Ruthie’s Appointment

Chapter 15 - Ruthie’s Appointment

Ruthie Bell was not related to Grace, though Grace threatened to sue anyone who made that joke twice.

She was seventy-one, round-faced, and famous at St. Agnes for peanut butter fudge nobody could replicate because Ruthie claimed the secret was “patience and a disrespectful amount of butter.”

Maria called her from the courthouse steps.

No answer.

She called again.

Nothing.

Father Don picked up on the third call to the church office.

“Ruthie left an hour ago,” he said. “Said she had a wellness consultation.”

Maria gripped the phone.

“With who?”

“She didn’t say. Maria, what’s wrong?”

Hannah was already running toward Grace’s SUV.

Dr. Parker, who had stayed through the hearing because his professional outrage had become personal, called hospitals and clinics from the passenger seat. Grace called the federal agent whose number she had bullied out of the courthouse hallway. Maria kept calling Ruthie.

On the seventh try, Ruthie answered.

“Maria? Honey, I can’t talk long.”

“Where are you?”

“Oh, don’t fuss. I’m at a very nice office in Grove City. They have cucumber water.”

Hannah closed her eyes.

Cucumber water.

Always a soft detail beside a sharp hook.

Maria put the call on speaker. “Ruthie, listen to me. Do not sign anything.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because Elise Vale is not who she says she is.”

A pause.

Then Ruthie’s voice lowered.

“Elise isn’t here.”

Grace mouthed: Who?

Maria asked.

“A woman named Celeste. Lovely coat. Says she knew your doctor. She said you misunderstood the process but that mine is simpler because I don’t have difficult family.”

Maria’s face hardened.

“I am your difficult family today. Walk out.”

“Maria—”

“Now.”

Another voice came faintly through the phone.

Polished. Female. Older.

“Ruthie, sweetheart, privacy is important during intake.”

Hannah leaned toward the phone. “Ruthie, this is Hannah Collins. I’m an attorney. Leave the building and keep me on the line.”

“Well,” Ruthie said, offended in the way older church women get when danger interrupts manners, “I haven’t even finished my water.”

“Leave the water,” Maria snapped.

That did it.

Ruthie gasped.

“Maria Collins, did you just raise your voice at me?”

“Yes. And I will do it in the sanctuary Sunday if you don’t move.”

There was shuffling.

A door.

Celeste’s voice became clearer. “Ruthie, there seems to be confusion. Let’s sit down.”

“I think I need to call my niece,” Ruthie said.

“You told me you don’t have close family.”

“I have Maria, apparently, and she’s acting possessed.”

Hannah almost laughed and cried at once.

Then the line crackled.

Ruthie said, “Oh.”

Maria froze. “What?”

“There are men by the elevator.”

Grace pressed harder on the gas.

“Stairs,” Hannah said. “Find stairs.”

“I have bad knees.”

“Have bad knees downstairs.”

Ruthie huffed. “Young people think stairs are a personality.”

But she moved.

They heard a door open, then the echo of a stairwell.

Celeste’s voice shouted, no longer soft.

“Ruth!”

The phone jostled.

Ruthie breathed hard. “I am not built for spy work.”

“You’re doing great,” Maria said.

“I know that. I’m saying I should have worn different shoes.”

The SUV skidded into the medical plaza eight minutes later behind two police cars.

Ruthie was sitting on the curb outside, clutching her purse and looking furious.

Celeste Venn was nowhere in sight.

But inside the office, federal agents found boxes.

Brochures for senior motherhood retreats.

Consent packets.

Blank medical releases.

And a locked cooler that Dr. Parker saw only long enough to turn white and order everyone without a medical license out of the room.

Maria sat beside Ruthie on the curb.

Ruthie looked at her. “You really got yourself into something, didn’t you?”

Maria nodded.

“Yes.”

“Were you lonely?”

The question was so simple it almost undid her.

“Yes.”

Ruthie took her hand.

“Well, next time call me instead of joining a criminal fertility cult.”

Maria let out a laugh that became a sob.

Hannah watched them from near the police tape.

For the first time, she saw what her mother had been missing.

Not a baby.

A circle.

A place to be needed that did not require stealing time, truth, or biology from anyone.

Grace joined Hannah, holding a copied page from the office printer.

“They found Celeste’s calendar.”

“Where did she go?”

“Airport. Private terminal.”

Hannah stared.

“With Mark?”

Grace shook her head.

“Mark is in custody.”

“Then who is helping her?”

Grace handed her the page.

A name was circled on the schedule for that afternoon.

Dr. Ethan Parker.

Hannah looked across the parking lot.

Dr. Parker stood near an ambulance, talking to an agent.

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As if he felt her gaze, he turned.

And for one terrible second, Hannah did not know whether the man who had saved her mother had also been waiting to betray them.