Little Girl Found

by Jo Leigh

  Megan had finished undressing, and now she stood next to Hailey, waiting. Leaning slightly against her. Just touching. But, bless her heart, she appeared quite stoic and ready to get down to business.

  Hailey put her in the tub, and for the first few minutes they both concentrated on washing Megan. The soap wasn’t Hailey’s usual brand, but Megan liked the scent. The bath was a quiet affair, which was unsettling. The girl loved taking baths and usually she talked Hailey’s ear off. Not today. She finished quickly, not dawdling to play. She stood up in the tub, her body shiny and innocent, her eyes wide with muted fear. “Are we going to see my daddy now?”

  Hailey couldn’t put it off any longer. But, oh, how she wished she didn’t have to shatter this little bunny. She got the big blue towel from the rack, then reached for Megan and lifted her out of the tub. Quickly, before Megan could get a chill, she wrapped the towel around her. Hailey rubbed her legs and arms to make her dry and warm, and then she put her arms around her. “Sweet pea,” she began, making sure her voice was as tender and safe as she could muster, “Daddy…” She swallowed. Took a deep breath. “Daddy had to leave, sweetheart.”

  “Where?”

  “Daddy went to heaven, Megan. He went to see your mommy.”

  Megan didn’t say anything. But Hailey could feel her little body tremble.

  “He loves you very much,” she whispered. “And he hated to leave you. If he could have stayed, he would have.”

  “Can’t I go, too?”

  Hailey closed her eyes and felt the sting of tears. “Not yet, baby.”

  Megan’s chin quivered, and she began to cry, her tears too big for such a little girl. Sobs that tore Hailey’s heart in two, made her want to scream at the God who could do this to such a dear child.

  Megan buried her head in Hailey’s shoulder, and they sat like that for a long time. The mournful sounds of too much pain echoing off the tiled walls, filling the world with sadness. Hailey rocked her back and forth, letting her be, letting her weep until her tears stopped of their own accord. Until she sighed with resignation. It wasn’t over. Megan’s grief would go on for a lifetime, but for now, she’d worn herself out, which was a blessing.

  Megan sniffed, then sat up so she was looking into Hailey’s eyes. “Can I stay with you?” she asked, her voice so tiny it almost wasn’t there.

  Hailey nodded. “Of course, honey. Don’t worry. I won’t let you go.”

  JACK GOT OUT OF HIS TRUCK and leaned against the door for a while. It was cold for Houston. Cold but still humid, which made the frigid air seep right into his bones. Right into his wound.

  Driving hadn’t helped. He probably shouldn’t have done it, but then he probably shouldn’t have become a cop in the first place. But now that he was, he had a job to do. At least, as much of a job as his damn hip would allow. He still didn’t want to say anything about the unmarked police car. Not until he had more facts. Accusing his brethren of murder wasn’t something to do lightly. There had to be another explanation.

  He pushed himself off the car and walked through the underground parking lot toward the elevator. The sound of a revving engine echoed off the concrete walls. He thought about what was happening in his apartment as he waited for the elevator to come. It was right, to have Hailey talk to the girl. They knew each other. They cared about each other. He would have been in the way.

  The doors opened, and he walked into the small cab, pressing the button for the first floor. As the elevator rose, he reached for his wallet and pulled out his ID, clipping it to his shirt pocket. It was a move he’d done so many times he rarely even thought about it. He did now. This ID was more than a way to get upstairs. It was, like his badge, who he was. Homicide detective. Twelve-year veteran. One mean son of a bitch. A single bullet had stripped him of his way of life. One goddamn bullet.

  The doors opened and he walked into the warm air of the downtown station. Jenny Cole sat behind the desk. When she saw him she smiled, and her eyes went right to the cane.

  “Jenny,” he said, walking as quickly and evenly as he could.

  “Hi, Jack. How are you?”

  “Fine, thanks.” He handed her his gun as he went through the metal detector and then she handed it back.

  “We’ve missed you. And worried about you.”

  “Thanks, but I’m pretty involved with my new football career. Quarterbacking is hell.”

  She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. They were too filled with pity to let anything else in.

  He holstered his weapon and crossed to the central elevator. He didn’t look back at her, although he could feel her gaze.

  When he got to the fourth floor, he stepped out, hoping no one was in the hall. He got his wish. It was quiet, and he looked at the big bulletproof glass doors that separated the two worlds. Inside, a universe of cops, neat, organized, with their own code of living and of dying. Outside, the other universe, most of it messy and complicated. He didn’t belong on this side. And he didn’t belong on the other.

  He took a step forward, horribly aware of the pain and the feel of the cane in his hand, and of dragging his bad leg and leaning his weight on the other. He felt like a marionette with cut strings. Awkward. Useless.

  But at least he could still use a computer. He could use his brain. Maybe it would be enough.

  Although he doubted it.

  Chapter Three

  Hailey sat on the edge of the couch, her gaze fixed on the sleeping child.

  It was nearly noon, and Megan had been asleep for almost two hours. The poor kid had exhausted herself. At least she’d gotten some comfort from her quilt and her doll. The three of them were on the floor, just like naptime at Hailey’s. Last Christmas she’d bought Megan a brand-new doll, a beautiful one with a full head of hair and not a single felt-pen mark on her body. But Megan was a loyal little thing. She’d thanked Hailey, then gone right back to lugging Tottie around.

  Hailey tried to remember if she’d had a favorite doll. One she couldn’t be parted from. But it wasn’t the day for her own memories.

  She forced herself to look up, to see where she was. Jack’s television, dark and silent, reminded her of the statues on Easter Island. The icon of worship for people who didn’t get out much. Which didn’t fit into the admittedly sketchy picture she had of Jack.

  Grace had told her he was single. And that an assortment of women dropped by at all hours. Grace also said she’d seen him in his skivvies once, by accident, and that pound for pound he was the best-looking man she’d seen since Elvis.

  But then, Grace also believed aliens took all the good parking spots at Luby’s.

  Hailey had wondered how Grace had seen him in his underwear. The woman was sixty if she was a day, and she chain-smoked unfiltered Camels, which had stained her teeth an interesting shade of brown.

  When had they had that discussion? Oh, yes. It was last Easter. When Hailey had brought her downstairs neighbor a cooked ham. Last Easter, Jack had been fine. It was only two months ago that Hailey had seen him in the laundry room. Seen him using the cane. She’d been with Megan that day. And she remembered thinking then that despite Jack’s brusque manners, he was a devilishly handsome rogue.

  She smiled. Rogue. She’d been reading too many historical romances.

  Even if he didn’t fit the rogue category, there was something about him…She got up, filled with nervous energy. She went to his kitchen and saw a few dirty plates in the sink, a few clean ones in the plastic drainer on the counter. Discarded coffee filters and beer cans were all she could make out in his trash. She opened his refrigerator and sighed. Not much there. Mustard. Beer. A loaf of bread and a big salami. He’d never heal with this kind of diet.

  Wondering how he’d managed so far, she went to the sink and turned on the water. There were no gloves, but there was detergent and a sponge. Having something to do helped. It made her calmer. It gave her time to strategize. When Jack came home, he was going to want to call social services, and there was no ques
tion in her mind that she wasn’t going to let him. The idea of Megan going to a stranger after all she’d been through made her sick to her stomach. No matter what, Megan was going to stay.

  After finishing the dishes, she cleaned the counters and the coffeemaker. Picked up the old newspapers and tied them with some cord she found under the sink. Then she dusted a bit and, with nothing left to do, headed down the hall to Jack’s bedroom.

  His decor was consistent, if nothing else. Only the bare necessities. A bed, no headboard. A dresser. A chair. Not even a chair. She shook her head, not surprised that the bed was unmade. Given his condition, she had to wonder when he’d last changed the sheets. It would be a difficult task with a cane.

  Was it too personal a thing to do? She didn’t know the man at all, and now she wanted to change his sheets? Her own need for a purpose silenced her doubts, and she went to the hall closet to get fresh ones.

  He only had two other sets. Both beige. Utilitarian. Fine for a man whose life was filled with work and friends, but awful for a man who was virtually house-bound.

  She checked on Megan, who was still sound asleep and clutching her doll, and then headed back to his room. It took no time at all to strip the bed. When it was bare, she hurried, because the room felt too much like a prison cell.

  Once she was done, she dusted in there, too, wishing she could vacuum the place. It wasn’t as if she was a neat freak or anything, but Jack had done a good deed for Megan. He’d brought Megan to her. It was only right that Hailey do something nice for him in return.

  Then she remembered the pillowcase. She’d barely looked in it when she’d pulled out Megan’s fresh clothes. Hailey hurried back down the hall, and just as she took hold of the pillowcase, she heard his key in the lock.

  She felt her stomach tighten as she turned. Jack walked in slowly. He looked exhausted. His gaze went to Megan, asleep on her quilt on the floor, and Hailey saw his shoulders relax. Then he spotted her, standing by the couch. “I haven’t gone through it yet,” she said, holding out the pillowcase. “I just got her clothes out after her bath.”

  He nodded, locked the dead bolt, then took off his jacket. After leaning slightly against the door, he rolled up his sleeves past his elbows. His arms were lightly dusted with dark hair. She could clearly see the road map of tendons and muscle on his forearms. Very masculine. He winced as he pushed off toward the kitchen, and she fought the urge to offer to help him. He wasn’t one of the children she tended, and besides, she remembered his angry reaction the first time. Still, it hurt, somehow, to watch him move across the room, leaning so heavily on his cane.

  “What’s this?” he asked when he turned the kitchen light on.

  “I hope you don’t mind. I couldn’t sit still.”

  He grunted a noncommittal response, then poured himself a glass of water. She approached him as he drank, fascinated by his Adam’s apple, at the size of his thirst. When he finished, he wiped his arm across his mouth, his gaze on hers as if he’d known she’d been watching him. “Did you tell her?” he asked, keeping his deep voice low.

  She nodded. “She was very brave. But it hasn’t really hit her yet. It’s going to take a long while for her to adjust to this. To accept that her father isn’t coming back.”

  Jack moved to the kitchen table and sat heavily in a chair. His cane clattered loudly to the linoleum floor, but he didn’t even give it a glance. “Not only is he not coming back,” he said, “he wasn’t really here.”

  “What?” She pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down, laying the pillowcase between them.

  “Roy Chandler wasn’t his name.”

  “Seriously?”

  He answered her with a look that said he was dead serious.

  “Who was he?”

  “A charmer named Barry Strangis. From Oklahoma. Incarcerated twice for armed robbery, once in 1972 and again in 1980.”

  “Oh, man.”

  “Yeah,” he said. His gaze moved to something behind her, and at first she thought Megan had gotten up, but when she turned, she saw she was still sound asleep. He had looked at his chair in the living room. Looked at it with need.

  She stood up, went to his television table and got his bottle of pain pills. After she put the bottle on the kitchen table, she took his glass and filled it once more with water. She handed it to him as she sat down again.

  He didn’t seem pleased. His eyebrows furrowed and his lips pressed together tightly. Finally he said, “What are you doing?”

  “Getting your pills. Water.”

  “I know that, but why?”

  “Because it’s time for you to take a pill.”

  “How do you know?”

  “From the look on your face. You seemed…pained.”

  “I always look like this.”

  She smiled, then tried to hide it.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked, his voice even rougher than before.

  “I’ve always admired a good curmudgeon,” she said. “George Bernard Shaw. Scrooge. They lend balance to the world.”

  “Are you making fun of me?”

  She nodded. “Yes, I am.”

  “Well, knock it off.”

  “Then take your pill.”

  He glared at her for another long moment, but then he opened the bottle, shook a pill onto his palm and popped it into his mouth. He drank the entire glass of water, and once more, he wiped his mouth with his arm.

  The movement should have been gauche, but it wasn’t. He reminded her of Marlon Brando in Streetcar. Rough and cruel, but only because it hid a vulnerability so deep he didn’t know where to turn.

  “So what’s in the case?” he asked.

  She shifted her attention to the pillowcase, dumping the contents on the table. The first thing she saw was a picture frame. She moved to pick it up at the same time he did, and their fingers brushed. The contact surprised her, and she jerked her hand back. He grew very still for a moment, then lifted the frame so he could see the picture. “Hmm,” he said.

  “What?”

  He turned it around.

  “That’s Megan’s mother,” Hailey said. “Patricia.”

  Jack looked at it again. “She was pretty.”

  “Megan looks a lot like her. She’ll be a beautiful woman.”

  “Do you know when this Patricia died?”

  Hailey shook her head. “Not really. But I think it was after they moved here. I started working for Roy two years ago.”

  “What’s that?” He pointed to a sheet of paper inside a plastic bag.

  Hailey turned it over to find a recipe. For mulligatawny stew. Handwritten, stained. She passed it to Jack.

  “Why would he give her this?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it’s all he has in his wife’s handwriting.”

  Jack shook his head, then put the recipe aside. He picked up a bank passbook and opened it. “Four hundred and fifty dollars. In the name of Megan Chandler.”

  “When was the last deposit?”

  “At Christmas.”

  She didn’t see much else of interest. Just clothes, which she proceeded to fold. There were jeans and sweatshirts, a few dresses, a jacket. Two pairs of shoes, a stack of panties and three sets of pajamas.

  “He knew he was going to be gone awhile,” Jack said. “Or that he might never come back.”

  “It appears so. But there’s something I’ve been wondering all morning. Why did he bring Megan to you, when I was just down the hall?”

  Jack’s frown deepened. “The only reason I can think of is that he knew I was a cop.”

  “So he must have guessed he was in trouble. Bad trouble.”

  “Given the fact that he’s a corpse now, he guessed right.”

  “And he didn’t say anything else?”

  He looked at her, studying her closely. She thought he was going to say something, but then he just shook his head. She had the feeling he wasn’t telling her everything. Maybe that was for the best. She didn’t want to know anything
that would get her into trouble. Not when she had to look out for Megan.

  As if he’d sensed her protective thought, he nodded toward the living room. “We should call.”

  Hailey caught his gaze and held it. “No, we’re not going to call.”

  “We’re not?”

  “No,” she repeated. “I want her here.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  “Maybe not. But I’m going to all the same.”

  He leaned back in his chair, giving her a repeat of his unhappy face. It made him look dangerous in a way. Not spooky dangerous. Sexy dangerous.

  “I promised her that she could stay with me,” she said. “She has no one else. And she’s too vulnerable to be taken away by strangers. It would make things infinitely worse.”

  “The cops will find out he had a kid.”

  “I don’t see that as an obstacle. I’m sure there are ways we could make them think Megan was away. I could tell Grace and a few other tenants. They’d help.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he looked back at her, he’d eased up on the frown. “For now,” he said.

  “Fair enough.”

  “But when things settle down…”

  “We’ll talk about it again.”

  “You design web sites? You should have been a lawyer.”

  “Thank you.”

  He leaned forward again, and she prepared for his retort, but instead, he frowned once more and nodded toward the living room. “Look who’s awake.”

  Hailey turned to see Megan sitting up, clutching Tottie and sucking her thumb. “Hey, sweet pea,” she said as she left Jack and his scowl. “You slept a long time.”

  Megan looked at her. “I want to go home,” she said.

  “I know you do, honey. But I’m afraid we can’t go home just yet. Mr. McCabe and I are going to look after you, remember?”

  She nodded slowly. Hailey thought she might start crying again, but she didn’t. “Tottie’s hungry,” was all she said.

  “I’ll bet she is. And I’ll bet you are, too. Tell you what. You stay here with Mr. McCabe, and I’ll get us all lunch from my apartment and bring it back.”