The Detective's Secret Daughter

by Rachelle Mccalla

  “I—wow—that’s so…” Victoria tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t squash the excitement that sparkled in her daughter’s eyes. There was nothing she could say, no way to break off her daughter’s gig without breaking her heart. “You’ll have to practice, Paige. You’ll want to know all the words by heart.”

  “Oh, I will. I will, I will.” Paige’s blond braids danced as she jumped up and down.

  “This is something to look forward to.” Owen rubbed his hands together. “I can’t wait to hear you sing, Paige.”

  Owen’s words were another reminder that he would be there Saturday, too. In her café. Watching her daughter—his daughter—sing for his family.

  She met his eyes for just a moment, intent on communicating their need to talk, but Aiden spoke first.

  “Owen, since you’re here, you can give me a hand with the tree branch that broke off in Mrs. Murphy’s backyard. This snow was too much for it.”

  “Sure thing, Dad.” Owen looked a little reluctant to let Victoria and Paige leave without him, but he said goodbye and told Paige, “I’ll be looking forward to hearing you sing Saturday.”

  Excited about Aiden’s invitation, Paige fluttered like a kite in the wind, tugging on Victoria’s arm, fairly pulling her all the way home to the inn up the street. Victoria, like an anchor, hung back, her heart weighed down with heavy thoughts.

  They would love Paige. Of course, the whole Fitzgerald family would love her. And then it would happen—the thing she’d feared from the moment she’d learned she was pregnant.

  They would take her away.

  Victoria had watched in horror ten years before when she’d gone to stay with her aunt and cousin after her father died, and her cousin’s friend Natasha had been pregnant. Though Natasha hadn’t been a particularly close friend of her cousin, Victoria had immediately felt drawn to her and her story because of their similar situations, both being young, unmarried and pregnant. As she’d watched from a distance, the whole dreadful situation had played out.

  Natasha didn’t have money or influence or family, but her baby’s father did. And her baby’s father had wanted custody of the child. At first everyone had insisted it would never happen, but even as Victoria had wrestled with how to tell Owen the truth about the child she carried, Natasha had lost custody of her baby to the wealthy and powerful man who’d fathered him.

  Victoria had seen it happen to her cousin’s friend and known in the depths of her heart that it could happen to her, too. The Fitzgerald family owned Fitzgerald Bay. They were the law, the old money, the very foundation upon which the town was built.

  And who was she? The orphaned child of the drunken man whose reckless driving had killed Owen’s cousin. They’d take her child just to get even with her. No one in that family had ever cared for her, except Owen, and he would surely want his daughter raised by his family.

  The only reason she’d dared to return to Fitzgerald Bay, even now, was because her daughter was finally old enough to choose her—to tell the court or anyone else who might try to take her that she wanted to stay with her mother. But even that hope dimmed in the current circumstances.

  She could feel Paige pulling away from her, even as she tugged her arm down the street. She was growing older—rebelling, in her own preteen way. And honestly, who would choose a cash-strapped mom over a father like Owen, anyway? She’d seen them interact. All he’d have to do was open the coffers and Paige would be his.

  “Don’t you think so, Mom?” Paige tugged on her arm again.

  “Think what?” Victoria realized she’d been so lost in thought, she hadn’t even caught what Paige was saying.

  “My green dress. The one I wore for Christmas. It will be perfect to wear to sing for the Fitzgeralds. It’s emerald-green, like Ireland.” Paige twirled around on the sidewalk, clearly imagining how the green dress would flutter around her so prettily.

  Victoria smiled a bittersweet smile. Her daughter was beautiful. Who would blame the Fitzgeralds for loving her? “And your green hair bow,” she added. “I’ll curl your hair.”

  “Yes!” Paige stopped twirling and jumped up and down again.

  As she watched her daughter’s smiling face, Victoria couldn’t help but wonder if what she felt wasn’t a little bit like what Olivia might have felt. Her child had only been a baby, but she’d been taken away from her, whether by death or her father or some other person.

  And if the anonymous box delivered to the police station told them anything, someone in Fitzgerald Bay knew more about Olivia’s baby than he or she was telling.

  Ryan sat on the edge of Owen’s desk and cleared his throat.

  Owen looked up from the paperwork he’d been trying to finish. “Yes?”

  “Remember Dr. O’Rourke?”

  “On the hospital bracelet?”

  Ryan nodded. “There are a lot of Dr. O’Rourkes in Ireland, but once we weeded out the psychiatrists and professors, we ended up with just a handful of medical doctors.”

  “How many deliver babies?”

  “Two. One was on vacation the entire week of Baby Girl Henry’s birth. The other is Dr. Louise O’Rourke of Dublin. She doesn’t recall anything significant about the birth, although her records indicate she delivered a child for one Olivia Henry, age twenty-two.”

  “So the baby was Olivia’s, after all.”

  “I think we both knew that from the start.”

  “True.” Owen sighed. “But I still hoped maybe the baby belonged to some distant cousin and was being raised by loving parents somewhere—even if it was a long shot.”

  “Obviously that’s not the case. Baby Girl Henry belonged to Olivia.”

  “The baby lived, then?”

  “The doctor believes so.”

  “Don’t the records say—”

  Ryan shook his head. “The only record she could find was the notation in her own personal log. The rest of the hospital records on Baby Girl Henry are missing.”

  “Misplaced?”

  “It doesn’t appear so. Less than a week after Baby Girl Henry was born, there was a robbery in the hospital medical records office. At the time, it didn’t look like anything had been taken. The lock on the door had been broken, as had the lock on one of the file cabinets, but a cursory search of the files inside didn’t turn up anything missing.”

  Owen rubbed his hands over his face, wishing he could block out the words he feared his brother was about to speak.

  “When I asked them to look up records, they realized they should have been in the file cabinet that was broken into. They believe the Henry records were the only ones taken.”

  “Specifically targeted, then. But why bother? Why was it so important that she couldn’t even have hospital records left behind?” Owen puzzled over the new twist in the case.

  “They had to have been up to their necks in illegal activity,” Ryan assured him. “Breaking and entering to steal evidence isn’t something you do unless you’re trying to cover up a worse crime.”

  “So we’ve got nothing, then. No father, no blood type, no solid evidence other than a blanket and a bracelet and a check that came from nowhere.”

  Ryan stood. “Someone in town knows more than they’re telling. Did you follow up with Victoria?”

  “Yes.”

  “And? What did you learn?”

  “She wouldn’t tell me anything, but she certainly looked…” He shook his head, still feeling betrayed by what Victoria’s response had revealed. He was going to have to question her again, to dig deeper until he learned what she knew. Based on her reaction and the look in her eyes, he was certain she had more to tell him.

  “How did she look?” Ryan prompted.

  “Like she knows something.”

 
To his credit, Ryan didn’t look the least bit happy about Owen’s discovery. In fact, his eyes looked sad. “Get to the bottom of it. We need to wrap things up.”

  Seven-thirty. He had half an hour before the Sugar Plum Café closed. Fortunately, the Friday-evening customers appeared to be clearing out. Maybe Victoria would have a chance to talk to him. Owen wasn’t sure he wanted to know the truth—not if it was as ugly as he feared it might be—but Ryan was right. The people of Fitzgerald Bay deserved answers, even if he didn’t like what those answers were.

  The bell jangled at the door as he stepped in, and Victoria looked up from the computer screen at the hostess’s podium with weary eyes.

  “Owen.” Her greeting was neither smile nor frown. “Does your father prefer currants or caraway seeds in his Irish soda bread?”

  Owen had to smile. The woman never stopped working. “Planning the menu for our family gathering?”

  She nodded.

  “Dad likes caraway seeds, but I think the rest of us would prefer currants.”

  “I’ll make both, then.” She sighed and stepped away from the computer. “Are you here on business, or…?”

  “Checking in to make sure everything’s okay here.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was still true. “Since your troubles tend to happen around this time of night, I thought I’d make my presence known.”

  “I appreciate that.” For the first time since he’d stepped in, her weary features bore a trace of a smile.

  Way to make him feel guilty.

  “And I was thinking about our conversation yesterday when we were interrupted by your ringing phone. I don’t think you ever had a chance to tell me what you were going to say.”

  “Oh. Yes.” She looked toward the dining room. “Do you mind if I check on Paige a moment? I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  Victoria hurried to Paige’s room. Ready as she was to share everything with Owen, she wanted to be certain her daughter wasn’t going to walk in on their conversation. That would be the worst possible way for Paige to learn the truth.

  Besides that, the mere thought of discussing Paige with Owen made her want to hug her daughter tight, as though she could hold on to her forever.

  Paige stretched out on top of the purple comforter that covered her bed and looked up from the book she was reading. “It’s not bedtime yet.”

  “I know, honey. I just—” Her voice caught, in spite of her desire to keep a level head. She sat down beside Paige and tried not to consider the possibility that Owen would take her away. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” Her voice squeaked up a note.

  Paige shoved a bookmark in place and shut her book. “I’m okay, Mom.” She looked wary. “Did the bad guy come back?”

  “No. No sign of him.” When Paige leaned toward her, Victoria scooped her into her arms, planting a kiss on her blond head. “You know I love you, right?”

  “You tell me that all the time.”

  “Do you like living in Fitzgerald Bay?”

  “Kind of. Except for the bad-guy part. And I’m ready for summer.”

  “I’m ready for summer, too,” Victoria agreed. “And I wish we didn’t have to deal with a bad guy. They’re going to catch him soon.”

  Paige leaned back and looked her mother full in the face. “Is that what you came up here to ask me? If I like this town? We’re not moving again, are we, because you said when we moved here—”

  A scream from downstairs filled the house, and both Victoria and Paige jumped to their feet.

  “Stay here. Lock your door,” Victoria instructed her daughter as she headed downstairs.

  “Want me to call the police?” Paige called after her.

  “No. They’re already here.” Victoria practically leaped down the back stairs and landed in the kitchen, where a wild-eyed Charlotte was gasping and pointing.

  “A man. He was peeking in the windows. Owen went after him.”

  Victoria peered through the open doorway in time to see Owen leading a large male figure back toward the inn.

  The guy didn’t look to be fighting him.

  “I just came by to see if Britney was still here,” the youth announced as Owen escorted him into the kitchen.

  “Britney left already. Did you try calling her?” Victoria looked at the young man and tried to decide if he was big enough to be the shadowy figure they’d seen outside. He was certainly tall, but not as burly as she remembered. But then, a bulky coat might make all the difference.

  “I have her phone.” The guy pulled away from Owen and, with one hand held up in an innocent gesture, slowly pulled a phone from his pocket with his other hand.

  “That looks like Britney’s phone.” Victoria recognized it. “Do you want me to call her home number?” She looked to Owen for guidance.

  He nodded.

  Moments later, with Britney on the way, Victoria raced upstairs to assure Paige that everything was all right.

  Paige insisted on coming downstairs to see the man who’d been apprehended. As she entered the kitchen, she shook her head. “That’s not him.”

  “Not the same guy who robbed the safe?” Owen clarified.

  “He’s not as big, and he has an earring.” Paige pointed to the young man’s ear. “He’s not the guy who robbed the safe, and he’s not the man from outside the windows, either.”

  Britney came in the front door a few moments later. “Clint? I thought I told you we were over.”

  “Fine with me, but I figured you’d want your phone back. You left it in my car.”

  While the young couple bickered behind her, Victoria steered Paige toward the stairs. “Now it is getting close to your bedtime.”

  Owen cleared his throat behind her.

  Victoria felt the muscles in her back tense. Yes, she needed to talk to Owen. Their conversation was ten years overdue. But it wasn’t going to be an easy conversation, and she had a frightened child to put to bed first. “Can you come back in half an hour?”

  “Thirty minutes.” Owen nodded. “I’ll be here.”

  SIX

  Owen watched Charlotte lock the door behind her on her way out. He appreciated the hostess letting him wait inside for Victoria to finish getting Paige tucked into bed. Moments later, Victoria descended the stairs.

  “I hope you don’t mind if I work while we talk.” She headed past him for the kitchen. “I still have preparations to make before your family’s brunch tomorrow morning.”

  “Go right ahead. In fact, if there’s anything I can do to help…”

  “Thanks, but I’ve got it.” Victoria climbed onto a step stool and reached high onto the neatly arranged pantry shelves that edged one wall of the kitchen. She reached above her head and tugged on an enormous sack of flour.

  Owen watched the determined woman for a few seconds before he stepped in, planting one foot on the step stool and lifting the fifty-pound sack easily from its perch. He set it on the island countertop behind him and smiled at her.

  She looked flustered. “I’m used to doing that myself.”

  “I thought I could lighten your load.” Owen wondered at her independent spirit. Of course she was used to doing everything herself. She’d lost her mother when she was hardly older than Paige, had taken care of her perpetually drunk father and raised Paige by herself for the past nine years.

  He watched as she opened the gigantic bag and began measuring out flour into the bowl of an industrial-size mixer near the walk-in fridge doors.

  “You wanted to ask me more about Olivia Henry?” She didn’t look up as she counted off the cups under her breath.

  Never one to beat around the bush, Owen came out and asked the question his brother had sent him to ask. “Did you sen
d the Baby Henry package to the police station?”

  Victoria dropped the measuring cup into the mixing bowl and looked as though she’d have tumbled in after it, had the bowl been any bigger. “Of course not!” She retrieved the cup and tapped it on the edge of the bowl to dust it off. “How would I? Why would you even think that?”

  “You arrived at the same time as the package. You filled in the gaps in Olivia’s story with remarkable insight. Olivia lived here. She was your friend.”

  “Is that all?”

  “You’ve never brought cookies to the police station before. It seemed suspicious.”

  Victoria looked at him silently for a moment, her mouth open as though she wanted to speak but wasn’t sure where to start. “Let’s get one thing straight,” she said finally. “The gaps I filled in, in Olivia’s story? Those are just theories, okay? I don’t know anything about Olivia’s situation. I was as surprised as anyone that she might have had a baby. That was just me, reacting to what I saw. Don’t think for a second that my version of her story is the way it is. The situation could be completely different. I don’t want to point you in the wrong direction.”

  Owen watched her carefully. Victoria certainly looked as if she was telling the truth, but then, he’d sincerely believed her to be in love with him ten years before. Obviously, based on the way she’d run off with Hank and never looked back, he’d been wrong.

  He’d trusted her too much in high school and let his feelings for her cloud his judgment. But every time he looked in her eyes now, he felt the same pull of her allure, the same sympathetic affection that had tricked him into trusting her too much back then. He didn’t want to be duped by her again—not when all of Fitzgerald Bay was so eagerly awaiting answers about Olivia Henry’s murder.