I LEFT BELLTOWN TERRACE A LITTLE LATER WITH ANOTHER full-blown to-do list and not a whole lot of heart for the job. I was dreading the coming conversation with Naomi more than I can say.
My first stop was the offices of Stockman and Dodge at Third and Marion. It took some assertive behavior on my part before I was finally granted admittance to the private office of one Richard Stockman, Esquire. He was an older gentleman, maybe ten years my senior.
“What seems to be the problem?” he demanded. “I understand you’ve been making quite a fuss with the girls in the outside office. I’ve been told that this concerns one of my clients—a deceased client. Surely you understand that due to client-attorney privilege, we’re unable to divulge any information.”
Let me just say that none of the so-called girls in the outer office was under the age of fifty.
“I’m here asking about two of your clients rather than just one, a husband and wife, and both of them are deceased,” I explained, handing over one of my cards. “I’m working on behalf of the legally appointed guardian for an underage minor named Athena Dale. Athena happens to be Peter and Agnes Mayfield’s great-granddaughter. Her father, also named Peter but generally referred to as Petey, is also deceased. It has come to my attention that Petey’s aunt, Lenora Harrison, may have hatched a scheme to drain away most of Agnes’s remaining assets prior to her mother’s death in order to cheat Petey out of the portion of his grandparents’ estate that might have been due him. With Petey now deceased as well, it’s my belief that his share should rightfully pass on to his daughter.”
“You’re raising some serious allegations, Mr. Beaumont,” Stockman said after a moment. “Do you have any proof, or is this all pure speculation on your part?”
“I’m working on it,” I said. “I’ve been to the courthouse and gone through the stipulations of Mr. Mayfield’s will. I noticed that his assets went first to his wife. In the event of her subsequent death, the remainder of their joint estate was to be divided equally between his two children, a daughter named Lenora and a son named Arthur, with the further specification that if either of them were deceased, their portions were to pass automatically to their offspring in equal shares, per stirpes.”
Stockman took a long breath. “Of course the terms of probated wills are open to the public, but since the one for Agnes is still a private matter, and I can’t divulge—”
I cut him off. “Shortly before her passing, Agnes’s neighbors say that her mental capacities were diminished, enough so that she required assisted living. Lenora had Agnes admitted to a memory-care facility sometime last summer, and she remained there until her subsequent death, but I have a problem with that. I’ve located some quitclaim deeds dated August first of last year in which Agnes signed several real-estate properties—valuable real-estate properties—over to Lenora, who subsequently sold the whole collection of lots to a developer. I have a forensic handwriting expert who tells me that Agnes’s signatures on those documents appear to be forged.”
For the first time, Stockman looked uncomfortable. “Do you really believe you can prove that?” he asked.
“I do,” I replied.
“Even so,” he said, “I’m still not at liberty to discuss the contents of Agnes Mayfield’s will.”
“What about the date?” I asked.
“The date? What about it?”
“When was Agnes’s will written?”
“That’s easy,” he said. “It was written decades ago. I was new to the firm when Mr. and Mrs. Mayfield came in to have their wills drafted, and I handled the matter myself. A month or so ago, when Mrs. Harrison came in to discuss probating her mother’s will, I remember looking at the document and realizing that she must have been little more than a child when the will was drawn up.”
I stood to leave. “Thank you,” I said. “That’s all I need.”
Stockman seemed taken aback. “It is?”
“If Peter and Agnes Mayfield drew up their wills at the same time, I’m guessing they were very similar. Since the term ‘per stirpes’ was in Peter’s will, I’m betting it will appear in Agnes’s as well. Alan Dale, Athena’s legal guardian, is in the process of obtaining an attorney ad litem to act on her behalf. I don’t know who that person will be, but when he or she comes calling, you’ll know I sent them. In the meantime, if Lenora Harrison comes around trying to hurry the probate process along, I’d suggest you do what you lawyers always seem to do best.”
“What’s that?” Stockman asked.
“Stall,” I told him. With that I showed myself out.
On the way to the elevator, I did a few quick steps and heaved an imaginary ball down the long corridor, pretending I’d just bowled a strike. A passing secretary looked at me as though I were nuts, but I didn’t care. So far today I was picking them up and knocking them down, and my next stop would be at Loretta Hawk’s front door.
I had just pulled in to the Sholeetsa Project’s parking lot when my phone rang. Thanks to having added Hilda Tanner’s name to my contacts list, I knew who was on the phone.
“King Kong,” Hilda said without preamble. “The company who put up the sign is called King Kong Billboards. It’s based in Renton.”
“Okay,” I said. “Thanks so much. I really appreciate it.”
“Is this going to help you find whoever killed Petey?”
“I believe so.”
“I’m happy to help, then.” She paused. “Did you give Naomi the booties?”
I had found Hilda’s hand-knitted booties in my pocket and had stuffed them into the glove compartment of my Mercedes shortly after she gave them to me. I’d meant to show them to Alan. The truth is, until now I’d forgotten about them completely.
“Not yet,” I said guiltily. “I’m on my way to see Naomi in a little while. I’ll give them to her then.”
“Be sure you do.”
Inside the lobby at the Sholeetsa Project, the receptionist nodded me in the direction of Loretta Hawk’s office, the door to which stood wide open. “She’s expecting you.”
And Loretta was expecting me. On her desk was a manila envelope with my name on it, along with the reloaded plastic bag Alan and I had used to deliver Petey’s hairbrush on Saturday morning.
“The printed reports are in here,” Loretta said, pushing the envelope across her desk so it was within my reach. “If there are any legal proceedings that require expert testimony, you can rely on us.”
“Thank you,” I said. “You’ve been a huge help.”
“I’m sure having a previously unknown child pop up at this juncture in your life is challenging to say the least,” Loretta offered, “but it happens a lot in this business—far more often than you’d expect. Some people find it a blessing. Others? Not so much.”
“I’m not sure what’s going to happen,” I admitted. “I have yet to tell her. That’s my next stop. Naomi’s had a tough time. She’s been homeless for years, and she’s just learned that the father of her baby has been murdered.”
“Were they into drugs?” Loretta asked. “There’s a lot of murder and mayhem in the drug world.”
I nodded. “I’d like to help her beat the drug habit if I can, but . . .”
“But she may not be willing?”
“Yes.”
“Give it to her straight,” Loretta advised. “For a white guy, I think you’re pretty squared away, and if your newly found daughter has any brains, she’ll listen.”
Bolstered by that unexpected show of moral support, I took my leave. Before starting the car and heading back north into downtown, I located the number for King Kong Billboards and placed the call as I drove.
“I’m calling about your sign in West Seattle,” I told the woman who answered the phone, “the one for Mayfield Glen.”
“Seems like half the people in the neighborhood want that sign to come down. Are you one of those?”
“No, I’m not,” I said. “I’m looking for information.”
“What kind of information, exactly?” she asked, suddenly sounding distant. “We’re in the sign business, not the information business. We do signs. That’s all we do.”
“I’m wondering when it went up?”
“When the sign went up?”
“Yes.”
I expected to be told to go to hell, but I wasn’t. “That’s the Highline Development sign, isn’t it?” the woman asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
My mother always told me that a little bit of politeness can go a long way, and it worked like a charm this time around.
“The work order was signed off as completed at two thirty P.M. on October thirtieth, 2016. We’ve had to require documented work-order sign-offs because some customers have tried to claim that their signs weren’t up when we knew good and well they were. These days the crews take time-dated photos and send them in when the job is done. We attach the photo to the file as proof positive.”
“You have crews working on Sundays?” I asked.
“This is a family business. We’re generally a six-day-a-week operation,” she told me, “but we work Sundays, too, if we get behind, as we were back then. Two guys quit in late October, and it took until close to Thanksgiving before we got squared away again.”
And there I had it for sure—Petey’s sign. The billboard probably hadn’t been there when he’d left the house to go buy that Halloween candy, but it had been when he came back. No wonder he’d been so wound up about it.
“Thank you,” I told the lady on the phone. “I appreciate your help.”
It seemed like I was saying thank you a lot that day.
Ten minutes later I was looking for a parking spot in Pioneer Square. The closest one I could find was three blocks away, and I didn’t mind a bit. The longer I could put off the inevitable, the better, because I still hadn’t decided on what I was going to say. When it was time to get out of the car, on an impulse I opened the glove box, grabbed Hilda’s booties, and stuck them in the clear plastic bag along with Petey’s hairbrush.
Inside the mission Rachel Seymour peeked around from behind her computer screen and waved me into her office. “Naomi’s busy right now,” she said. “She’s taking a practice GED test.”
“A practice one?” I asked.
“It’s more for assessment purposes than anything else. Many of our residents are unemployed because not having educational credentials seriously limits the kinds of jobs for which they can apply. For someone without a high-school diploma, a GED can be a first step out of the homeless/jobless cycle. Occasionally one of our residents is able to pass the test without any additional tutoring. What the practice tests tell us is where and how much remedial instruction is necessary.”
“You offer that as needed?”
“Yes, we have a set of volunteers, mostly retired teachers, who serve as tutors.”
“What about AA and NA?” I asked.
“We encourage participation in those where necessary,” Rachel said, “but attendance isn’t mandatory. We try to be helpful without being judgmental.”
That’s a tightrope all right, and my only question was whether or not I’d be able to walk it, too. Sitting there, I was well aware that I’d neglected to tell Reverend Seymour the whole truth, just as I’d neglected to tell a lot of people the whole truth. Maybe it was time I started.
“Is there a place where I could speak to Naomi in private?” I asked.
Rachel frowned. “Is this something to do with the baby?”
“No,” I said. “It’s something to do with me. My DNA profile has just confirmed that I’m actually Naomi Dale’s biological father. I didn’t know about her until last week, and now—”
“Does she know?” Rachel asked.
“No,” I said. “That’s why I’m here—to tell her.”
Rachel picked up her phone and typed a text. When she finished, she turned to me. “I’ve asked that Naomi come to my office when she finishes the test. I’ll leave the two of you here alone for as long as you need.”
Rachel disappeared behind her monitor. Sitting there listening to her fingers flying on the keyboard, I cooled my heels and waited. A few minutes later, a text came in from Ralph Ames.
Does our girl need detox? If not, I’ve found a place in Moses Lake called The Haven. They could admit Naomi as early as next Monday. They’ll hold a spot for us for the next twenty-four hours but no longer. Will she go or not?
Can’t say for sure. I’m waiting to talk to her about it now.
Are you going to tell her?
That’s the plan.
Good luck, then. May the Force be with you.
That’s what I need, all right, I thought, a good healthy dose of the Force.
A few minutes later, although it seemed much longer, there was a tap on the door. Rachel’s head popped out from behind the intervening monitor. “Come in, Naomi,” she said cordially. “How was the test?”
When Naomi entered, I was surprised to see a smile on her face. In our previous interactions I’d never seen an actual smile.
“Mrs. Murray said that I did well and that I should sign up to take the real test as soon as possible.”
“That’s wonderful news,” Rachel said. “I’m delighted to hear it, but in the meantime Mr. Beaumont just showed up and would like to have a moment with you in private.”
Naomi’s smile disappeared, and a look of alarm spread across her face. “Is something wrong with Athena?” she asked. “Or is there something wrong with the paperwork?”
I removed Petey’s hairbrush from the bag and held it up. “I came to return this.”
When Naomi stepped forward, reaching for it, Rachel stood up and discreetly exited the room, closing the door behind her.
Naomi sank down on a chair next to me. “Thank you,” she said, holding the brush close. “Thank you for keeping your word.”
“There’s something else.”
I pulled out the booties and handed them over. Naomi held them up and stared at them, frowning. “Where did these come from?” she asked.
“Hilda Tanner knitted them for you,” I said. “She was going to give them to you before you had the baby, but you were evicted before she had a chance. She wanted me to tell you that she’s sorry they’re the wrong color.”
For a moment Naomi said nothing. I could see she was struggling to find words. “Will you tell her thank you for me?” she said at last.
“I’ll be glad to,” I answered.
“But you should probably give these to my dad,” she added. “He’s the one who’s going to need them, not me.”
“Before you return them to me, let me ask you something. Have you thought about going back through treatment?”
In a split second, Naomi’s anger reappeared, in spades. “Did he send you here to ask me that?”
“No,” I said. “I’m asking on my own behalf, because I want to know.”
“It’s none of your business.”
“I’m afraid it is my business,” I told her.
She stood up then, as if intent on storming out.
“I knew your mother once,” I added quietly. “We were together.”
Naomi sat back down. “What do you mean ‘together’?” she repeated.
“Not together for the long haul,” I said. “It was a one-night stand.”
“So it was like that,” she sneered. “All the time my mother was complaining about what I was doing, she was doing the same thing?”
“Had done,” I admitted, “and you were the result.”
“You know that how?” Naomi demanded.
“I suspected it the moment I saw the school photo of you that your dad carries around in his wallet. You look just the way my daughter, Kelly, looked at that age. But now I have proof.”
“Proof?”
Before coming into the mission, I had removed the printed copies of Athena’s and my profiles and slipped them into my inside pocket. Now I pulled them out and handed them over to Naomi.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“They’re reports containing Athena’s DNA profile and mine,” I told her. “You can read them for yourself, or we can cut to the chase. You’ll find that they show me to be Athena’s maternal grandfather.”
I had been prepared for a storm of hysterics, with Naomi railing at me and claiming it wasn’t possible. Instead, without bothering to unfold the papers, she dropped them into her lap and simply stared at me.
“Does my dad know?” she asked finally.
The manner in which she asked the question gave me goose bumps, because from the way she said the words, I knew exactly what she meant. She was worried that if Alan Dale found out the truth about her and me, it would break his heart. And in that moment I had my first clear inkling that Naomi was someone worth saving.
“He knew almost from the beginning,” I told her. “The two of us—you and I—were the only ones left in the dark. Your folks became an item shortly after your mother and I . . .” I didn’t finish that sentence. There was no way on earth I could finish that sentence.
“They went back home to Texas,” I continued after a pause. “When your mother discovered she was pregnant and how far along she was, it was no problem for her to figure out who the father had to be. Your dad had always wanted to have kids but couldn’t. He took you to raise as his own because he loved you, Naomi, and he still does.”
For a long time after that, we just sat there, with neither of us saying a word. That’s one of the things I learned in my youth, back when I was selling Fuller Brush door-to-door and while conducting interviews. You don’t oversell. You don’t make like a pushy car salesman and try to force the issue. Nope, you zip your lip and let the other guy think things through, and the longer the silence lasts, the better your chances for a good outcome.
“I know he does,” she admitted at last, “but what’s the use of my going back to rehab? I did that once and I screwed it up.”
“I’ve been in AA for more than twenty years,” I said. “I sobered up a couple of years after you were born. I’ve had one serious slip since then, and I’ve been tempted more than once, but when that happens, I go to meetings, I talk with my sponsor, I get help. But about your slip, Naomi? Don’t blame yourself too much for what happened. When you thought Petey had abandoned you, you were left with less than nothing to hold on to. Under those circumstances most people would have fallen into the same trap you did and relapsed into old behaviors. But the point is, you’re smart enough to have taken responsibility.”
“I have?”
“You recognized you weren’t in the right place to care for your child. You signed Athena over to your dad. If the state had been forced to take charge and revoke your parental rights, Athena would have been lost in the system and you’d never have a chance to see her again. With your father in charge as Athena’s legal guardian, decisions about whether or not you can see your child again will be up to him. How those decisions turn out will be up to you, because the only way he’s going to allow you in Athena’s life is if you clean up your act for good. Are you using right now?”
Naomi ducked her head and shook it. “I’m clean,” she said in a strangled whisper. “Some women at the encampment were helping me.”
“As long as you don’t require detox, I have a spot in a rehab program over in Moses Lake on hold for you for the next twenty-four hours. If you decide to go, check-in will be on Monday. But here’s the thing, and I can’t say this strongly enough: You have to go to rehab because you want to go for you. You can’t do it because I want it or because your dad wants it. If you do it for anyone else but you, it won’t work.”
“Do I have to make up my mind right now?”
“No, I want you to think about it—really think about it, but while you’re making up your mind, try thinking about how smart you are. Your tutor just said you could probably ace the GED test right this minute without any problem. You’re still young, Naomi. With a GED in hand, you can go back to school to become whatever it is you want to be. And when it comes to schooling, rest assured I have the resources and am fully prepared to help you with that as well, but my offer of help is contingent on your willingness to help yourself. The only way I’ll help you is if you’re prepared to buckle down and do the work—both in rehab and in school.”
Another period of silence ensued. “You said you had a daughter?” Naomi asked finally.
“Yes,” I said, “I have both a daughter and a son. My son’s name is Scotty. He works in the Tactical Electronics Unit at the Seattle Police Department. He and his wife, Cherisse, are expecting their first child, a boy, a couple of months from now. My daughter, Kelly, lives in southern Oregon. She was a lot like you when she was younger. She got pregnant, dropped out of high school, and ran off with a kid named Jeremy, who wanted to become a musician.”
“Are they still together?” Naomi asked.
“They are. Jeremy is a high-school band teacher now. Kelly went back to school, got two degrees, and now runs a chain of preschools. They have two kids, a boy and a girl. Kelly and Scott’s kids are Athena’s cousins,” I said. “I never had the benefit of having cousins to hang around with. I’d like that for Athena.”
“Do Scott and Kelly know about me?”
“Not yet,” I said. “But they will, and if you’d like to meet them, I can make that happen.”
“You would?”
“Naomi,” I said, “you have to understand, you might have been an accident, but you are not a mistake. Alan Dale is your dad and will always be your dad, but now that I’m in the picture, I’d like to stay that way. Still, it’s up to you, if you want to have these connections and maintain them, you’ll have to earn them. No free ride, got it?”
She nodded.
I stood up. “I’m going now,” I said. “Do you still have my number?”
She nodded again.
“When you make your decision, call and let me know, but bear in mind—that twenty-four-hour holding period started to count down about an hour ago.”
With that I walked out of the room. When I closed the office door behind me, Naomi was still sitting there holding Petey’s hairbrush in one hand and Athena’s baby-blue booties in the other. If anyone was going to give Hilda Tanner’s booties to Alan Dale, it would have to be Naomi herself.
Rachel Seymour caught up with me before I made it to the outside entrance. “How’d it go?” she asked.
“Beats me,” I said. “The jury’s still out.”