“Uh, is anyone here now? Maybe they’ve heard of Lana?”
“Nope. Just me. They might come wandering in, here and there, though. I have some coffee . . . or a little whisky if you like.”
“No, I’m fine. But thank you. Have you see anyone here with a baby?”
He laughed coarsely. “Nope. You want a baby?”
“Uh, thank you. I have to get on my way.”
He shook his head, mumbling something under his breath. Rebekka half expected him to lunge at her, but he simply shut the door. Breathing a sigh of relief, she went to the next door, praying to find someone who knew Lana.
But at the next apartment, she only found several very young, droopy-eyed girls who were likely runaways. One of them told her Lana often stayed at the apartment, but that she might have moved on by now. None of them knew Desirée.
At the next three apartments there was no answer.
Rebekka went down the last flight of stairs and was confronted with the grimy lobby again. She knocked at one of the remaining two doors. An older, heavyset lady opened it. Her silver hair was drawn tightly back from her face, making the distrustful expression on her haggard face more pronounced.
“Yes?” she asked, wiping her big red hands on her white apron. Underneath the apron, she wore a blue and white flowered dress, cheerful despite its owner’s demeanor.
“I’m looking for Lana.”
“Don’t know her.”
“No? She’s a blonde, and she’s friends with a really pretty woman with dark hair . . . Desirée Massoni. Wears a lot of makeup, tight clothes . . .”
“You’re talking about most of the women in the building ’cept me, of course. I’m here not because I’m trash, but because I don’t have any money. Can’t work cuz I got a bad back, and my husband died and left a bunch of bills.”
“I’m sorry. I know it must be hard.”
The woman looked over Rebekka’s long wool coat. “You don’t know the life I’ve led.” She went down the few steps from her apartment to the lobby and grabbed the old broom. “I’m not a junkie or a partier like the rest of ’em here. Neither is my neighbor—” she pointed her chin in the direction of the only door Rebekka had not yet tried— “she takes care of her invalid husband. They ain’t there now. Went to the hospital. If he dies, she’s going to move in with me to save rent. We might even be able to go somewhere else.” With short, angry strokes, she began sweeping the lobby floor. “Thought I’d make it look nice for when they get back. Not that it does much good with that riffraff upstairs. They’ll just scum it up again.” Hefting the tire, she threw it outside and watched it roll down the broken steps.
Rebekka’s heart went out to the woman, but she had a job to do. “There was also a baby.”
The woman stopped sweeping and stared at her. “Yes, I do remember the baby. Belonged to a dark-haired woman, I think. But like I told the police, I don’t know anything about what happened to it. Is it dead?”
Rebekka blinked back the tears that rushed to her eyes. “I hope not. We’re looking for her.”
“I knew that woman had no right to that baby. She was always one of the worst. And that blonde she was with—hmm, mostly so drunk the cops kept having to lock her up.”
“Is that all you know?”
She laid the broom against the wall. “I wish I could help you more. Of course, there might be someone up there who could help better.” She waved her hand at the ceiling. “Though most of them don’t remember yesterday, much less last week.”
Rebekka thanked the woman and left the building, once again slipping on her sunglasses. Apparently, the police were right; there was nothing to learn here. Of course, there had been four apartments that hadn’t answered, plus the woman and her sick husband on the lobby floor. Maybe she could return another day.
But not alone.
Rebekka felt eyes on her as she slipped behind the wheel of her car and drove away. She didn’t even mind her missing hubcaps and hoped the boy on the steps would use the money from their sale to buy something useful.
Chapter Twelve
Rebekka was two minutes late meeting André in the lobby of the chosen hotel because she had to stop and get some lunch, knowing if she didn’t, she’d become so sick that she wouldn’t be able to get through the meeting with Benny-the-baby-seller.
“Are you all right?” André asked, coming toward her and taking her hands. He bent toward her and Rebekka expected him to kiss her cheeks, but instead his lips brushed hers, sending an electric shock throughout her body. “Hello, honey,” he said loudly. “I was worried you couldn’t find the place.”
“I did have a little trouble with traffic,” she said, catching on. They weren’t in the room with Benny yet, but they were already in their role as husband and wife.
André’s eyes wandered over her face, and he gave her a sympathetic grin, squeezing her hands. “Let’s go on up, then.” He kept hold of her hand as they headed toward the elevator, and Rebekka was intensely aware of his presence.
Rebekka’s eyes noted the atmosphere of the hotel—crystal chandeliers, leather furniture, live plants in ceramic containers, and gold trim on the walls and ceilings. This was not the nicest hotel in town but obviously a good one. The surrounding comfort, however, dimmed in comparison with her nervousness.
Because of Benny, she told herself. It has nothing to do with André holding my hand.
Once the doors of the elevators closed and they were alone, Rebekka shook her hand free on the pretense of checking her makeup in her compact.
“You look great,” he said. “A little pale, maybe. Have you been sick this morning?”
“No, I’m fine.” Then she rushed on, “About the flowers . . . I didn’t look at the card . . . uh, before I called.”
An unidentifiable look passed like a shadow over his face. “I figured that much.”
“Well, thanks for bringing them in and setting them on the table. How did you get in my apartment yesterday anyway?”
The bell chimed and the doors slowly swung open. André reached for her hand again. “So . . . who sent them?” he asked, ignoring her question.
“A guy I work with—Samuel.”
There was a tightening in his cheek and jaw muscles. “Isn’t he the guy you nearly married when you lived in Utah?”
“I didn’t nearly marry him. I was only thinking about seriously dating him.”
“Sounds like the same thing to me.”
She was about to reply when he added in a whisper, “We’d better talk later. It’s show time.”
She nodded and let him lead her down the hall. Her heart thundered in her chest as they stood before room 410 and knocked. What if Benny wasn’t there? What if he didn’t have Nadia? The tumult of question made it difficult to think clearly.
A short balding man answered the door. “Hello, I’m Benny Tovik.” He was big without being grossly fat, and his clothes were dated—at least ten years out of style. The gold ring on his finger and the thick gold chain around his neck looked real, but Rebekka couldn’t be certain.
Benny-the-big-bald-baby-seller, she thought fleetingly. This is all just too unreal. She took a deep breath and pushed the unwanted thoughts to the back of her mind. A mistake now could cost them Nadia.
“Hello, we’re the Perraults,” André said, pumping the man’s hand. “André and Rebekka.”
“Come in, come in.”
Then Benny was shaking Rebekka’s hand, vigorously up and down. He was shorter than she was by at least a head, and she had a great view of the thinning hair surrounding the shining circle on the top of his head. She had to gently tug her hand from his, hoping her fake smile hadn’t slipped. His touch was like grease that seem to cling to her hand long after he’d let go.
Desirée had told Raoul that Benny was American, but he didn’t look like any of the Americans Rebekka knew. In fact, with his coloring and facial structure, he looked typically French to her, though shorter than the average.
“Please have a seat.” He indicated chairs next to a round table.
No American accent, she noted, forgetting for a moment that the hidden microphones would record that fact.
When they were seated, Benny leaned forward in his chair. “Well, I’ve studied the personal information you sent and made a few calls. Everything seems in order, but I’ll need to check your ID.”
They had planned for this. Reaching across the table, they showed the identity cards their investigator had made, and André also took out his driver’s license. Rebekka murmured something about neglecting to bring her license so Benny wouldn’t realize that her address wasn’t the same as her “husband’s.”
As he studied the cards, Rebekka looked around the room, noting the double bed, the TV set on a sturdy coffee table, the framed painting of the Eiffel Tower, and the gold-and-white wall paper. Set in an alcove, there was also a microwave on a counter next to a small sink and refrigerator. A large window with heavy tapestry shades completed the layout. Not deluxe accommodations by any means but decidedly better than most rooms she’d seen in her travels.
“Very good,” Benny said, handing back the cards.
“Uh . . .” André cleared his throat. “We’d like to see ID, too, if you don’t mind.”
Rebekka didn’t think Benny would like that, but he whipped out a blue passport from his shirt pocket. “Sure thing. I’m American, you see. That’s how I get around so well to find children who need to be adopted. With an American passport, the world is completely open.”
Rebekka nodded in agreement, though she suspected the passport was a fake. If he was American, wouldn’t he have at least a slight accent?
“So you want a girl baby, do you?” Benny asked.
They nodded. “Between about two and three months old,” André said. “We’ve heard that most infant deaths occur before two months, so we want to make sure the baby’s healthy.” This was something Raoul had come up with last night to make sure the baby would be around Nadia’s age.
Benny picked up a briefcase under the table and withdrew a notepad from it and jotted something down. “Anything else?”
“Well, it may sound stupid . . .” Rebekka began.
“Go on. I assure you, I have heard it all.”
“We wanted the baby to look like us. You know, dark hair, dark eyes—either gray or brown—and white skin.”
Benny frowned. “How white are we talking—Norwegian white?”
“No,” Rebekka said. “My husband’s family does have a bit of olive tones, so that would be okay, but we’d like her to look French. I know that may sound silly, but I don’t want people guessing she’s adopted. We plan to keep it a secret.”
Benny consulted his list. “Would red hair be an option? You have red.”
“My wife’s hair is really a very dark auburn,” André broke in. “Almost brown. So if it’s really dark, that’d be fine, but not bright red or red-blonde. That would be too much difference.”
“I see.” Frowning, Benny tapped the end of the pen on his wide chin. Rebekka was sure he’d seen right through their charade and would call them on it, but instead he said. “I think I might be able to help you, but it”—he cleared his throat—“will require a fee above the amount we already discussed. I actually do have such a baby available, a baby with dark brown hair, but I was going to give her to another couple who have been waiting a lot longer than you. To bump you ahead will require a rush fee.”
“How much?” they said in unison.
Benny lifted the page he was writing on, wrote something on the paper beneath, then ripped it off, folded it and passed it to André. When he unfolded it, Rebekka caught sight of a lot of zeros. It really didn’t make a difference. They would agree to pay anything if it helped them find Nadia.
“It’ll take me a while to get this money,” André said hesitantly. “A few days . . . maybe a week.”
“I’ll need half in three days and another half when we sign the contract. And we must sign the contract before I turn over the baby.”
“Could I see her?” Rebekka didn’t have to fake the eagerness in her voice. “I mean, when we pay the first half? We’ll want to see that she’s . . .”
“What I promised, eh?” Benny chuckled. “I’ll do you one better.” He reached into his briefcase and withdrew a cell phone. “You can see her right now.”
Rebekka exchanged a surprised glance with André. This was more than either had hoped for.
Minutes later a nondescript woman with dark hair and swarthy skin knocked on the door. Benny didn’t greet her but snatched the small bundle she carried and settled it in Rebekka’s startled grasp.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. Then she murmured, “She’s beautiful.”
André put his arm around her and touched the baby’s soft cheeks. “Beautiful,” he echoed.
The baby was so tiny that Rebekka felt awkward holding her, fearing she might somehow damage the infant. At the same time the baby seemed to belong in her arms. Dark hair framed the small, perfectly proportioned face, blemished only by a minuscule flurry of red rashes on her forehead; and the eyes staring up at them were dark, though the exact color was difficult to determine. She had two miniature arms and legs and every finger was accounted for. She was absolutely perfect, and Rebekka loved her immediately.
Except for one thing: she wasn’t Nadia. Even though the newborn picture Raoul had of Nadia wasn’t very clear, and Nadia would have changed drastically since it had been taken, this baby’s eyes were much wider set, the shape of her face too round, and her skin was a shade too dark to be Desirée and Raoul’s daughter. Tears leaked from Rebekka’s eyes. She so wanted this to be her niece.
Lifting her face to André’s, she saw that he also knew the child wasn’t the one they were searching for. “Isn’t she a little young?” he asked.
“Certainly not,” Benny assured them with emphatic waving of his hand. “She’s two months old. Born a week premature, but in perfect health.” He reached for the baby, but Rebekka stepped away.
“Just a minute more . . . please?”
Benny nodded, and she sat on the edge of the double bed with the baby while the men talked. The woman who had brought the baby stood placidly by the door, her fleshy face showing no emotion. Rebekka bet she wasn’t the baby’s mother. No mother would be able to stand by so stoically and watch another woman buy her child. The woman was likely someone who was paid to watch the baby while Benny did business.
Big business, Rebekka thought, remembering the zeros. Enough to buy several nice apartments.
So who loved this baby? There had to be someone. Benny was obviously doing everything he could to profit from the child’s existence. Rebekka could only hope the mother of the baby had given her daughter up willingly. I wouldn’t be able to do so, Rebekka thought. She’s too precious.
Was that why Desirée had kept Nadia so long without telling Raoul? Had even she felt a connection to her baby?
At least Nadia has us searching for her. I wonder if anyone cares where this child ends up.
An idea formed in her mind. “Ah, Benny?” she said. “The baby—I think she needs a diaper change. Could I . . .?”
Benny laughed, and for a moment Rebekka imagined seeing dollars signs in his eyes. He motioned to the woman who fished into her bag and brought out a diaper and a small tub of wipes. She put them on the bed and then returned to her post by the door.
André came to stand by the bed, but Rebekka flashed him an intent stare, willing him to keep Benny occupied. “I can do this, honey,” she said. “Why don’t you work out the final details with Benny?” Then for a drama’s sake, she added, “We will be able to get the money, won’t we? She’s so perfect!”
André blinked at her once and Rebekka wondered if she’d overacted. Role-playing had never been her strong suit. But he smiled and turned back to Benny.
Rebekka laid the baby on the bed next to the diaper. She put her own purse nearby, purposefully spilling the contents. “
Oops,” she said, laughing as self-consciously as she knew how. “Well, I can pick it up in a minute,” she cooed to the baby. “You come first.”
She knelt next to the bed, unsnapped the baby’s one-piece outfit, and pulled out her legs. She wore yellow and pink striped socks underneath. “We’d better take off those socks so I don’t accidentally get them dirty.” Her feet were tiny and perfect, except for the skin that was flaking off.
Wasn’t flaking skin the sign of a much younger infant? Rebekka wished she knew more about babies. “My goodness, little one, you are so tiny and look at those little feet. They look good enough to eat!” The baby smiled briefly. Rebekka knew that probably said something about her age as did the completely healed belly-button, but she wasn’t sure what.
She had changed enough diapers to know how it was done, but never on such a small baby. Her problem was getting the tapes tight enough. “There, I think that’s it,” she said, rolling the old diaper tightly so Benny and the woman wouldn’t know it hadn’t been messy after all. “We’d better get your socks back on.”
Using her spilled purse as a shield, she wiped her compact off on the bed before taking the baby’s foot and planting it on top. Then she quickly redressed the baby. “There, all done,” she said a minute later. It nearly broke her heart to give the baby back to Benny, but the infant didn’t seem to mind.
“In two days we’ll meet again,” Benny said. “I’ll e-mail you to tell you the place and time, okay?”
“Take good care of her,” Rebekka told him.
Benny grinned. “Oh, we will. We always do. And soon she’ll be with you forever.” He motioned to the door.
Rebekka shook her head. “My purse. It spilled on the bed.”
“Well, we’ll just go ahead of you,” Benny said. “See you in two days.” He pumped Rebekka’s hand and then André’s and started for the door. The woman, once again holding the baby, followed.
Rebekka’s hand felt greasy from Benny’s touch, and crossing to the bed, she wiped her hand on a tissue from her purse. “Does the man ever wash his hands?” she wondered aloud. She gathered up her things and put them into her purse—except for the compact which she cradled carefully in her hand.
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