Live to Tell - Lisa Gardner [130]
“So maybe,” D.D. filled in for him, “you did prey on vulnerable parents.”
“No.” Greg said it firmly. “They might ask. It’s a natural segue. Here I am, qualified to assist with their kid, and there they are, needing assistance. They ask, I answer.”
“They ask,” Danielle confirmed quietly. “I’ve even heard parents pester Karen to make staff available to babysit. Parents are desperate for options.”
“How did it start with the Harringtons?” D.D. asked.
“I knew them from the unit. Ozzie was a very active kid and, you know”—Greg shrugged—“I don’t have a problem with that. We can wrestle and chase and I can keep a handle on things. That’s my job. And Denise and Patrick Harrington wanted that. So we arranged that one morning each week—it depended on my schedule here—I’d come over and take Ozzie to play. We’d go to the park, maybe bike. Something physical. They’d get time to themselves, Ozzie could blow off steam. It worked for everyone.”
“When did it start, when did it end?”
Greg had to think about it. “September last year. Couldn’t give you an exact date. Soon after they discharged Ozzie. It lasted nine months, then Patrick lost his job, and respite wasn’t an option anymore.”
“What did you do?”
“What do you mean?”
“They fired you,” D.D. stated impatiently. “What’d you do?”
“Fired me? They ran out of money. Not their fault. Frankly, I felt bad for them. Life was already tough. But they were good people. And Ozzie was doing a lot better by then. I figured they’d be okay.”
“What do you mean, ‘Ozzie was doing a lot better’?”
“You know, with Andrew.”
D.D. cocked her head to the side. Studied Danielle and Greg. “That’s right. The Harringtons were using services from both Gym Boy and Healer Boy. Any other additional services?” She stared at Danielle.
Danielle shook her head. “I’m a nurse. Even to babysit, you couldn’t afford me.”
Greg, however, had turned a deep, dark shade of red.
D.D. leaned forward, regarded him steadily. “Come on, spit it out. Confession’s good for the soul.”
“There, um, there might be a reason the Harringtons used both me and Andrew.”
“Really? Do tell.”
Danielle was staring at him, too, the expression on her face wide-eyed, the person standing on the tracks seeing the train coming.
“Andrew found out about my respite work. Coincidentally, a family who hired me also hired him. He put the pieces together.”
D.D. arched a brow. So Lightfoot had something on the good-looking MC. So much for Karen’s little spiel about knowing everything about her staff.
“So, um …” Greg closed his eyes, blew out a breath. “Andrew suggested that when I worked with a family, particularly a wealthy family, I could recommend his services. If the family ended up hiring him, he’d then throw a little something my way. Like a finder’s fee.”
“Cash, you mean. More money.”
“Generally fifty bucks.”
“My, my, my,” D.D. mused. She turned to Alex. “And here Lightfoot told us he was giving his gift away.”
“Oh sure,” Greg said sarcastically. “To the tune of a hundred an hour.”
“Anyone else in on this?” D.D. asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Other MCs moonlighting as respite workers? Other therapists asking you to refer their services?”
“None that I know of. But again, not exactly something anyone can talk about on the floor. Maybe other staff members work outside the unit. Maybe not. You’d have to ask them.”
Alex spoke up. “Wait a minute. First the Harringtons are paying you thirty an hour to take Ozzie to the park. Then they’re paying Lightfoot a hundred an hour for counseling. They didn’t have that kind of money.”
“They’d submit the bills to the state, which generally covers a couple of hours of respite care a month. So the state paid for half my time, with the Harringtons making up the difference. As for Andrew, I don’t know, but I’m betting they put it under ‘psychiatric services.’ I saw paperwork once, on the kitchen table. It didn’t look like an invoice from a spiritual healer, but more like a clinical doctor. Andrew had initials