Lark! the Herald Angels Sing

by Donna Andrews

  “Roger.”

  I disconnected the call and stared down at the baby. Lark, as I supposed we should start calling her.

  “Can you hold that thing up again?” I pointed to the note.

  Robyn obliged, and I used my cell phone to take pictures of both sides of the note.

  “Is Debbie Ann sending someone?” Robyn asked.

  “The chief and several deputies. Look, the chief will probably want to talk to me, but I don’t want to leave the kids unsupervised for too much longer. I left Kirstie in charge, but I’m not sure how long she can keep them in line. The last time I had to leave rehearsal for this long I came back to find the wise guys playing poker with Melchior’s gold and shepherds running chariot races by hitching the sheep to the costume storage boxes.”

  “You go on,” Robyn said. “I can watch both babies.”

  “Until both of them need something at once. I can’t do that to you.”

  Robyn looked relieved. After all, she was still a fairly new mother—and hadn’t had my experience of managing infants in pairs. If Noah wasn’t so single-mindedly attached to her, I’d volunteer to watch both infants. In fact, I realized with a sigh, I probably should anyway. Robyn could handle the pageant cast. And—

  “Meg? What’s going on?” Michael stepped into the office, looking both elegant and professorial in gray flannel pants and a tweed jacket—he must have come straight from some end-of-semester meeting at the college. The fact that he was in his sock feet was a little incongruous, but presumably he’d left his snow boots with all the rest in the foyer. “I found Josh wandering around the graveyard, peering into the shrubbery and digging into snow drifts. He claimed he was on a secret mission from you.”

  “He is,” I said, and quickly explained about the foundling.

  “What a cutie,” he said, softly, as he peered down at the sleeping Lark. “So what can I do to help?”

  “Can you take over the rehearsal?” I asked.

  “While you talk to the chief?” he said. “Can do.”

  “And treat the manger as a crime scene,” I said. “Keep the kids away from it.”

  “Roger.”

  He strode out. A few minutes later I heard his resonant voice from the sanctuary.

  “Thank goodness,” Robyn breathed. “Michael is so good with the children.”

  “And any changes he makes to my blocking are bound to be improvements,” I said. “And the kids might be a little more willing to take orders from someone who is both a professional actor and a college drama professor.”

  “I’m sure they’re delighted to be working with you,” Robyn protested.

  “Anyway, I have one more call to make before the chief gets here.” I pulled out my phone, took a deep breath, and punched the shortcut button to call Rob.

  Chapter 4

  “Hey, Meg,” Rob said. “What’s up?”

  “Long story,” I said. “And I think I should tell you in person. Can you come over to Trinity?”

  “You mean now? It’s the middle of the workday.”

  “You’re the boss,” I pointed out. “You can set your own hours.”

  “But it’s up to me to set a good example,” he said. “And we’re going to have a really interesting discussion on the new virtual reality game in a few minutes, and then—”

  “Rob—remember the discussion we had the night before last?”

  A pause, while Rob searched his memory. The discussion in question had been about the relative merits of surprising Delaney with an engagement ring versus letting her pick out her own.

  “Yea-ah,” he said, slowly.

  “If you want that project to keep moving forward, get over here ASAP.”

  I cut the connection. And when Rob tried to call me back, I ignored him. If he complained, I’d explain that I had to talk to Chief Burke.

  It wouldn’t be entirely a lie. While I was ignoring Rob’s attempts to return my call, the chief strode into Robyn’s office, his round brown face creased in a slight scowl.

  “So you’ve found an abandoned baby?” he asked. “What happened?”

  I pointed at the portable crib, and explained, while the chief stared down at Lark. The sight of her brought a quick smile to his face, in spite of the seriousness of the situation. On cue, Robyn held up the tweezers to display the note.

  “And no one noticed who left the poor little cherub?” he asked when I’d finished.

  “I’d have had my back to the manger and was busy trying to keep order.” I explained about the rowdy wise persons and the dueling shepherds. “Normally I run a pretty efficient rehearsal, but the kids were just wild today.”

  “Not surprising,” he said. “After all, they only had a half day of school today, and they’re all pumped up about the start of their winter vacation.” The chief and his wife were raising three of their grandchildren, so he was equally au courant with the school situation.

  “Not to mention the fact that I don’t think a single class did a lick of real work today,” I grumbled. “Apparently they all watched Mr. Magoo’s Christmas Carol and How the Grinch Stole Christmas and ate Christmas candy. I know scientists claim there’s really no such thing as a sugar high, but I’m not convinced.”

  “Neither am I,” he said. “And to top it all off, most of them can’t wait to go out and play in the snow.”

  “Yeah. I keep telling them it’s not going anywhere for the next few days,” I said. “So since I was wrangling the wild bunch, King Kong could have walked through the room and I wouldn’t have noticed. And if any of the kids had seen anything I’m sure they’d have found it much more interesting than the rehearsal, and they’d have made a big fuss. But I didn’t ask them—I didn’t want to contaminate any potential witnesses with my amateur interrogation efforts.”

  “I think after more than a decade of motherhood you’ve forfeited your amateur status when it comes to interrogation,” the chief said with a smile. “But I appreciate your restraint. And here’s Horace.”

  My cousin Horace Hollingsworth had halted in the doorway of Robyn’s office, his stocky frame radiating uncertainty. I could see the very moment when Horace, the parishioner who didn’t often show up for Sunday services, gave way to Horace, the seasoned crime scene specialist. His shoulders straightened, and he stepped inside more confidently. I wondered if I should tell him that one of his socks had a hole in the heel.

  “We need DNA on the baby.” The chief indicated the crib. “And Meg has a piece of evidence for you.”

  “Chief,” Robyn said. “I have to protest—you’re treating this as if it’s a crime. What if some poor woman felt she had to give up her child for the child’s own good? And saw Trinity as a safe, loving place to do so? And—”

  “If that turns out to be the case, I can’t imagine the town attorney would want to press any kind of charges.” The chief sounded perfectly calm, but I noticed with interest that he was clenching his sock-clad toes impatiently. “But whoever left this baby made an accusation of paternity—if that’s true, the biological father would have both a financial responsibility for the child and potentially a legal claim for her custody. We need the DNA to settle that.”

  “I see.” Robyn still didn’t look overjoyed, but she understood the chief’s point.

  “Besides—we got an Amber Alert yesterday. Missing baby in Suffolk. Believed to be custodial interference on the part of the father—”

  “Does the baby look like Lark?” Robyn asked.

  “Hard to say. The only picture they had was badly out of focus and several months old—taken right after the birth, and I have to admit that one chubby red-faced newborn looks a lot like every other to me.”

  “And that’s the only picture they have of their baby?” Robyn sounded incredulous. She had a good point. She and Matt had already taken hundreds of pictures of little Noah. Michael and I probably had hundreds of thousands of our two. What kind of parent wouldn’t have at least a few recent photos of a beautiful baby like Lark?
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br />   “Maybe the father stole the baby pictures along with the baby.” The chief shrugged. “Lark’s the right race, gender, and approximate age—that’s about all you can tell from the hospital photo. I rather doubt that the father abducted the child only to abandon her here, but we’ll need to rule out the possibility that this baby is the one missing from Suffolk. Horace, when you’re finished here, join me in the sanctuary.”

  Horace nodded, and set his forensic kit down on Robyn’s desk. The chief strode out.

  “So what’s the evidence?” Horace said. “Probably a good idea to secure that first. The kid’s DNA isn’t going anywhere.”

  Robyn held up her tweezers. Horace read the note, and his eyes grew wide.

  “Is this for real?” he asked.

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” I said. “However, your expert DNA analysis will be worth more than all of our guesses put together.”

  “What does Rob say?” Horace reached into his kit and took out a brown paper envelope.

  “I haven’t told him yet.”

  “He’s on his way over,” Robyn added. Horace was holding the envelope open. After a gesture from him, Robyn dropped the note into it.

  “I want to break the news to him in person,” I said.

  “You mean you want to see his face when you tell him.” Horace was sealing up the envelope.

  “That too.”

  Robyn was still holding the tweezers, looking as if she missed the fun of being able to show the note to any new arrivals. Then Noah uttered a few piercing shrieks, suggesting he was revving up for another grand scale performance.

  “Just call if you need me,” she said as she hurried toward the door. “I need to take Noah someplace where he won’t deafen everyone.”

  “China, perhaps?” Horace said under his breath when she was safely out the door.

  “I’m sure he’ll be a wonderful addition to the choir when he’s a little older,” I said.

  Horace nodded. He’d finished writing whatever it was he had to write on the brown paper envelope and tucked it into his kit. Then he took out a small package marked DNA COLLECTION KIT.

  “I see you use the swab variety of DNA test,” I said.

  “Works better for our purposes than the kind where you spit in a test tube.” He looked surprised at the question. “Some of our subjects aren’t exactly cooperative, and it can be hard enough to get them to hold still to be swabbed. When did you become such a connoisseur of DNA tests?”

  “Since Grandfather started taking an interest in it, and bought a rapid DNA testing machine for the lab at his foundation.”

  “He has?” Horace looked interested. “Is Dr. Blake thinking of getting his lab certified so we could use it for DNA testing?”

  “You’d have to ask him,” I said. “He’s mostly interested in animal DNA, of course.” Grandfather was a zoologist and environmentalist and had founded the J. Montgomery Blake Foundation to further his work with animals. “But while the lab’s coming up to speed, he’s gotten interested in comparing the accuracy of the results they can achieve with what the various commercial testing services provide. He calls it using humans as the guinea pigs for a change. So most of us have gone through several rounds of spitting into test tubes and having the inside of our cheeks swabbed.”

  “See if you can talk him into getting it certified,” Horace said. “Not that we have to do DNA testing all that often, but when we do, it’s a real pain to have to send the samples down to Richmond.”

  Lark barely stirred as he gently inserted the swab into her half-open mouth and rubbed it against the inside of her cheek. But as he was removing it she opened her eyes and reached out with one tiny, plump hand to grab his gloved index finger.

  Horace froze and stared at her for a few moments. Then he carefully disentangled his finger.

  “Striking blue eyes,” he said.

  Yes, they were striking. Was he merely struck by them, or was he reminding me that Rob, like Lark, had very blue eyes?

  “Indeed,” I said aloud. “Of course, a lot of Caucasian babies are born with blue eyes. Too early to tell if hers will stay blue.”

  “When do babies’ eyes change?” Horace tore his gaze away from the baby and focused on putting the swab in the sterile container and labeling it.

  “It varies,” I said. “Dad always says you have no way of knowing the eye color for sure before the kid’s first birthday.”

  “Any idea when Rob’s getting here?” Horace was tucking the DNA kit into his bag. “I need to swab him, too.”

  “Grandfather should have his DNA profile on file,” I reminded him.

  “Grandfather’s files don’t have a proper legal chain of custody,” Horace said. “I hope we don’t end up needing that, but just in case…”

  I nodded.

  “So when Rob gets here—” Horace began.

  “I’m here! I’m here!” Rob burst into the office. “The suspense is killing me! What happens when I get here?”

  Horace was reaching into his bag and suddenly froze. I turned to see what he was looking at.

  Delaney had come along with Rob.

  Chapter 5

  “So what’s the big emergency?” Rob asked.

  “I’m dying of curiosity,” Delaney added. I noticed that they were wearing matching blue socks with pink flamingos on them. At any other time that would have made me chuckle. Now—

  My phone rang. It was Debbie Ann, from the police station.

  “Hey, Debbie Ann,” I said. “Horace is here, and Rob and Delaney just arrived.” I hoped she’d read between the lines that unless she was calling me about something earth-shattering, she should probably let me get back to figuring out how to brief Rob on what was happening without sending Delaney into orbit.

  “I won’t keep you then,” she said. “Just wanted to let you know that your dad’s heading over to the church to check out the baby, and Meredith Flugleman should be there any time now.”

  “Meredith Flugleman? Why—Oh, of course.” Meredith Flugleman was from Child Protective Services. For that matter she was also from Adult Protective Services. At the moment, she was Caerphilly’s only official social worker. And while she was probably as well-meaning and good-hearted as anyone I’d ever met, she was also so relentlessly upbeat, so cluelessly literal, and so monumentally annoying that the mere prospect of her arrival made me long to be back in the sanctuary dealing with the Christmas candy–hyped pageant cast.

  First I had to brief Rob and Delaney on what was happening—preferably in a way that wouldn’t set off Delaney’s temper.

  “Great,” I said. “I’ll keep you posted. Gotta go.”

  But I’d lost precious time. Delaney had drifted over to the crib.

  “Aww,” she cooed. “Is this Robyn’s kid?”

  “I could have sworn Noah had brown hair,” Rob said.

  “He does,” Horace said.

  “Then who’s this?”

  “Her name’s Lark,” I said.

  “Pretty name.” Delaney reached out a finger and laughed as Lark grabbed it. “Whose is she?”

  “Long story,” I said.

  “We don’t know yet,” Horace said.

  “What do you mean you don’t know yet?” Rob asked. “Who left her here?”

  “Mr. Langslow.” The chief appeared in the doorway. And from his angle he probably only saw Rob. The door blocked his view of Delaney. “Good. After Horace takes your DNA, may I talk to you for a minute?”

  “DNA?” Rob sounded puzzled.

  “DNA?” Delaney didn’t sound puzzled. She glanced from blond, blue-eyed Rob to blond, blue-eyed Lark. And then at Horace, who was clutching his forensic kit protectively to his chest as if arming himself against the outburst that was obviously coming. “She’s yours then? Is that what they’re saying?”

  “Mine? Can’t be,” Rob said.

  “Oh, sure,” Delaney said. “Then why are the police here to take your DNA? Do you take me for an idiot?”

 
“I mean it.” Rob was shaking his head. “The kid can’t be mine.”

  “Delaney,” I said. “Someone dropped off the baby here at Trinity with a note that seemed to implicate Rob. But so far that’s just an anonymous accusation. Rob’s DNA can disprove it.”

  Or prove it, if the anonymous accuser was telling the truth. Best not to bring that up right now.

  Not that Delaney was listening anyway. She turned on her heels and headed for the door.

  “Ms. Langslow is correct,” the chief was saying. “You’d think that the availability of DNA testing would discourage false paternity accusations but in fact—”

  He was talking to Delaney’s back as she pushed past him into the hall.

  “Delaney!” Rob started after her. “Wait!”

  “Go to hell!” she called back.

  Rob started to follow her. Horace and I both grabbed him. The two of us together would have had a hard time holding him if he’d made a serious attempt to escape, but he was visibly shaken and didn’t fight us.

  “This will just take a few seconds,” Horace said, pulling out the swab from a second DNA collection kit.

  Rob stood, hopping from foot to foot, while Horace poked around the inside of his mouth with the swab. The second Horace was finished, Rob took off as if I’d fired a starter’s pistol.

  “Sorry,” the chief said. “I didn’t see her. The girlfriend, I gather.”

  “Yes,” I said. “At least she was, up until a few minutes ago. All bets are off at the moment.”

  Vern Shiffley, one of the chief’s deputies, strolled in and leaned his long, angular form against the door jamb, scratching the sole of one grayish-white sock-clad foot against the toe of the other.

  “Word’s out,” he said. “Diverting resources here.”

  “Search parties to see if we can spot the person who dropped off the baby,” the chief said, in answer to my unspoken question.

  “Sorry we didn’t manage to detect whoever did it,” I said. “I know that would have made things easier. Now you have to track him or her down when your department is already overworked, what with all the tourists coming to town for the Christmas in Caerphilly festival.”