Her First Mistake Carey Baldwin (ereader with dictionary TXT) 📖

The old, four-story red-brick structure, once a hotel, now housed the charity’s office space, as well as a gymnasium, salon, and rooms for girls awaiting placement. Some had lost parents through death or imprisonment, many were street kids, and others had been rescued from trafficking rings.

Alma, one of the organization’s founding members, had given a Dream Hub online tour, proudly showing off the girls’ rooms. No dormitory-style accommodations would do. Instead, Haven girls were treated to bedrooms decked out in designer style, with personalized accessories and fresh flowers. The idea was that surrounding the girls with beauty would reinforce the idea they were worthy of all good things and bolster their self-esteem.

Mia checked the time on her phone.

If Alma was going to show, it would be soon.

She cupped her hands over her cheeks to block the wind and noticed a gray Range Rover pulling to the curb across the street.

She held her breath.

The car pulled away, and a petite woman, her back to Mia, drew a scarf over short, auburn hair. The woman ascended the stairs, one by one, as if every step cost her dearly. When she arrived at the landing and reached for the handle of the tall glass door, she turned her head long enough for Mia to confirm, from her profile, the woman was indeed, Alma.

Mia let out her breath.

5:56 p.m.

She’d have that cup of tea now.

At 6:50 p.m., Mia packed up her thermos, slung her purse over her shoulder and crossed the street. She’d had her eye on a magnolia tree on the front lawn of Haven’s Dream Hub. Its thick trunk made a perfect spot to affix a flyer of Celeste. Taking her time, she pulled a hammer and two nails from her bag, and, being careful not to pound her thumb, fixed the top of the flyer to the tree trunk. Then she stopped, keeping her back turned. Around ten minutes later, she heard voices and the bustle of people exiting the building. She lifted her hammer and began pounding the flyer’s bottom nail into the tree.

The nail was soon fully embedded in the bark, but she kept hammering. Her arm buzzed, and her heart banged in time to the steady blows until, at last, Alma’s voice traveled to her on the wind.

“You ladies go on without me. I think I see someone I know.” And then: “Mia? Is that you?”

Mia whirled to face Alma, doing her best to seem surprised. “Oh, hi!”

“What are you doing here?”

“I was just finishing up with a batch of these. I’ve covered what was left of the Gaslamp Quarter, and I’m planning to start on Little Italy tomorrow.” Mia wrestled the hammer back into her purse and then tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

“How many do you think you’ve done?” Alma asked.

“Since Monday? Around five hundred.”

Alma drew in a sharp breath. “How do you find the time?”

“I start right after school and keep going until it gets dark.” She wished she’d been old enough to search for her own mother back in the day, but perhaps it wasn’t too late—if only she had something to go on. She’d set up a meeting with Samuels to talk about Shoshanna so that might be a good opportunity to bring up the subject of her mother’s case with him. Unfortunately, that all had to wait until Friday—Samuels was busy with other leads and couldn’t fit her in sooner.

Alma put her finger to her lips, then touched that finger to Celeste’s image on the poster, which was hammered so deep it’d now become part of the tree’s DNA. “I don’t know how to begin to thank you for this.”

“It’s the least I can do.” Alma’s praise warmed her even more than the hot tea. It also lessened the sting, just a little, of a growing awareness, with every flyer she handed out for Celeste, that no one had looked for her mother.

“Well, it’s very generous of you.”

It had been a lot of hard work. And was it so terrible to want Alma to witness how much she cared? “This is such a coincidence. I thought you’d be home resting.”

“The Haven Foundation is a project of mine that’s near and dear to my heart. This is our Dream Hub.” Alma whipped out her scarf, arranged it over her hair and tied it under her chin. “We do what we can for little girls and young women who’ve had a rough go of things. Baxter didn’t want me to come to the board meeting tonight, but I’ve been so miserable these past few days, I thought focusing on doing some good for someone else might make me feel better.”

“Is it working?” Mia understood the sentiment.

“Actually, it is. And seeing a friend of Celeste’s, seeing you, is good for me, too. You know you still have her dress—”

“I’m going to return it. I promise. I just wanted to have it cleaned before giving it back.”

“No, no, no. I don’t mean anything like that. I was only thinking, if you were going to bring it by anyway, maybe you’d like to join us for dinner tomorrow night. Angelica will be there. Isaiah owes you a big apology, and—” her mouth quirked into a sad, half-smile “—I’d love for you to meet my husband, Baxter. I think it would be good for him to see what you’ve been up to, working so hard to get the word out about Celeste.”

“I don’t want to intrude,” Mia said, praying her faint protest wouldn’t result in the invitation’s withdrawal.

“Not at all, we’d love to have you.”

Mia tried to keep her voice calm. “What time? And I don’t know your address.” That was true enough. She’d seen photos of the luxury home in a local magazine, but the article hadn’t provided an actual street number.

A gray Range Rover pulled to the curb.

“That’s my ride.” Alma turned, and then called over her shoulder as she hurried off, “I’ll have Angelica text you.”

Dinner with the family.

This was