No, I don’t think so,” she muttered dismally. “Maybe tomorrow.” There was a lengthy pause, followed with, “I’m not sure.”

  My interest was piqued at the mention of Walter’s name, and I was more than curious to learn the nature of their relationship. But hearing only Ava’s end of the conversation didn’t provide any answers.

  After she hung up, I manufactured a hopeful expression, and asked with widened eyes, “New boyfriend?”

  Swallowing my pride, I pretended that I found it utterly charming that she’d managed to move on with her love life so soon after the tragic death of my son.

  “No, he’s more like an associate.”

  “Oh?” I leaned forward, encouraging her to continue, but Ava pressed her lips together, literally shutting down.

  “I don’t see any harm in your moving on,” I said reassuringly, coaxing her to open up. “You’re young and life goes on . . .right?”

  She grimaced. “Ew. It’s not like that. Walter’s old enough to be my grandfather. He’s just a lonely old man.” She chuckled sardonically. “He doesn’t have any family and neither do I, so I suppose you can say he sort of adopted me. But he can be a nuisance, always checking on me. You know what I mean?”

  I nodded, but I had no idea what she meant. I wanted to bombard her with questions. When and where did she meet him? Did he help her out with finances? Was she aware that he had a lady friend who kept him pretty occupied with salsa dancing and long hikes? Veronica even joined him in bird watching, so there was no reason for Walter to be lonely. Did he secretly enjoy the company of a younger woman—albeit a hardened, street-tough, and pregnant one. Was he Ava’s sugar daddy? Actually, sugar granddaddy was more accurate.

  The way Ava had been gre
edily squeezing me for money from the moment I’d shown an interest in her pregnancy proved the kind of mercenary person she was. I couldn’t imagine her spending time with an old man or anyone else without expecting compensation. That was simply the way she was wired.

  I wondered if I should speak to Veronica and find out what she knew about her boyfriend’s relationship with Brandon’s “baby mama.” Ugh. I hated that expression, but it fit Ava perfectly.

  I thought about it and decided to mind my own business. Troubling Veronica with my suspicions could possible backfire. The less she or anyone else knew about my scheme to obtain custody of Brandon’s child, the easier it would be to pull it off.

  Ava’s phone pinged incessantly as she and someone—Walter, maybe—texted back and forth. Ava was a sneaky one. She seemed to always be up to something. I hoped she wasn’t scamming Walter out of his retirement money. But if that was the case, then it was his own fault for being a dirty old man.

  We finished our lattes in silence and then I drove Ava home. I helped lug the numerous items I’d purchased for her to the elevator and then trudged back to the car and returned carrying the heavy cases of iced tea. After all I’d done for her during the course of the day, she had the nerve to ask if I’d be available to take her to get her hair trimmed tomorrow.

  I had to count to ten before solemnly nodding.

  Of course, she didn’t merely want me to provide transportation. She’d expect me to foot the bill, and afterward she’d think of something else she desperately needed. The girl was a bottomless pit of need and yearning. It was absolutely sickening the way she was never satisfied. My heart hurt for Brandon. He was so in over his head with Ava. He didn’t have the cunning or savvy to handle a calculating little viper like her.