“Holy shit,” she said, looking at what the house sold for.“He is really rich.”
She sat for a moment, her mind whirling.“Who is Greenson?”
She typed in ‘Greenson Enterprises owner,’ and was rewarded with a lot of legalese and shell companies.Then, for some odd reason, she entered ‘adoption, Jarius Neary and Greenson.’Helen fondled the return button and then pressed enter.Records began to appear of a young Mustang, his grandmother, and sealed court documents.Ronald Greenson, a noted drug dealer and small-time thug, was killed in a gang related matter in the Fall of 1995.
“Mustang would have been ten,” she said, looking at the face of the man who also had her husband’s face.
She couldn't help herself; being down the rabbit hole, she searched for his mother, finding the woman and wishing she hadn't.Lola Roberts, age 20, died of a drug overdose and was found in an alley in Eau Claire.The report read she left one child, a Marcus, who was given by the courts to Raina Greenson to be raised by his living relative.
“His actual name is Marcus Greenson, the owner of Greenson Enterprises,” she said.“Interesting information that I have no idea what to do with; therefore, I shall tuck it away in my little brain file.”
Another thought crossed her mind, and she pulled out her planner.In the back, she listed the addresses of the properties she'd shut down.The first address was entered, revealing the property owner to be a company, and a search for the company yielded no results.
“How did Donovan find Sour Grapes?”she asked, and maybe after dinner, she'd get him to walk her through what he did and how it happened.
A light tap came to her door, and she looked at the clock.It was nearing five and time for more bland ass food.Helen called out, hearing Tiffany's voice announcing dinner in ten minutes.Quickly, she made notes of what she’d accomplished and the results.She added a sweater to cover her heavy cotton blouse.Layers worked really well in such a cold climate and the sweater made her look a little dressier than normal.
Across the hall in the loo, she washed up and checked her hair and then bound down the stairs.She arrived at the dinner table to a white fish covered in lemons and capers, white rice, and blanched broccoli.Physically, she reacted to the meal and decided at that exact moment that she was not staying in Mendota Heights for three months.If it meant she would fail as a Technician, she wasn't doing it on a sour stomach and farting all over the damned place.There was no way in hell she was eating this woman's tasteless cooking and not having the nutrition needed to use her brain.
Evidently, Donovan felt the same way as he looked at the meal.They both blessed the food, pushing it about on their plates.Donovan impressed her by eating most of it.Helen only took in half of the meal.The broccoli was a bit too undercooked for her, and she would more than likely belch it up all night.
After dinner, she excused herself to make a few calls, promising to return once they were made.The first call went to Azrael.She pressed one on her phone and waited for the voice.
“State your need?”
“A steak, a glass of red, vegetables that are actually cooked, and to get the hell out of here,” Helen said into the line.
The droll voice replied, “Can you be more specific?”
“The weird vibe in here is messing with my calm, and the food is messing with my bowels,” Helen replied.“If I have to stay here for three months, I quit.I want no more of this place, and it's colder than hell.”
“Are you learning anything?”
“Yes, my levels of tolerance for banal food and white women,” Helen said.“I'm a friendly sort, but I'm not okay here.”
“It is only your second day.”
“But it feels like a month of Sundays.I'm not going to make it,” Helen repeated.
“How much time do you think it will actually take?”
“Give me a cheat sheet of codes and send me home to figure it out.I can zoom with her and ask questions.This is not for me.I can't do it.I'm withering inside,” Helen said, making no mention of Donovan.
The voice came back after a few seconds of silence, “And the man, is he part of the issue?”
“Not my squirrel; those are not my nuts,” Helen said.
“Is he part of the issue?How did he find her?”Azrael asked.“When you find out how, then perhaps you can leave.”
She ended the call, leaving Helen to stare at the neat reading chair in the bedroom.Frustration ran through her as she grabbed her personal phone to call her man.He answered right away.
“I want to come home.I don't like it here,” Helen whined.
“You need me to come get you?”
“No, I want to unplug my car and start driving all night until I can get home to you, a chunk of red meat, a serious cup of black coffee, and some wine.Lots and lots of wine,” Helen mewled.
“Are you learning anything?”
