Mrs. Bellarmino stood firm. "Above the oven."
Jennifer reached up, opening the doors, stretching for the cereal box, which was right there, of course. But Mrs. Bellarmino was not looking at the box. She was looking at her daughter's exposed stomach.
"Jen...you have those bruises again."
Her daughter brought the box down, tugged at her top, covering her belly. "It's nothing."
"You had them the other day, too."
"Mom, I'm late." She was walking to the table, sitting down.
"Jennifer.Show me. "
With an exasperated sigh, her daughter stood and lifted her top, exposing her abdomen. Mrs. Bellarmino saw an inch-long horizontal bruise just above the bikini line. And another one, fainter, on the other side of the belly.
"It's nothing, Mom. I just keep banging into the edge of the desk."
"But you shouldn't bruise..."
"It's nothing."
"Are you taking your vitamins?"
"Mom? Can I please just eat?"
"You know you can tell me anything, you know that - "
"Mom, you're making me late for school! I have a French test!"
There was no point in pushing her now. In any case, the phone had started ringing - no doubt the New York client telephoning back. Clients were impatient. They expected realtors to be available every minute of the day. She went into the other room to take the call and opened her documents to review the numbers.
Five minutes later, her daughter yelled, "Bye, Mom!" and Georgia heard the front door slam.
It left her distinctly uneasy.
She just had afeeling . She dialed her husband's lab in Bethesda. For once Rob was not in meetings, and she was put right through. She told him the story.
"What do you think we should do?" she asked.
"Search her room," he said promptly. "We have an obligation."
"Okay," she said. "I'll call the office and tell them I'll be late."
"I'm flying later," he said, "but let me know."
CHapter 058
Barton Williams'sBoeing 737 rolled to a stop at the Hopkins private terminal in Cleveland, Ohio, and the whine of the engines wound down. The interior of the aircraft was luxuriously appointed. There were two bedrooms, two full baths with showers, and a dining room seating eight. But the master bedroom, which took up the entire rear third of the plane, with a king-size bed and a fur throw and mood lighting, was where Barton spent most of the flight. He needed only one flight attendant, but he invariably flew with three. He liked company. He liked laughter and chatter. He liked young, smooth flesh on the fur, with the mood lighting low, warm, reddish, sensual. And, hell, forty thousand feet up in the air was the only place he could be sure he was safe from the wife.
The thought of the wife dampened his mood. He looked at the parrot standing on the perch in the living room of the plane. The parrot said, "You kidnapped me."
"What's your name again?" Barton said.
"Riley. Doghouse Riley." Speaking in a funny voice.
"Don't be smart with me."
"My name is Gerard."
"That's right. Gerard. I don't much like it. Sounds foreign. How about Jerry? That suit you?"
"No," the parrot said. "It doesn't."
"Why not?"
"It's stupid. It's a stupid idea."
There was an uncomfortable silence. "Is it really?" Barton Williams said, with a hint of menace in his voice. Williams knew this was a mere animal, but he was not accustomed to being called stupid - especially by a bird - and no one had done so in many, many years. He felt his enthusiasm for this gift cooling.
"Jerry," he said, "you better be getting along with me, because I own you now."
"People can't be owned."
"And you ain't people, Jerry. You're a damn bird." Barton stepped close to the perch. "Now, let me tell you how it's going to be. I'm going to give you to my wife, and I want you to behave, I want you to be amusing, I want you to compliment and flatter her and make her feel good. Is that clear?"
"Everyone else does," Gerard said. He was mimicking the voice of the pilot, who heard it from the cockpit and snapped his head around to look back. "Jesus, I get sick of the old fart sometimes," Gerard continued.
Barton Williams frowned.
Next he heard a precise imitation of the sound of jet engines in flight, and superimposed on that, a girl's voice, one of the flight attendants: "Jenny, are you going to blow him or am I?"
"Your turn."
Sigh. "Oh-kay..."
"Don't forget to take him his drink."
Click of a door opening and closing.
Barton Williams began to turn red. The bird continued:
"Oh, Barton! Oh, give it to me! Oh, you're so big! Oh Barton! Yes, baby. Yes, big boy! Ooh I love it! So big, so big, aaaaaah!"
Barton Williams stared at the bird. "I believe," he said, "that you will not be a welcome addition to my household."
"You're the reason our kids are ugly, little darlin'," Gerard said.
"That's enough from you," Barton said, turning away.
"Oh Barton! Oh, give it to me! Oh, you're so big! Oh - "
Barton Williams threw the cover over the bird's cage.
"Jenny, honey,you've got family in Dayton, don't you?"
"Yes, Mr. Williams."
"You think anybody in your family would enjoy a talking bird?"
"Uh, well, actually - yes, Mr. Williams, I'm sure they would love it."
"Good, good. I would appreciate it if you delivered him down there today."