Who Is My Shelter? (4 page)

That was after he'd landed in the hospital. I knew better than to respond to something that emotional in the middle of a crisis.

“Will's a college student at UIC,” Philip was saying, but it was hard to hear him. The boys had turned on the flat-screen TV—three times as big as the old standby at my apartment—and were watching some nature program about alligators and other slimy reptiles.

“Hey, turn it down, guys,” I said, then turned to Will. “What are you studying?”

“Architecture. And business. Not sure what I want to do.”

I smiled. “Well, Philip's your man. He works with architects all the time. He's got his own commercial development business.”

Will nodded eagerly. “Yeah, I know. He was telling me. I think I was wearing him out when you guys showed up. But I'd like to come back when you feel better, Mr. Fairbanks, and pick your brain . . . if you wouldn't mind. I've got a major project I have to do for school—it'd be great to have your input. Thanks for your business card.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Philip did seem tired. Exhausted, really. But he murmured, “You're a good kid, Will. Hope you find your Great-Aunt Cindy.”

Will laughed. “
Then
what would keep Nana occupied? It's the Grand Search that keeps her busy. Otherwise she'd be all in
my
business.”

Philip grunted and shut his eyes wearily.

What was
that
all about? It was obvious it was time to go. “Come on, boys.” I picked up the remote and clicked Off.

“Aww, can't we just finish this?” Paul grabbed unsuccessfully for the remote.

“Nope. Gotta get you to the Lock-In, remember? Say goodbye to your dad.”

“ Bye, Dad.” Both boys gave their father another awkward hug, then headed for the front door.

I started to follow, but heard Philip mumble my name. “Gabby? Can . . . you come back? Maybe stay?”

I hesitated. I
was
worried how well he was going to manage on his own. But stay? It was one thing to stay with him the first couple of nights at the hospital when he was in crisis. But now that he was home . . .

“I don't think that's a good idea, Philip. But I'll come back tomorrow to see how you're doing. After church. Is that okay?”

His eyes flickered open. He seemed agitated for some reason. But then his eyes closed and he turned his head away. “Yeah, yeah. That's okay. Just call from the desk downstairs before you come up so I'll know it's you.”

Well, fine. Whatever. I touched Philip's arm to let him know I was leaving, then picked up my purse and followed Will and the boys out into the marble foyer.

“What's this about a missing aunt?” I asked Philip's new friend as we waited for the elevator to arrive.

“Oh, that. I'm staying with my grandmother since I started UIC. Nana moved to Chicago to look for her sister who went missing when she was a teenager. Ran away, actually. Last they heard from her, she was here in Chicago, but it's been, like, sixty years. Nana still thinks she'll be found one of these days.”

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. P.J. and Paul hustled inside. This was interesting. For once I barely noticed as the elevator sank rapidly down all thirty-two floors.

“You're worried about her?”

“Who? Great-Aunt Cindy?” Will shrugged. “Not really. Never met her or anything. Mostly I'm just humoring my grandmother. But I don't mind.”

As we got off the elevator, the boys and I headed for the main lobby, but Will turned toward the door that led to the parking garage. “Will? This way. That's for residents only.”

He looked sheepish. “I know, but I'm parked in the garage. Actually . . .” He looked beyond my shoulder and saw that the boys were already out in the lobby. “Actually it was kind of weird. I pulled up outside the revolving door, was just going to let him out, you know. But then Mr. Fairbanks saw these two guys sitting on a bench in the park, kinda facing the building. Not homeless guys or anything. In fact, one of the guys was wearing a suit. But when Mr. Fairbanks saw them, he slid down in the seat and said, ‘Go! Go!' and made me pull into the parking garage for the residents. He had a key card in his wallet—he was so nervous I had to find it for him. Once we got in, he asked if I'd bring his stuff up to the penthouse. Which was no problem. In fact, we got to talking about architecture and stuff. Before you came, I mean.”

My mind was spinning as Will talked. Could the men they'd seen be the same guys who'd beaten him up? Philip said he hadn't gotten a good look at them—they wore hooded sweatshirts that hid their faces. But still.

“Do you think you could identify the men on the bench?” I asked Will.

He shrugged. “Maybe. Why? Who are they?”

I hesitated to mention my suspicions. “I'm not sure. But they obviously upset him. Do you mind giving me your phone number in case I need to contact you?”

“I guess.”

I scribbled the phone number he gave me on a scrap of paper from my purse. But as we went our different ways, a lightbulb flicked on in my head.

Now I knew why Philip wanted me to stay.

He was afraid.

chapter 3

My cell phone rang somewhere in the depths of my purse as I got back in the Subaru after dropping off the boys and their overnight gear at SouledOut Community Church. The large storefront church in the busy shopping center was brightly lit and crawling with kids. I shuddered. Couldn't think of anything worse than an all-night Lock-In with a herd of teenagers high on hormones and pizza.

I caught a glimpse of Sabrina McGill—still a teenager, even if she was “great with child”—laughing with some other girls, and sighed with relief.
Well, good
. I'd left Manna House without offering her a ride to the Lock-In because of going to the hospital, but I'd felt slightly guilty since her mom didn't have a car, and now we all lived in the same building. But she either got a ride with someone or she'd taken the El. Easy enough. The Red Line ran like an arrow between the Wrigleyville neighborhood where Manna House was located and the Howard Street El Station next to the shopping center.

But I guess that separated true Chicagoans from transplants like me. I still wasn't used to thinking “public transportation” when it came to getting from A to B. Or letting my young teenage sons ride around the city on their own. No way. I wanted to be sure they
got
to wherever they were headed.

My cell was still ringing. Digging out the phone, I looked at the caller ID:
Estelle Williams
.
Uh-oh
. Was she going to get on my case because I ducked out of cleanup after the dedication?

“Gabby? Where are you? You comin' back here to Manna House by any chance?”

“Uhh . . . hadn't planned on it. Had to take the boys to see their dad.” I groaned silently. “But if you still need help with cleanup, I can—”

“Lucy's here lookin' for you. She's all upset about somethin'. Right now she's talkin' to Harry.”

“Lucy showed up? Is she okay? Has something happened to Dandy?”

I heard a snort in my ear. “Hero Dog is currently helping himself to as many chicken bones as he can snitch out of the garbage. Whether he'll be fine by the time you get here is another question—”

“I'll be there in fifteen minutes! Tell Lucy to wait.”

Quickly sticking the key in the ignition, I threaded my way out of the busy parking lot, and fifteen minutes later backed into a tight parking space half a block from the women's shelter. Estelle said Lucy was upset—what was going on?

Several of the shelter residents were sitting outside smoking on the steps of the shelter, bundled in jackets and sweatshirts against the cool October evening. The original shelter, housed in an old church that used to stand on that spot, had burned down, I'd been told, and the new building still resembled a church—because it was a “sanctuary,” people said.

“Hey, Miss Gabby!” a young woman called out to me, blowing a smoke ring into the air. “That was a nice dedication for Gramma Shep.”

“Thanks, Hannah. I thought so too.” But as I passed her I murmured in her ear, “Don't tell me you've started smoking. You've got good things going for you!”

Hannah shrugged me off. “Aw, it's just somethin' to get me by. Least I ain't doin' no drugs.”

“I know. I'm proud of the way you've hung on to the job at Adele's Hair and Nails too. I just hate to see you start a bad habit now.”

Hannah rolled her eyes and took another drag on the cigarette, so I dropped it and used my key to let me into the Manna House foyer. The reception cubby on the right was dark and empty and Mabel's office door on the left was shut, no light under the door. But beyond the double doors leading into the main room, I saw lights and heard voices.

“What took ya so long?” Lucy Tucker demanded as I came into the large room dominated by the Good Shepherd mural. The old lady was wearing a purple crocheted hat crammed down on her head, topping her usual mishmash of blouses, sweaters, cotton sweatpants, and mismatched socks. Dandy made a beeline for me, wriggling all over.

“Could ask you the same thing,” I said, feeling annoyed. I bent down and scratched Dandy's rump. “You missed the dedication of the mural, and if I remember right, it was your idea . . . okay, okay, Dandy, I love you too.” I pushed the dog away and straightened up.

“Sorry 'bout that, but I was takin' care of business—
your
business, Fuzz Top. I think your maw will forgive me fer that.” Lucy turned away in a huff. “Tell her, Mister Harry.”

Puzzled, I looked at the other faces gathering around Lucy and me: Harry Bentley, Estelle Williams's “special friend,” looking more like himself—smooth brown dome and trim gray beard outlining his jaw—now that his eye surgeries were over and he'd gotten rid of his pirate's patch. Estelle herself, our own staff “diva,” swathed in one of her voluminous handmade caftans. Jodi and Denny Baxter, a white couple who were not only Josh Baxter's parents and “friends of the shelter” but my friends too. And Precious, who might as well be “staff ” as much time as she put in helping out at the shelter. They must have all stayed to help with cleanup after the mural dedication.

My gaze went back to Harry. “What's going on, Mr. B?”

Harry held up his hand. “Just a minute . . . hey, DaShawn! Take this dog downstairs and play ball with him or somethin'.”

Harry's ten-year-old grandson popped up from the nearest couch. “Can I? Cool. Come on, Dandy.”

“Just stay out of the kitchen!” Estelle yelled after him as boy and dog disappeared down the stairs to the shelter's lower level, which housed the kitchen, dining room, and a rec room for kids, not to mention my “office,” which used to be a large broom closet.

“That okay, Lucy? The kid has big ears.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just tell Miss Gabby here what's goin' on.”

Harry Bentley ran a hand over his shaved head. “Well, according to Lucy, those same two characters who'd been hanging around Richmond Towers before the attack on your, uh, husband showed up again today—”

“An' lights came on up in that penthouse,” Lucy butted back in, “makin' me think your man is outta the hospital an' back home. But I'm tellin' ya, Fuzz Top, it ain't safe for him ta be there—not if he don't want another muggin' first time he step outta the building.”

A headache started at the back of my head. “Well, that makes the second time I've heard about suspicious characters hanging around Richmond Towers today. And you're right, Lucy, Philip did get discharged today.” I told the others about the young man who gave Philip a ride home from the hospital, and his story about Philip getting upset seeing a couple of guys sitting in the park and asking him to park in the residential parking garage. “Seemed like a nice kid. He picked up Philip's meds and some groceries on the way home, and even saw that Philip got safely up to the penthouse.”

I turned back to Harry, retired cop and former doorman at Richmond Towers, who'd been my first real friend when we moved to Chicago last spring. “What do you think, Mr. B? Is Philip in danger?”

Harry shrugged. “Depends. The building itself is pretty secure, and the street out front is busy most of the day. But I wouldn't recommend any more jogs in the park or late-night strolls around the neighborhood, at least not until Philip can get Fagan's boys off his back by paying off his loan, or until they slap Fagan in jail for extortion. Though even that's no guarantee his thugs won't stay on Philip's tail 'til he pays up.”

Denny Baxter frowned, his face sober in spite of the two big dimples in his cheeks that gave the high school coach a perpetual boyish look. “If Philip's gambling debts have piled up like you say, Gabby, he'd be smart to give up the penthouse and rent something cheaper. But if Harry and Lucy are right about this rogue cop— or loan shark, whatever this Fagan is—using violence to put the squeeze on Philip, that might be another reason he should relocate somewhere else.”