Live to Tell - Lisa Gardner [131]
“People like the Harringtons maybe,” Alex said, still not sounding convinced, “but what about Tika’s family? No way they could afford even a fraction of your bill.”
“No, they couldn’t,” Greg agreed. “And they didn’t. I saw Tika four times. Same deal. Established a rapport with her here, got to feel like she was making progress. When she was discharged, the dad asked if I could stop by from time to time. The mother was about to have a baby, she could use the break, yada yada yada.
“So I stopped by. First time I entered the house, I about lost my lunch. The dad was passed out on the couch, obviously stoned, the mom’s ankles were so swollen from the pregnancy, she couldn’t get out of bed. I propped up her feet, got her some water, then I took all the kids to the park. Kept them for four hours. When I returned, the father seemed to have gotten himself together. He thanked me profusely and offered me a baggie for my troubles.”
“He paid you in drugs?” Danielle asked sharply.
Greg shot her a look. “I turned him down.”
“Oh, well, so you do have standards after all.”
He flushed, squared his jaw, then returned his attention to the cops. “I turned down the drugs,” he repeated stiffly. “What’s-his-name said he’d pay me next week. I almost refused, but then Tika ran over and gave me this great big hug, and … I don’t know. That house. I knew I was screwed, but sometimes … It’s tough to walk away.”
“So what’d you do?” D.D. pressed.
“Played sucker three more weeks. Showed up, took all the kids to the park, never got a dime. And just so you know, it’s not all about the money. If I thought I could’ve helped Tika—hell, I would’ve continued. But man, that family … Her stepfather … They’re the kind of people you learn quickly to avoid. They’re not interested in getting better. They want you to take care of them. They want you to do all the heavy lifting. Meaning nothing you do is ever gonna be enough, and nothing you do is ever gonna make a difference. You have to walk away, or they’ll bleed you dry. Plain and simple.”
“And Lightfoot? You recommend the family to him?”
“I recommended he stay clear,” Greg answered dryly.
“And did he?”
Greg hesitated. “I don’t think so.”
“What makes you say that?”
“He seemed … interested in them. I mean, the parents were a mess, but the kids … Ishy, the oldest, clearly had some kind of autism, but he was a sweet, sweet boy. Then there was Rochelle, who was positively brilliant. And Tika … Tika was … complicated. Very sensitive, almost intuitive. Andrew seemed fascinated by all of them, but Tika in particular. Four old souls, he told me one day. Four old souls stuck in a corporal abyss.”
“Four?” Alex asked.
“The baby,” Greg supplied. “Apparently, Andrew had already met it on the spiritual superhighway.”
“Really?” D.D. said.
“Sure. He even knew it was going to be a girl. Don’t know, man, but sometimes … Andrew knew stuff. And sometimes he did work for free; he could afford to. So if he wanted to deal with Tika’s family …” Greg shrugged.
“Did he?” D.D. pressed.
“Don’t know. It’s not like we hang out.”
D.D. exchanged a glance with Alex. She could tell what he was thinking. Lightfoot had lied to them about not knowing Tika Solis. He’d also failed to mention that he was engaged in some manner of health-care fraud, billing the state for professional services he wasn’t qualified to render. Made D.D. wonder what other secrets the healer had been keeping.
D.D. turned back to Greg. “Jealous? I mean, here you are, tragic past, mentally ill sister, having to work so hard to scrape by. And there’s Lightfoot. He’s got the looks, the life, the house on the beach. How are you ever gonna compete with a guy like him?”
“Compete?” Greg asked.
“Sure. He tosses you fifty bucks to send him some work, but we all know he’d give you even more if you’d hand over your girlfriend.”
“Excuse me?” Danielle this time.
“Please. The way Lightfoot looks at you,” D.D. drawled. “Like you’re a dessert he wants