Page 47 of The Broken Places

Brandy seemed to deflate a little. She heaved out a sigh as Nadia launched a piece of burger onto the floor. “Yeah, I know. Stupid chick let ’em go bare. I told her she was gonna get knocked up again, and she did.” She met Lennon’s eyes. “The thing was, she wanted to keep the baby and get her other kids out of the system. She said she was gonna get herself better, get a legitimate job, something her kids could be proud of.”

Lennon held back the cringe at the news that Cherish had other children, and that they were in the system. Now they had no chance of ever knowing their mother.

“Anyway,” Brandy said, “Cherish went on and on about it. Some doctor was gonna help her. She was gonna get her boys back too. Blah, blah, blah.” She used her hand to gesture a flapping mouth.

“A doctor?” Lennon asked. “Like a therapist?”

Brandy shrugged. “I guess.”

“Do you remember his name?”

Her eyes moved to the wall behind Lennon’s head. “No. I called him the Candyman.”

A chill went down her spine. The name conjured the eighties slasher film, which felt far too close to home in this particular instance. “The Candyman? Why?”

“I don’t really remember. Something she said? I don’t know. Maybe because she seemed happy when she came back from seeing him, though. Like he was going to solve all her problems. Anyway, I just started thinking of him that way.”

Horror flicks aside, the Candyman might also be another name for a pill pusher, right? Lennon pictured those homemade purple pills. Maybe this doctor not only prescribed medication but made his own for reasons unknown. “Did he prescribe medication to her?”

“I don’t know. Hold on.” Brandy stood, left the room for thirty seconds while Lennon watched Nadia smear greasy pieces of burger on her cheeks. She smiled at the toddler, who gave her a—literally—cheesy grin back. When Brandy reentered the room, she was holding several prescription pill bottles. She put them down on the table in front of Lennon, who looked at them each in turn. They were prescribed to Cherish Olsen. “Dr. Frede,” she read the prescribing physician’s name aloud.

“That doctor is someone Cherish saw online, so he’s not the Candyman. But those are all the meds she was on,” Brandy said.

Online. Great.Now doctors were diagnosing and prescribing medications over the internet.What could possibly go wrong?Lennon read over the labels again. She’d have to look up a couple of these, but she recognized one for depression and another for anxiety. “Can I take a look at her things?”

“Yeah, sure. Like I said, Cherish had the couch. Her clothes are in the hall closet, makeup in the bathroom. But other than that, it’s really all she had.” She stood up and gestured to Lennon to follow her. When she opened the hall closet, situated right next to the front door, a whiff of stale perfume hit her nose. Brandy stood back as Lennon riffled through the clothing—a few tiny dresses and shiny pants clipped to a hanger, but also jeans and sweatpants. On the floor sat various pairs of platform heels and a pair each of sneakers and flip-flops. Clearly Cherish had had two very different personas.

None of this would help. “Did she have a purse or a wallet she carried with her? A cell phone?”

“Yeah, but she took it with her. She never left her phone behind.”

And yet, no phones had been found at the scene.Lennon nodded as Nadia started yelling for her mom. “Okay. Thank you for your help,Brandy.” She pulled out a business card and handed it to her. “Will you call me if you remember the doctor’s name or anything else that might help?”

Brandy took the card, studied it for a moment, and then stuck it in her pocket. “Sure.” She worried her lip for a moment, and Lennon waited while she obviously gathered her thoughts. In the other room, Nadia’s yells grew more demanding, and she started banging on her high chair. “Cherish seemed different in the last few months ... I don’t know if it was something that doctor gave her or what, but ever since she did that podcast, she had this like, fire inside, to change her life for the better. I don’t wanna know how Cherish died. But ... did she suffer?”

Did she suffer? Almost definitely. But why would she leave this woman with that knowledge? “She died quickly,” she said, something occurring to her. “Wait, you just mentioned a podcast? What was that about?”

“Oh, that? That’s just a way some people in the TL make a few bucks. It’s calledThe Fringe. I never watched it, and Cherish didn’t make much of it either. She took the cash and bought her kids some stuff. She seemed happy about that. But that was before she started going to the Candyman. Anyway, I think you can catch that podcast online. Me? I’m not into a buncha sob stories. But I guess some folks are.”

The Fringe.Nadia was now using her spoon or cup to bang on the high chair tray. “I’ll let you go,” Lennon said. “Thanks again.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“Cruz”

Episode from podcastThe Fringe

Host of podcast, Jamal Whitaker

“Hello, welcome toThe Fringe. Cruz. How are you?”

“Been better. Been worse.”

Jamal smiles. “Give me an example of each.”

The man leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. He looks to be in his late twenties, his black hair cut short, tattoos peeking from the cuffs of his long-sleeved shirt. Cruz smiles, and a dimple appears in his cheek, making him look suddenly younger. “Better? The day I took my little sister to the pier and we watched the seals for hours. Just laughing, man. It was one of the only times I felt ... I don’t know, free. Yeah, that was a greatday.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Worse? The day I killed my sister.”

Jamal raises his brows. “You killed your sister?”

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