Leann Sweeney - Shoot from the Lip

We sat at the kitchen table, and DeShay reached for the folder. “I understand. Maybe seeing this face will jog a memory.” He removed the photo and slid it in front of Emma.

She stared for several seconds, and her wide eyes told me she did recognize Fiona Mancuso. “Oh, my God,” she finally said. “That’s her.”

“She came to your house?” I asked.

“No, no, she’s the bus stop lady.”

“The bus stop lady?” I echoed.

“Yes. I haven’t seen her in the last couple of weeks, but to save gas, sometimes I leave my car at work if I don’t have to drive a carpool for the kids. I take the bus, and this woman”-Emma tapped the mug shot-“she was at the same stop pretty often. We talked a lot. Really nice person.”

“She tell you her name?” DeShay asked.

“No, but I must have told her mine, because I remember once she called me Emma. That’s strange, isn’t it? That I would give her my name without asking for hers?”

“Unless she knew who you were,” I said.

“This woman was my mother’s friend?” She glanced back and forth between us.

“We think so,” DeShay answered. “Anything in particular you remember about her?”

“She’s small, has a really bad dye job-jet-btack-and I know she works for a maid service. She wears a turquoise uniform with a togo-I can’t recall what it says, something about maids, though. And she has this odd tattoo on her hand-on her left ring finger. A diamond.”

DeShay slapped the folder and grinned. “That’s our girl.”

“You’re thinking she talked to me because she knew who I was?” Emma said.

“Probably,” I said. “How long since she first approached you at the bus stop?”

“Probably five years ago-even when I was in school, I worked part-time at Green Tree Realtors and took that same bus.”

“And she always wore a uniform?” I said.

“No, not always. She dressed like she needed help as much as we did. She always steered the conversation away from herself, though. Funny, I shared my whole life story and I don’t even know her name.”

“Her name is Fiona Mancuso,” I said. “Remember how the letter to Reality Check indicated the writer had been watching you?”

“Yes-oh, my God. She wrote to them?”

“She knew your mother. I don’t think it was a coincidence she found you at a bus stop,” I said.

“And because she knew my mother, she knew my baby sister had disappeared.”

DeShay said, “We need to find this woman. The logo on the uniform. Think hard, try to picture it.”

Emma closed her eyes for several seconds. “I-I can’t remember.”

We turned for help to Houston’s two-volume yellow pages, searching under maids, housekeepers and housecleaning. We found no ads that conveniently offered photos of what their employees wore to work, and the sheer number of companies made it impossible for Emma to pick out any name she remembered.

While we were still perusing the yellow pages, Kate and Clint came in through the back door.

Kate introduced DeShay to Roark and then explained that they came back to get Webster and take him for a run at the dog park. Now he wanted to bond with the dog? This was getting serious.

“It’s a beautiful fall day. Why are you cooped up in here?” Kate asked. “At least get out on the porch.”

I said, “We’re hoping Emma can remember an important detail about something she saw. Not having much luck.”

Kate bent and fastened the leash onto Webster’s collar. “Remember, Abby, I do hypnotherapy in my practice. Let me know if I can help.”

Then she and Roark were off again while DeShay and I exchanged smiles.

Monday held the promise of leads on Fiona Mancuso from both her ex-pimp and the hypnosis Emma had agreed to. I awoke way too early, had three cups of coffee before eight a.m. and my second breakfast by ten. I called Jeff but he couldn’t talk long, as he’d phoned a few home health agencies for information and was awaiting return calls.

Emma was more than willing to be hypnotized, but Kate and Emma couldn’t clear their schedules until this afternoon. DeShay and White were meeting with the parolee-pimp around lunchtime. I’d asked if I could go along and had been given a firm “No way.”

I tried answering mail, paying bills and finally decided the best thing might be to work off my extra energy. I plugged in my iPod and off Webster and I went. But even our fast walk came to an early end when it started raining. Webster loved splashing around on the way home as one of Houston’s lovely unexpected downpours hit hard and filled up the streets almost at once. At least I knew what I would do next-take a long, hot shower.

By the time I got behind the wheel of my Camry and headed for the congested streets of the medical center, I felt like I had a stomachful of bedsprings. The slick streets slowed everyone down, which made me even more anxious and impatient.

When I entered Kate’s office, she and April were in the reception area talking.

“Kate, I need therapy for acute Houston Traffic and Parking Syndrome. Is there any hope?”

She smiled. “Not with your personality. Emma called and she’s having a hard time finding parking, too. I’m ready to start as soon as she gets here.”

“You’re sure it’s okay that I’m present during the hypnosis?”

“She wants you here. She has a very strong and positive connection with you, and I can’t think of anything that would make her feel more comfortable.”

I smiled. “Really?

Before Kate could respond Emma walked through the door with a cheerful, “Hi, everyone.”

Kate led us through the reception area, door and down the hall past her family therapy area, the only therapy room I’d been in before today. We entered a room set up like a cozy living room. A matching green pastel sofa and love seat were separated by a rocking chair-the glider kind. There were lamps on two end tables, and both lights were turned on, spreading a soft, warm glow over the room. An afghan Kate had crocheted was lying across the glider.

“Let’s all sit-Emma, take the rocking chair if you would-while I explain what will happen,” Kate said.

Emma placed the afghan across her knees after she sat down. I chose the love seat, and Kate sat across from me, adjacent to Emma.

“First,” Kate said, “let’s clear up any misconceptions about hypnosis. I won’t put you to sleep, though you may feel more relaxed with your eyes closed.”

“There’s no trance?” Emma asked.

“Actually, there is one, but not like a stage show trance. Think about when you daydream. Does the daydream sometimes block out the rest of the world?”

Emma smiled and nodded. “Oh, yes, and I’ve had plenty to block out.”

“That’s all a trance is, a state of intense concentration. I’ll help you get there with guided imagery. Abby, would you turn off the lamp near you?”

I did, then leaned back against the love seat cushions into the shadows.

“Emma,” Kate said, “I’d like you to rock the chair slowly and at the same time think of yourself as resting on a huge, fluffy pillow.”

Emma closed her eyes and moved the chair back and forth.

Kate whispered, “Clear your mind. Think of something that soothes you-a warm bath, a day in the sun, a good book… anything. It’s your decision. Everything is in your control.”

“Okay,” she said.

Kate repeated, “Clear your mind,” several times, and even in the dim light I saw Emma’s body melting into that chair as her rocking became more rhythmic.

“I want you to ride on your pillow into the clouds. Can you do that?” Kate asked.

“Yes.” Emma’s eyes remained closed, her voice calm.