“Then it was a waste of your time, after all.”
“Allan says there’s no such thing as time wasted doing research.”
“I’ll know soon enough if it’ll be a waste of my time,” Judith insisted. “I have a list of names. That’s all I’m looking for—then I’ll be done. Shouldn’t take long.” Glancing over her shoulder, she asked, “Have the police talked to you or the professor about the fire?”
“Not yet,” Wren replied. “But they know where to find us. Do they think the fire started by accident or do they suspect arson?”
“It was definitely arson. Detective Reed told me so. He and Torres are hoping I can provide them with some link between what I’ve been uncovering about the baby peddling and the infant remains.”
“Is there a link?” Wren asked, intrigued. It seemed unlikely that anyone on staff would dispose of a baby’s remains in a discarded cookie tin.
“None that I’ve discovered—yet,” Judith admitted. “Detective Reed told me the remains were those of a premature infant, wrapped in a kitchen towel and then placed in a clean storage tin. It was a girl, by the way. No sign of injury or anything. Forensics indicated someone gave birth prematurely, perhaps even a miscarriage. The umbilical cord was still attached.”
“That’s so sad,” Wren murmured softly. “Do you think Dr. Leadill knew what was going on with the babies? It must have happened while she was superintendent. That’s probably why she didn’t want to speak with you about it.”
“I don’t know. The facility was huge. She would have had her hands full running the place. In an institution this size, it would be easy for something to go on without the top brass knowing about it. How could she keep up with all of the patients and the staff too?” Judith frowned at the sorted piles on the desk. “I can tell you one thing, Leadill hasn’t been very generous in sharing her files with Professor P. She worked at the hospital for nearly twenty years, you know. She surely saved more than this. She was a surgeon, did you know that?”
Wren was still thinking about the institution being so large it would be hard to know about everything going on. It brought to mind what Mrs. Gentry’s friend had told them about employees stealing food supplies. That might have been a big problem during the Depression and the war years.
“Leadill performed lobotomies on some of the patients, including a few who had been in the maternity ward at one time. That’s rather intriguing, don’t you think?” Judith waggled her eyebrows.
“I thought that sort of surgery was only performed on violent patients,” Wren said.
“According to the reports I saw, the women were considered to be overly promiscuous, so Dr. Leadill lobotomized them,” Judith told her.
Wren shook her head with disbelief and returned to her own research. Occasionally, she’d glance over at Judith. The reporter shuffled through the files with a quick efficiency Wren couldn’t help admiring. Once in a while, Judith would type bits of information into an open document on her laptop. Finally, Judith stood up, yawned and stretched. “That’s it, then. Nothing new or of much interest to me here. Tell Professor P. I appreciate being able to go through the files. You can bet Dr. Leadill has a lot more of this sort of thing at her home. What I’d really love to get my hands on are her medical research notes.”
“These are her personal notes,” Wren pointed out.
“No, these are only the personal notes she’s willing to share. I want to see the stuff she’s never shown anyone before. I’d love to tour her laboratory too.”
Wren was incredulous. “She has a laboratory? In her home?”
“Yes,” Judith replied. “She lives in a huge, sprawling place. The lab looks like a greenhouse with a skylight and everything. I’ve often wondered what kind of experiments she does in there.”
“Probably not much now—not at her age,” Wren ventured, reaching for Judith’s empty coffee cup.
“Don’t you believe it!” Judith exclaimed. “Dr. Leadill retired some time ago to pursue her own research, but no one quite knows what that involved.”
“So where does she live?”
Judith told her. “I intend to make an appointment with her after I verify some more information. She should have an opportunity to tell her side of the story—regarding the baby peddling.”
“Maybe she doesn’t have a side, as you call it,” Wren suggested. “Maybe she had no idea whatsoever about what was going on.”
Arching her eyebrows, Judith replied, “I guess we’ll see about that, won’t we?”
When she left, Wren returned to her own desk, wondering about the complicated maze of scandal that had come to light. Why wasn’t the baby buried in the cemetery? It was almost as if someone didn’t want it known she’d ever been born, yet the gesture of wrapping the little body was a tender one. Someone had cared for the poor little soul. But who?
Would Allan still want to pursue the leads Maude Gentry’s friend had provided? Would the Beattys be able to add anything of interest about Mrs. Partner? Did it even matter now? Wren felt a mild curiosity about Freddy Grizzard’s relationship to the woman he called Dolly. Who was she? Maybe she should go interview the Beattys. No doubt, Maude or her friend had already called the couple and told them to expect her or Allan sometime soon.
Glancing at her watch, Wren made a few rapid calculations. Pippi had dance practice with her cousins after school today. Deb would pick her up from school when she picked up her own girls and take all three of them to the studio. Wren had promised to pick up Pippi from the dance studio when practice was over. She had time.
She scooped up the information related to Leah Partner and placed it in a large brown envelope, which she then slipped into her canvas satchel. She grabbed her purse, left the campus, and headed for the Beatty home.
Wren peered through the windshield at the dark, ominous clouds looming in the west. A storm was brewing. The temperature had dropped, and the breeze had kicked up.
She wished she’d brought a jacket. When Wren arrived, she noted the absence of a car in the driveway. The Beattys weren’t home. Hoping maybe one or the other had gone out, Wren decided to knock at the door. She hurried up the front sidewalk.
Birdhouses of various colors and designs were mounted on tree trunks and wooden posts throughout the yard. There were bird feeders, too, all shapes and sizes.
She knocked one more time. Nobody came to the door, so she returned to her car.
She was near the rural road where Dr. Leadill’s house was located. Wren decided to drive that way to take a passing look at the laboratory.
A profusion of sunny wildflowers grew along both shoulders of the lonely road. There were small pastures, one with a couple of horses and another with half a dozen alpacas grazing behind a fenced enclosure. Raindrops began to plunk down upon her windshield. As it rained harder, she slowed the car to a crawl in an effort to read the names on the mailboxes as she passed.
An older woman, short and stocky, dressed in black trousers and a black flannel jacket, trudged along the shoulder of the road. With her head and shoulders leaning into the rain, the woman would be drenched if she had a long way yet to go.
Wren pulled over. She pushed the button to roll down her window, calling out, “Hop in, I’ll give you a ride.”
The woman’s eyes widened as though she recognized Wren. The surprised look was quickly replaced by a concentrated stare.
Wren didn’t know the woman, at least she didn’t think so. “Hurry, get in,” she urged. “You’ll be soaked.”
Never taking her eyes from Wren’s face, the other woman jerked open the car door and tumbled clumsily inside. Again, she fixed Wren with a wary stare. She had one green eye and one brown one, which made a startling contrast in her plain, angular face. Finally, the woman spoke. “I live just up the road. Not much further. Turn into the next driveway on the right when you see the large black mailbox.” Her voice sounded deep and rather hoarse.
Nodding, Wren drove carefully in the heavy rain. “You would ha
ve been soaked through to the skin,” she said, attempting a friendly banter.
“It didn’t look like rain when I set out,” the other woman replied. “There it is. Turn in here.”
Wren was surprised to see the name Leadill on the mailbox. The sprawling two-story house was skirted by a circular drive. She glanced at the woman beside her. Was she related to Dr. Leadill? A daughter perhaps? No, Dr. Leadill had never married. Isn’t that what Gorse had told them? Perhaps her passenger was a much younger sister or some other relation.
As Wren turned into the curve of the drive, she observed what must be the laboratory Judith had mentioned. It did indeed resemble a greenhouse with skylights. The large windows were covered with Venetian blinds. The blinds were closed.
“Stop here,” the woman demanded.
Wren did so.
Her passenger scrambled out of the car, her thick body moving with surprising agility. “I appreciate the ride, Mrs. Bergschneider,” she said and then hurtled through the rain toward the house without a backward glance.
“You’re welcome,” Wren called after her. She curled around the circular drive, making her way back to the road. She’d have time to watch Pippi’s dance practice. Her daughter would love that, the little show-off. She was a good six miles down the lane from Dr. Leadill’s home when she realized her mysterious passenger had called her by name. How had the woman known who she was?
~*~
Allan drove to Wren’s place with a mixture of anticipation and wary concern. He’d never been to the small duplex she lived in with her young daughter, and he’d been more than a little astonished when she’d called to invite him to dinner.
“Nothing fancy,” she assured him. “Just plain home-cooking.”
Uncertain if his hostess did or did not drink wine, he picked up a cheery bouquet of Gerbera daisies instead. His floral choice appeared more festive than romantic. At least he hoped so. He didn’t want Wren to think he was reading anything into her unexpected invitation. Before paying for the flowers, Allan selected a few pink carnations for a smaller bouquet for Pippi.
The smiling florist snipped the long stems, tucked in a bit of baby’s breath, and wrapped the flowers in pink tissue paper, before tying the bouquet with a lacy ribbon to resemble an old-fashioned nosegay. This proved to be an inspired idea.
When Pippi opened the door to him a short while later, Allan handed her the nosegay. “Good evening, Miss Pippi Bergschneider. These are for you.”
The little girl sparkled with pleasure. She wore a pale pink leotard with matching tights and black ballet slippers. Her long brown hair was pulled back in a bouncy ponytail. She was a pretty kid, and Allan had not doubts that she’d be a real beauty when she grew up—like her mother. In her excitement over the flowers, Pippi left him standing in the doorway as she darted away to show Wren her unexpected gift. “Look what Mr. Partner brought me!” she squealed.
“You need to call him Dr. Partner or Professor,” Wren amended as she made her way to the door, a dishtowel in her hands. With an apologetic smile, she greeted Allan, inviting him inside. He presented her with the daisies, and she blushed prettily. “They’re lovely.” She appeared suddenly shy and a little confused.
“My Aunt Patsy taught me never to go to someone’s home for a meal without taking a hostess gift of some kind,” Allan said quickly, hoping to put her at her ease. “She was my mother’s sister.”
“And it’s about your mother I want to speak to you,” Wren said, lowering her voice. “After we eat,” she added softly.
Noting the gleam in her eye, Allan guessed she’d discovered something important. He tried to control his impatience as they sat down to dinner. She said grace and then passed him the creamy chicken dish that made his mouth water just looking at it. Together with steamed rice, a crisp garden salad, and homemade yeast rolls, the meal was far from plain. He usually ate out at a restaurant or heated up a frozen entrée in the microwave. This meal was a delightful treat. “You’re a great cook,” he complimented.
She glowed with pleasure.
During dinner, Pippi prattled on about her new third grade teacher, Mrs. Douglas (so nice!) and the classroom hamster named Duncan (so cute!) and a boy named Logan, who sat next to her in class (so messy!).
Allan, watching her small, animated face and listening to her happy chatter, was stirred by a longing he couldn’t remember feeling before. It was a blatant longing for home and family. He observed Wren through his lashes. He couldn’t deny he was attracted to her—intensely.
For dessert, there was ice cream with a choice of hot fudge sauce or sliced strawberries.
“I always put both on top,” Pippi told him, showing him how to first drizzle the warm chocolate and then heap on the fruit.
Allan obediently followed her instructions.
When they’d finished, Pippi cleared his bowl from the table with a beaming smile. “Now wasn’t that good?” she asked.
“Delicious,” he admitted.
“Time to finish up your math homework,” Wren told her.” The professor and I have some grown-up business to discuss, so you can work at the desk in your room tonight.”
“All right,” Pippi replied before pirouetting down the hall, knowing she was being watched. She clutched the small bouquet of pink carnations in her hand.
“Little show-off,” Wren muttered under her breath, but her face gave her away—she doted on her daughter.
“She’s adorable,” he told her.
“And she knows it,” Wren added with a laugh.
Although he wanted to ask how the child had been coping with the death of her father, Allan didn’t want to spoil the happy mood, so he kept silent. It was none of his business anyway, and he didn’t want Wren offended.
She encouraged him to be seated in the living room and handed him a large brown envelope. “You need to read what’s in there.”
He gave her a quizzical frown as he sat on one end of the sofa to open and examine the envelope’s contents.
Wren returned to the kitchen, and cutlery rattled as she loaded the dishwasher.
His blood pounded as he quickly read Wren’s handwritten notes, along with the contents of the files on loan from Dr. Leadill. A flood of relief surged over him, followed by a wave of gratitude. His mother hadn’t been insane after all. Her illness had not been a hereditary one. He found himself mumbling a humble thank you to no one in particular. The fact that he’d done so made him feel rather self-conscious. Surely, he hadn’t been thanking God? It was Wren who’d done the research and made the happy discovery.
Wren was still tidying up the kitchen when he joined her. She’d put the flowers in a vase on the center of the small dining room table with a doily underneath—such a homey touch. Allan couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a doily either, not since his aunt had passed away.
Wren gave him a warm, understanding smile. “And now you know.”
“And now I know,” he repeated softly.
“That’s why I invited you to dinner—to celebrate. It’s good news. Your mystery is solved.”
“It is, and now we need to work on solving yours—finding out who sent the anonymous note about Peter and why.”
Wren glanced past him.
He followed her gaze, guessing she wanted to make sure Pippi wasn’t lingering in the corridor listening to their conversation.
“So what about the shooting?” she asked.
“I think we’ll have to let the police figure that one out.”
“We have another mystery to add to the first.” She went on to tell him about stopping by to see the Beattys, and then driving out to Dr. Leadill’s house, about the woman she’d picked up and dropped off there. “I never told her my name or introduced myself, but somehow she already knew. There was nothing inside the car that had my name on it. She knew me. I could tell by the way she looked at me when she got inside.”
“You’re sure you didn’t recognize her?” Allan pressed. “Maybe she attended your h
usband’s church services in the past and knew you from there.”
Wren shook her head emphatically. “No, I would have remembered. I’m good with faces. Besides, she was rather unforgettable.” She told him about the woman’s different colored eyes. “She even looked like Dr. Leadill. No, no she didn’t,” Wren said, changing her mind. “She was dressed like the doctor had dressed when she came to your office that day. Do you remember? She wore all black, including black gloves. This woman wore all black too, but no gloves.”
“Why were you driving out to Dr. Leadill’s home in the first place?”
“Just curious,” Wren admitted. “Judith mentioned that Dr. Leadill had a laboratory in her home, and I wanted to see what it looked like.” Wren snapped her eyes shut and pressed her fingers to her closed eyelids. She choked back a small sob.
His heart plunged. She was going to cry, and he feared he wouldn’t be able to bear it. “Wren, are you all right?”
She sniffed as she lowered her hands, her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I’m OK, really. Sometimes I get rather emotional for no reason at all. It comes over me when I least expect it. I’m tired too—tired of not knowing what’s going on. I just want everything to be resolved.”
Allan forced himself not to reach for her hand. He didn’t dare touch her for fear he’d pull her into his arms to comfort her, to kiss her. “One day at a time, Wren.”
She gave him a watery smile. “Peter used to say that too.”
14
Wren stood at the front door, her arms folded across her chest, as Allan made his way to his car.
A woman pulled up to the curb just as he raised a hand in farewell and slide into the front seat. The attractive brunette, wearing large hoop earrings and a forest green, suede jacket, strode toward Wren’s front door, carrying an arm full of spiral-bound books. Linda Rundberg turned to stare over her shoulder as Allan drove away. “Who was that?” she asked, arching both eyebrows.
“My boss.” Wren chuckled.
“The professor?” Linda’s eyes popped. “They sure didn’t have professors like that when I was in college. I would have studied much harder if they had—hoping to make a good impression.”
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