Wren shook her head, smiling. It was true. Allan was drop-dead gorgeous. His smiling features were always intruding on her thoughts, even during her prayer devotions. She tried to shut them out, but his image would sneak back in when she least expected it. Tonight, watching him chat with Pippi during dinner, Wren had experienced a rush of pleasure.
Allan had completely won her daughter over with the small bouquet of pink carnations. It was such a shame he wasn’t a believer.
She needed to squelch any possible rumors that she was seeing or dating someone. “Allan picked up some research papers. He’s working at break-neck speed on his next book.” It wasn’t a lie. He had left with the packet containing information about his mother’s hospitalization. “Can you come in for a minute?”
“No, I’m just on my way home from choir practice, and the church secretary asked me to bring these by. She and the pastor have been cleaning out some closet space and found these. They belonged to Peter.” Her voice softened when she said Peter’s name.
Looking down at the appointment books and engagement calendars, Wren’s heart gave a mild thud. Some of them were three and four years old, according to the dates embossed on the covers. Who had asked her about Peter’s appointment calendars? With hands trembling slightly, she took them, thanking Linda for bringing them by. Wren was eager to go through them page by page, in hopes of discovering some clue to the meaning behind the anonymous note.
Wren placed the calendars on the coffee table, promising herself she’d get to them as soon as she’d tucked Pippi in bed. This nightly endeavor included coaxing Pippi into her pajamas and reminding her to brush her teeth, rituals followed by the reading of a chapter of whichever book her daughter had chosen. Afterwards, Wren listened to Pippi’s nighttime prayers. This completed, she tucked Pippi underneath the covers and planted a kiss on her forehead.
“Can we have your professor over for dinner again sometime?”
“Yes, of course we can. Do you like him?” She realized, to her astonishment, that it mattered.
“Oh, yes! He has happy eyes,” Pippi declared. “And he brought us flowers, and it isn’t even our birthday or report card day or anything. Don’t you think he has happy eyes?”
“Yes, he does,” Wren agreed. Rising quickly from the edge of the bed, she clicked off the bedside lamp so Pippi wouldn’t notice the bright red spots burning on her cheeks.
She returned to the living room, willfully pushing aside the intrusive image of Allan Partner’s happy and all too beguiling blue eyes. Picking up the stack of old appointment books, Wren plopped down on the couch and commenced perusing the pages with careful attention, starting with the one that was dated a year before Peter’s fatal accident. It seemed the logical place to begin the search.
It was fairly easy to figure out her late husband’s personal coding system. He’d written down the first initial and last name of any person he visited on the calendar date the visit took place. The last name was followed by another set of initials indicating the place where the visit had occurred. HP indicated a local hospital visit. HP-S indicated that Peter had driven to Springfield to visit someone at the larger regional hospital. HM indicated a home visit and so forth.
Wren’s heart thumped erratically when she saw the name A. Leadill followed by the initials BSNH. He’d visited a patient by that name in the same nursing home where Bea Cormeny worked. Leadill was hardly a common name. Surely, the person he’d spoken to was related to Dr. Sylvia Leadill. It couldn’t possibly be a coincidence, could it? Wren knew she’d have to call Bea again to confirm it. A further perusal indicated that Peter had actually visited the same resident twice within a six-week period. Curious. She quickly made a note of both dates on a yellow sticky pad.
She became so engrossed in what she was doing that when the phone rang, Wren practically jumped out of her skin. She glanced at her watch. It was almost ten. Who would be calling at this hour? She hoped it wasn’t Deb with bad news about one of the girls or Charlie. Caller I.D. revealed her neighbor next door was calling—Marilee Reed, a retired schoolteacher and also a widow, like Wren.
“Hi, Marilee, how are you?” Wren greeted her, hoping the older woman was not ill or injured.
Marilee ignored her polite inquiry. “Wren, are your curtains drawn?” Her voice was tense and low, not quite a whisper. “Are your doors locked?”
Feeling a slow surge of panic, Wren swallowed hard. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“There’s a man standing outside underneath the tree in your front yard. I think he must be a Peeping Tom…or something.”
Wren’s throat went dry and her heart jerked so fiercely she could feel her pulse pounding at her temples. Her first concern was for Pippi, and she wondered if she’d remembered to lock the front door after Linda had left. “Can you get a good look at him?” she asked, her voice thick and slightly hoarse. “What’s he doing?”
“He’s standing there watching the house,” Marilee replied, breathless. With less certainty, she asked, “Shall I call the police?”
“Yes, please,” Wren gasped. “But dial the non-emergency dispatch number and tell them you want to report a Peeping Tom.” She didn’t want the wail of sirens to scare the man away.
Wren hung up and darted toward the front door. The door was locked, but the chain was not in place. She did so before peering out of the tiny peephole. She couldn’t see the man under the tree from here, but she could imagine him only too well—a shadowy figure with dark, staring eyes fixed upon her door, her windows. Pippi’s bedroom window. The ominous thought turned her skin cold and clammy. Help me, Lord! Give me courage. Show me what to do.
Swallowing back the fear bubbling up, Wren hurried on wobbling knees to the sliding glass door that led out to the small patio in the backyard. She checked the lock before making her way down the hall to Pippi’s room. After quietly pulling the bedroom door closed, she dashed across the hall to her own room to retrieve Peter’s aluminum baseball bat from the corner beside her bed. Back in the dining room, she propped the bat against one of the chairs while she punched in Allan’s number on her cell phone.
Before he could say hello, Wren babbled, “Allan, there’s someone in my front yard watching the house. He’s standing out there in the dark. I’m afraid.”
“I’m on my way. Call the cops, but whatever you do, Wren, don’t open the door for anyone. Do you hear me? Not anyone!” he repeated vehemently.
“OK,” she croaked. “But please hurry.”
~*~
Allan pressed the accelerator to the floor, praying in an awkward but fervent manner, Lord, don’t let anything happen to Wren or Pippi. They trust you. Please. He recalled an afternoon when he’d told Wren he didn’t believe in her God. She’d merely shrugged. “You don’t. I do—and neither changes the fact that He exists—always has and always will.” He hoped now that she was right.
Embarrassed that he’d resorted to prayer, his anxiety for Wren and her young daughter outweighed his pride and even his skepticism. Allan couldn’t bear to think of anything horrible happening to either of them. He hadn’t even changed out of his gray sweatpants and University of Illinois t-shirt. He’d snatched his car keys from the kitchen counter and dashed out the door, his cell phone clutched in the other hand. His one goal was to get to Wren’s place before…before anything could happen.
Wren must have been watching for him through the peephole in the front door, because as he bounded up the sidewalk, his pulse pounding, she flung open the door and nearly collapsed into his arms, her body trembling.
Allan glanced over his shoulder trying to catch a glimpse of the man. Although he didn’t see anyone, he slammed and locked the door.
Wren choked back a sob before giving him a quick, watery smile. “Allan, we’re all right.”
He clung to her all the same—more for his own sake than hers. “Thank God,” he breathed into her neck. This time there was no irony in the declaration. He meant it.
“Yes, thank God,”
she repeated with a tremulous sigh.
Something painful twisted in Allan’s gut. He stared down into Wren’s upturned face. He cared more for her than he’d ever have imagined. A roller coaster of emotions—from the initial terror to the heartfelt relief at discovering she was all right and the heady experience of holding Wren in his arms, brought him up short. She fit…perfectly. Tendrils of faith wrapped themselves around his heart and mind. Weeks ago, he would have insisted that arriving at Wren’s place and finding her safe and sound was a mere coincidence. Not now. Not tonight. Allan was certain God had answered his awkward, but heartfelt prayer. He would consider the implication of this new certainty later. Right now all he wanted to do was hold Wren and never let her go.
He pulled her closer against his body, relief vibrating through him like a shock wave. Wren quivered, but made no attempt to release herself. For a moment, neither said a word. Allan allowed himself to touch her hair, her cheek, the side of her neck.
When she finally spoke, Wren said his name, “Allan.” It sounded like a prayer. “Did you see him out there?” she queried.
“I didn’t see anyone when I pulled onto your street. There’s no one out there now.” He breathed into her ear through the thick strands of silken hair. “Did you call the police? They should have been here by now.” Firmly but gently, he moved with her into the kitchen, away from the living room window. Although he hadn’t noticed anyone, the unknown man could be lurking outside.
“My neighbor was going to call them,” Wren said. “But I told Marilee to use the non-emergency dispatch number. I didn’t want the wail of sirens to scare him off—whoever he is. I told her to report seeing a Peeping Tom.”
“I doubt that’s what he is,” Allan told her.
A fierce pounding at the front door startled both of them. They snapped apart.
Wren blinked, stepping back into the kitchen.
Allan made his way to the door, peering through the peephole.
Two uniformed officers stood on the porch. A squad car, silent but with lights spinning, could be seen out front, blocking Allan’s car in the driveway.
“Finally,” he declared and unlocked the door.
~*~
An hour later, after the police officers had taken their report and left, and after Marilee, relieved but still rather shaken, had returned to her home next door, Wren found herself alone with Allan.
Pippi had slept through the entire incident—the deep sleep of the innocent, as her grandmother used to say.
“It’s a pity your neighbor didn’t notice a vehicle out front. She didn’t really get a clear glimpse of the man on the lawn,” Allan said, stroking his moustache in a pensive manner.
“Maybe there wasn’t a vehicle,” Wren pointed out. “He could have walked here and then ran away.”
“Perhaps, but the police didn’t notice anyone on the sidewalk. I hope you’re right though. I hope whoever it was did walk here because if that’s the case, it’s less likely he came armed with a rifle. People driving by would have noticed that.”
Wren shuddered. The police believed the man had been a Peeping Tom. She doubted it could be so simple. As unsavory as it was to know some man had been watching her house surreptitiously, hoping to catch a glimpse of her through the window, it was even more unsettling to think he might have been the same person who’d shot at them last week. She wondered what Reed and Torres would think when they read the officers’ report. And if the man had been the same one who’d fired the rifle, the question remained: why? Raising her hands to cover her eyes, Wren tried to get a grip on her nerves. She was tired, too tired to think straight.
Allan glanced at his watch. “It’s late. You need to get some rest, Wren, and I need to get going.” He fixed her with those deep blue eyes and, for a moment, Wren allowed herself to stand mesmerized. “You’ll be fine,” he said, his gaze never leaving her face.
“Don’t go,” she said quietly. She laced and unlaced her fingers. “I don’t want to be alone. Would you spend the night?”
Allan’s eyes widened with surprise…and something else.
Warmth flooded her face. “The couch folds out into a sofa bed. It’s quite comfortable—or so I’ve been told.”
“Of course I’ll stay, if you want me to.”
“I don’t want you to think I’m a coward,” Wren went on. “It’s just that my first concern is Pippi and…”
Allan raised his hand and interrupted her. “Wren Bergschneider, you’re the bravest woman I know. Believe me when I say you are not a coward. I quite understand. Bring me a pillow and a blanket. I’m quite capable of making myself at home on the couch.”
She quickly did as he asked, wondering if Allan would try to kiss her good night. He looked at her with such a warm, tender glow in his eyes, she thought he might. She found herself both hoping he would and dreading he might.
He didn’t.
“Tomorrow, I think we should pay Gorse a visit at his office,” Allan said as he removed the sofa cushions and prepared to unfold the bed. “I don’t think he’s been completely frank with us. He knows more about what’s going on than he’s told us. Besides, I want to see his reaction when I tell him we were in the annex rummaging through abandoned files when the place caught on fire.”
“Do you want me to call to make an appointment?” Wren asked.
Allan shook his head. “No, we’re going to drop in. Let’s catch him off guard.” Then he paused, a slight frown creasing his brow. “But if you’re too tired to work tomorrow, I’ll go alone.”
“No, I want to go with you. With you here, I know I’ll get a good night’s sleep. I’ll be fine.”
“I know you will be,” he said before fixing her with another one of those beguiling smiles that warmed her down to her toes.
Wren bid him a quick good night before scuttling down the hall to her room. She checked on Pippi first, kissing her sleeping daughter on her warm cheek and thanking the Lord for keeping them safe, once again.
In the morning when she got up to make breakfast and get Pippi ready for school, Allan was already gone. He’d tidied up the couch and left the blanket folded neatly with the pillow on top. He’d scribbled a note for her too, leaving it on the kitchen counter with the salt shaker serving as a paperweight. It read, The adventure continues. See you at 9:30 sharp. Love, Allan.
Love? She read that part twice. Three times. The word love sent shivers of delight up and down Wren’s arms. Did he mean it? Or was it just his usual way of signing a note to a friend?
Allan was talking with his editor on his cell phone when she entered the office, a small plate of blueberry muffins in one hand and her handbag in the other. His eyes lit up.
After snapping his phone shut, he gave her a slow smile. Reaching for her hand, he kissed it in a courtly manner, his gaze never leaving her face.
Wren was certain she blushed all the way to the roots of her hair. She couldn’t say anything coherent so she said nothing at all.
Allan outlined his plan regarding their upcoming confrontation with Ichabod Gorse as he helped himself to a muffin.
When they arrived at the sprawling parking lot of the new developmental center, Wren noticed the driver of a tan SUV backing out of one of the parking spaces reserved for administrators. “Isn’t that Gorse? He’s leaving.”
“Then so are we. Let’s follow him,” Allan suggested, giving her a sidelong glance. His eyes sparkled with mischief.
Wren smiled, and then fixed her attention on the traffic. When they came to the edge of town and Gorse turned onto a familiar rural road, she clutched at Allan’s sleeve. “I think I know where he’s going. This road will take us to Dr. Leadill’s home.”
Allan frowned. “Interesting. Why don’t you call Detective Reed and tell him where we’re going.”
Wren placed the call. Reed wasn’t in, so she left him a voice mail message.
Gorse’s vehicle turned into Dr. Leadill’s circular drive.
“Keep on going. We shoul
d let him have time to get inside before we show up and surprise them.”
“I wonder what they’re up to,” Allan said as he drove past.
Wren harbored a niggling suspicion that Gorse was The Brain, the man who’d frightened Freddy Grizzard into silence all those years ago. Was Gorse behind the illegal baby selling—if indeed that had taken place? As superintendent, Dr. Leadill would surely have known what was going on in the annex—or at least suspected something when she saw the baby cribs. Had she condoned it? Or had Gorse intimidated her into silence?
“Here we go,” Allan said. He pulled the car over to the shoulder of the road and turned around on the narrow rural lane. “I’d like to have a look inside Leadill’s personal laboratory. Think she might give us a tour while we’re here?”
“I doubt it,” Wren said. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
“I’ve come to respect that intuition of yours,” Allan said, pulling into the drive and parking his car behind Gorse’s. “If you’d rather not do this now, we can leave. We can visit him another day, when he’s in his office.”
“No, we’ve got to find out about those babies, at least. Won’t Judith be annoyed when we learn all about it before she does?” Wren gave a slight smirk. “Besides, you can take the opportunity to thank Dr. Leadill for loaning you the files.”
“All right, then,” Allan said, giving her a nod. “Let’s do it.”
Wren was mildly startled when their knock at the door was answered by the same middle-aged woman she’d given a lift to on that rainy afternoon, the one who’d known her name.
The woman seemed equally surprised to see Wren and the professor upon the doorstep. Without a word, the woman turned to look over her shoulder at another woman in identical black clothing and a similar, unflattering short haircut. The two exchanged a sharp glance.
Wren nudged Allan with her elbow. Her misgiving sparked and popped.
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