“Okay, here’s the deal,” Larry explained. “Kid ran off because someone knocked her up. And in Marysville, seventeen-year-old unwed mothers were about as welcome as piss in a punch bowl.”
“And they never found her?”
“Not that I heard. Anyway, when you mentioned the sketchbooks, I remembered something else about Connie. She’d won this little art contest sponsored by our paper. I was one of the judges. She was good.”
“Are you saying Connie and Cloris are the same person?”
“That’s her in the picture you faxed. That’s Connie.
And that sure as hell is her artwork.”
I didn’t speak for a few seconds, wondering how this might connect to Cloris-a.k.a.-Connie’s murder.
As if he’d read my mind, Larry K said, “When and if you find out what exactly happened to that girl, you remember we have an agreement, Ms. Rose.” He was all business now. No attitude, no sarcasm. In fact, he sounded downright excited. And I was, too.
I hung up, thinking how everything I’d learned so far seemed to lead to a bigger mystery. Ruth had never mentioned any baby born to Cloris and Ben, in fact, I clearly remembered Sheriff Nemec saying there were no children, no other relatives period.
Okay. So maybe the man’s name that Cloris had written in the sketchbook and on her calendar would shed some light on why she felt compelled to flee town and change her identity. I turned my attention to Samuel Feldman and plugged him into the same search engine I’d used to find Larry K. Ten pages of hits popped up. Not bad. Could have been a thousand. And I soon discovered a number of these hits showed one particular Samuel Feldman lived in Galveston. After scrolling through all the pages, I could find no other Texas connection. So I visited the yellow pages on-line and typed in Feldman’s name. When a number carrying a Galveston area code popped up, I dialed and was greeted by an answering machine.
“You have reached Parental Advocates,” said a soft, professional-sounding female voice. “Our business hours are nine A.M. to five P.M. Tuesday through Saturday. If you would like to leave a message, please do so at the tone.”
I hung up, wondering if I had the right number. But when I tried several other on-line phone books, the same number appeared. So was Parental Advocates Feldman’s business?
The message said they were open tomorrow, and I decided I’d pay a visit. Who knows? Maybe I’d get lucky and come face-to-face with someone from Cloris’s past.
11
I dragged myself from bed early the following morning and had little memory of the drive to Galveston, despite the double espresso I picked up at Starbucks. I found Parental Advocates without difficulty, located in a restored house in the doctor-lawyer-accountant section of town. I’d been considering what kind of business Parental Advocates might be. The most common options for unwed mothers back in the 1970s were adoption or abortion. Didn’t sound like abortion, not with that
The building was freshly painted, and gold-leaf lettering on a sign next to the leaded-glass front door confirmed I had the right place. The door chimed when I entered, and a woman was seated behind a sleek walnut desk across the large once-foyer-now-office. She looked to be around my age, close to thirty, with stylish straight hair and wearing an expensive-looking summer-weight pale green suit. I took in the burgundy velvet window seats, gleaming oak floors, and expensively draped bay window. No cheap store-front operation, that was for sure.
“May I help you?” she asked.
“I was looking for Mr. Feldman. Is he in?”
“Mr. Feldman?” Her eyes narrowed. “Did someone refer you to
Why did the woman sound so surprised? I didn’t know, but she seemed so darned suspicious I found myself saying, “Uh... yeah. I was referred here.”
“To Mr. Feldman? How odd. I’m Helen Hamilton, by the way.” She gestured to a leather chair in front of her desk. “Please have a seat. I’m very curious to know who referred you, Ms.... ?”
“Deer. Jane Deer. Actually, the person asked me not to use their name.”
“I see.”
Whatever she “saw” wasn’t sitting too well, so I decided to say nothing, hoping she’d offer more. Meanwhile, I scanned the walls for a framed state license confirming this was indeed an adoption agency, but there were only prints of sailing ships and the more famous Galveston mansions.
Finally she succumbed to the silence and said, “Mr. Feldman has... retired. I run Parental Advocates now. How can I help you?”
Retired could mean the man was old enough to be Cloris’s Feldman. “So has he moved to Florida or Arizona to play golf every day?” I said, trying to probe and sound lighthearted at the same time.
“I don’t see how that information could possibly help you. I, on the other hand, arrange adoptions and would be happy to assist you. That is why you came here, correct?” she said.
“The fertility drugs just haven’t worked,” I answered. Never let the truth stand in the way of a good story, as Daddy used to say.
“Let me inform you first, Ms. Deer, that we’re reluctant to place children with single parents. You’re not single, are you?” She was staring at my left hand—my ringless left hand.
Couldn’t manufacture a wedding band, so I just plowed on. “My husband couldn’t come with me. He’s out of town.”
“If you want to proceed, then I’ll meet with you both when your spouse returns. What’s his profession?” She slid a stack of papers across the desk.
“Uh... computers. He owns a computer business.” I glanced at the heading on the top sheet. It said,
Hamilton rested her elbows on the chair’s arms and smiled. “I hope you understand that finding the right child can be expensive.”
“Money’s not an issue.” I leaned toward her, shaking my head sadly. “We’ve exhausted all other alternatives.”
My response seemed to erase Hamilton’s paranoia. Her body language—relaxed shoulders, welcoming smile—struck me as hugely sympathetic and accepting now.
She said, “I assure you, we’ll do everything to find you the perfect child, but first we’ll need your husband’s input. If you’d like, I could arrange a meeting in a less formal setting. Dinner, perhaps? Say at the Galvez Hotel?”
So she wanted to meet me and my fake husband at an expensive restaurant, where no doubt she’d offer a smooth sales pitch. For a human life. I forced a smile and said, “I’ll discuss this with my husband when he returns, but could you answer a few questions now?”
“If I can.”
“How does Parental Advocates work? See, we’ve been through so many agencies and talked to so many —”
“We’ll clarify everything after we receive the processing fee.” She floated an elegant hand at the forms lying in front of me. “For purposes of confidentiality, all our transactions are in cash.”
Cash? Definitely a fox in this chicken coop. I decided to mention Feldman again, since his name had provoked such a strong reaction earlier. “Are you sure Mr. Feldman is permanently retired? I really hoped to talk to him.”
Did her cheeks lose a little color or was it my imagination? “Mr. Feldman no longer practices law,” she said coldly. “We have several very good attorneys on board. Now if you’ll excuse me, Ms. Deer, a client is due here any minute.” She stood, extending her hand. “Call us in the future and we’ll see if we can proceed with your
