Spike chose this moment to start growling at Valerie. Growling, and stalking slowly toward her, as if planning to attack.
Chapter 11
“No!” I shouted to Spike. “Bad dog!”
He didn’t pay any attention. Luckily he was so intent on growling at Valerie and creeping in her direction that I was able to grab him and shove him into the hall closet without taking any damage. Shoving Spike into the closet was what we usually did when he took it into his head to dislike one of our visitors, but usually he managed to bite me in the process. This time he was so intently focused on Valerie that he barely noticed me. From inside the closet he continued to growl, and then he escalated to barking and hurling himself against the door.
“Sorry,” I said. “He’s badly trained, but he makes a good watchdog.”
Meredith shuddered. Valerie didn’t seem to have noticed the danger she’d been in. She was still holding her cigarettes and lighter. Then she sighed in the overly dramatic manner I’d have expected from a teenager and stuck them back in her pocket.
“Where’s the baby?” Meredith was using her annoying perky voice. “We don’t want to waste any more time reuniting mother and child, now do we?” Yes, it had definitely been a long drive.
“If it is her baby,” I said. “Let’s not get her hopes up till we’re sure.”
“Of course, of course.” Meredith sounded slightly irritated that I was interfering with her happy ending.
I led them into the living room. If I thought I was about to be reunited with one of my boys, I’d have knocked Meredith down in my haste to reach the crib and pick him up again. Valerie slouched along behind us, studying her surroundings with sullen eyes.
“Here she is,” Meredith trilled, gesturing dramatically toward the crib. Valerie shot her an annoyed glance—I warmed to Valerie, just a little, for that—and glanced casually down into the crib. Lark had awakened and was in a good mood. She smiled up at us and made gurgling noises as she waved her arms and legs.
Valerie’s face didn’t light up in recognition. She didn’t utter any cries of joy. She didn’t reach down to pick up Lark. She studied her for a few moments then nodded.
“You recognize her?” I asked.
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“Pretty much?” I probably let my disbelief show.
“My ex has had her more’n me.” She glanced at Lark again. “She’s grown a lot.”
At that point, Tinkerbell began growling—a deep bass sound you felt as much as heard.
“Shush, Tink,” I said.
She shushed, but I could tell she didn’t like it. She was staring intently at Valerie.
Hell, I didn’t like it. Spike hated everybody—well, everybody but Josh and Jamie. Tink, on the other hand, was an excellent judge of character. She and I studied Valerie through narrowed eyes.
Meredith didn’t seem to like how things were going.
“I’m sure Mrs. Peters is a little overwhelmed by all this,” she said. “I’ll go get the car seat and we’ll take the baby off your hands.”
What was wrong with Meredith? Normally she’d be the first to insist on paperwork in triplicate and every other formality she could think of. The only thing I could think of was that being in charge of Lark for five minutes had so traumatized her that she’d do anything to avoid repeating the experience.
“Surely we’re not going to hand over Lark until we have positive proof that she actually is Mrs. Peters’s baby,” I said.
“Didn’t I just say she was?” Valerie said.
“Meg, really,” Meredith began.
“I know, I know,” I said, shaking my head with mock regret. “It’s terrible that we have to take care of all those formalities. But I’m sure Mrs. Peters will understand why we have to do it. I mean, what if some nut case had showed up and tried to claim the baby before she got here? You brought some kind of identification, right? A footprint, for example.”
“Yeah, right.” Valerie rolled her eyes.
“Meg,” Meredith tried again. “The baby recognized her.”
I considered pointing out that Lark was a very happy baby, and would probably have reacted much the same to anyone she saw. That, in fact, I would have expected a much stronger reaction if Valerie really were her mother. But I suspected Meredith wouldn’t get it.
“It’s a liability issue, you know,” I said instead. “The county attorney will kill us if we don’t dot every i and cross every t.”
That got through to her. I could see the familiar everything-in-triplicate Meredith begin to reassert herself.
“Well, of course—but how can we possibly?” she spluttered. “I mean—it’s not like the baby would have any kind of ID.”
“She has the best kind of ID,” I said. “Her DNA. We’ve already taken her DNA to see if it matches Rob’s—we’ll just get a DNA sample from Mrs. Peters, and I can get the test expedited.”
Valerie looked blank, as if she hadn’t understood a word of this. Meredith looked put-upon—clearly she’d been hoping to expedite Lark out of her jurisdiction as soon as possible—but she nodded.
“That’s going to take time, though, isn’t it?” she asked, through clenched teeth.
“Remember, Grandfather has that rapid DNA machine,” I said. “The one that only takes a couple of hours to process a sample. And we should be able to get the DNA sample right away—last time I looked Horace was here taking his dinner break.”
I pulled out my phone as I was speaking and called him.
“What’s up, Meg?” he asked.
“Are you still here in our kitchen?”
“Finishing up that plate of lasagna,” he said. “Excellent batch, by the way. You need anything?”
“Can you come out and take another DNA sample?” I asked. “In fact, two—one for official processing, and one for Grandfather to expedite through his lab.”
“Another paternity candidate?”
“Maternity this time,” I said. “But we need confirmation.”
“Roger,” he said. “Where are you?”
“The living room.”
I turned back to Meredith and Valerie.
“He’ll be right out.”
Meredith smiled the sort of brittle smile that let me know I was trying her patience. Valerie didn’t appear to be listening. She’d discovered the cut-glass jar full of red-and-green-foil-wrapped Hershey Kisses that Mother had positioned on the coffee table as part of the décor, and had grabbed a handful. Clearly not her first candy binge—her teeth were yellow, and I could even see a couple of spots of decay. Was Meredith really going to turn over a helpless baby to a woman who apparently hadn’t found her way to the dentist in a decade or two?
“Hey, Meg.” Horace stepped through the archway between the hall and the living room. He was holding a pair of DNA collection kits in one hand and a pair of gloves in the other.
“Hey, Horace,” I said. “You know Meredith Flugleman from Child Protective Services. This is—”
But before I could introduce Valerie, she spotted Horace. She dropped the candy jar—fortunately it landed on the sofa and didn’t break, though the candies flew everywhere. She paused for a second, staring at Horace as if he were the Ghost of Christmas Yet-to-Come. Then she made a dash for the hall. She had to go past Horace to do so.
“Hey,” he said, reaching out an arm as if to stop her.
She threw her purse at him, hitting him square in the face. Then she ran past him into the hall. I heard the front door open and slam shut.
“What has gotten into her?” Meredith said. “Horace, what did you say to her?”
“He didn’t say anything,” I pointed out. “Or we would have heard him.”
“I think it was the uniform,” Horace said.
“Arrest her,” I said.
“On what grounds?” Meredith asked.
“Attempted kidnapping,” I suggested. “I bet the DNA test will prove she’s not really Lark’s mother.”
“That would
work.” Horace was pulling on his gloves. Why was he doing that instead of chasing Valerie? “Assaulting a police officer’s good, too.” He bent down to examine the contents of Valerie’s purse, which now lay scattered on the floor around his feet. He picked up something and held it out to show us. A baggie full of dried plant matter. “Possession of marijuana’s even better.”
“Oh, dear.” Meredith’s face fell. “Are you sure? Perhaps it’s just potpourri.”
Horace held the baggie close to his nose, sniffed, and shook his head. I refrained from rolling my eyes. I could smell the baggie from here. Perhaps Meredith had a cold. Or perhaps she’d led a sheltered life and didn’t recognize the aroma.
“We’ll need to send it in for testing to be sure,” he said. “But if I had to put money on it, I’d bet anything it will turn out to be weed.”
“Shouldn’t you be chasing her?” Meredith sounded indignant.
“Need to secure the evidence first.”
“And the Shiffleys are watching the house,” I said. “In case the mother turns up to check on Lark. I’m sure they’ll see which way she goes.”
“Good to know.” Horace was dropping the telltale baggie into a brown evidence envelope. “And from the look of her, I doubt if she’ll be hard to catch. Does she have a vehicle?”
“She came with me.” Meredith was working her way up from indignant to full-out righteous wrath. “She told the most barefaced lies imaginable, and got me to bring her out here in an attempt to kidnap the baby. Why on earth do you suppose she did it?”
“She’s probably so out of it she didn’t realize Lark wasn’t her baby. I mean, assuming she really did have a baby kidnapped to begin with. Might be worth checking with the Suffolk PD in case it turned out to be a false report. Aha. Paraphernalia.”
He tucked two more items from Valerie’s purse into evidence envelopes. Then, while writing on the envelopes with one hand, he pulled out his phone with the other and punched some buttons.
“Hey, Debbie Ann,” he said. “Can you put out a BOLO on a suspect? Her name is—” He looked questioningly at us.
“Valerie Peters,” Meredith and I said in unison.
“Valerie Peters,” Horace echoed. “About five-two, slender, probably in her twenties. Wearing a brown coat and a brown knit cap. Just fled the Waterstons’ house on foot. Wanted for assaulting a police officer, suspected possession of marijuana, and attempted kidnapping.… Roger. No, we’re fine here. I’m going to give pursuit, but if she doubles back, I think Meg could take her with one hand tied behind her back. And Meg says there’s Shiffleys watching the house, so they’ve probably got eyes on. Okay—later.”
He smiled at me as he shoved his phone in his pocket.
“I’ll keep you posted,” he said and hurried out to his car.
About thirty seconds later I heard his siren start up.
“My goodness.” Meredith collapsed onto the couch, not even noticing that she had landed on some of the scattered chocolates.
I picked the rest up and put them back in the jar. Then I gave Tinkerbell a liver treat.
“Good dog,” I said. “You know a phony when you see one.”
I let Spike out and gave him a treat as well. He strutted proudly back to the hearth, as if he had single-handedly foiled the kidnapping attempt. Then he and Tink curled up, one on each side of the portable crib.
I strolled over to the tree—not one of the red-and-gold ones in the hall, but the main tree in the corner of the living room, the one that didn’t have a theme, just all the ornaments Michael and I had picked up over the years. I sorted through the presents until I found a reasonably large one addressed to Dad from Michael and me. I began unwrapping it, working as carefully as possible, in the hope that I could reuse the paper.
“It’s not Christmas yet.” Meredith was looking shocked, as if she found the idea of opening a present on December twenty-first only slightly less heinous than trying to kidnap a baby. “It’s not even Christmas Eve till Monday.”
“I know,” I said. “I just want to try out Dad’s present. See if it works okay.”
“So what is it, anyway?” she asked, when I pulled the paper off.
“A radio,” I said. “One that gets the police channels. I thought we’d test it out by seeing if we can pick up what’s happening with the search for Valerie.”
I fixed us both cups of tea, and for a while we sat side by side on the sofa, listening as the chief and his officers tracked down and apprehended Valerie. Meredith wasn’t all that bad company when she was stunned into silence. And Horace was right. Valerie didn’t prove hard to catch, thanks to some help from the Shiffleys watching the perimeter.
“Well, I’m glad that’s taken care of.” As soon as word came over the radio that Valerie was on her way to the police station, Meredith chugged the last bit of her tea and stood up. “So sorry to have interrupted your day with this. Suffolk County should have done a much better job at vetting Mrs. Peters. I will be letting them know my thoughts on the subject. Meanwhile, I should be going. We could be having more snow any minute now.”
Her expression suggested she was terrified of being stranded out here in the back of the beyond. Or maybe it was being stranded with my family that gave her pause. She collected her purse and coat, walked briskly to the door, and put on all her wraps as quickly as possible.
“Have a safe trip back,” I said as I let her out. Yes, it did look like snow, and I shared Meredith’s eagerness not to be snowbound together.
My cell phone rang as I was heading back to the couch. It was Chief Burke.
Chapter 12
“Good work on determining that Mrs. Peters was not our foundling’s mother,” he said. “I’ll drop by later to get a statement from you. Or tomorrow, if tonight’s not convenient.”
“I’ll be up for a while,” I said. “Although tomorrow’s fine if you’re busy tonight. But would you mind telling me what the Dickens is going on? Meredith Flugleman shows up on my doorstep and tries to railroad me into giving Lark to a pothead who may not even be her mother—in what universe does that make sense?”
“Apparently Ms. Flugleman dashed down to Suffolk as soon as she heard about the kidnapping there, intent on reuniting Mrs. Peters with her missing baby. Without telling me or liaising with my counterpart down there. And for some reason, without her usual insistence on a foot-high stack of paperwork. Wretched woman.” I suspected if the chief hadn’t long ago given up cursing he’d have added a more pungent adjective or two. “And according to the Suffolk police, it wasn’t a kidnapping after all—not surprisingly, the dad has custody, and the child was with him all the time. Mrs. Peters could be in some trouble for filing false charges against her ex—although I was pleased to hear that they hope to use that as leverage to get her into much-needed treatment.”
“Let’s hope Meredith has the good sense to stay away from Suffolk for a while,” I said.
“Or that she carefully observes the speed limit if she does venture down there.” The chief chuckled.
“So if the Suffolk father had the baby all along, why did Valerie identify Lark as hers?”
“She was probably too drugged to realize she was looking at the wrong infant,” the chief said. “Cannabis doesn’t enhance IQ. Or maybe she was afraid she’d get in trouble if she didn’t claim the baby, after Ms. Flugleman had taken all the trouble to bring her up here. We may never know. Although I’ll certainly be asking her once the public defender gets here and we start talking to her.”
“As if you need another distraction.”
“She probably won’t be much of one,” he said. “We’ll be arraigning her here in the morning, and probably extraditing her back to Suffolk before tomorrow’s over. Then we can get back to looking for Lark’s real mother. And Clay County’s attempted murder suspect.”
“And Mrs. Thistlethwaite’s cat.”
“Oh, Pemberley’s been found. Behind that new seafood restaurant on the town square. And Clarence Rutledge is arrang
ing to attach a small tracking device to his collar—like the ones your grandfather uses for his zoo animals. Should make future cat hunts a little less stressful.”
“At least something’s going right then.”
“I’ll fill you in when I come out to take your statement about Mrs. Peters.” With that he hung up.
I was just slipping the phone into my pocket when it rang again. Not a familiar number, but I answered anyway.
“Ms. Langslow? Um … it’s Caleb Shiffley?” From the rising inflection, it almost sounded as if he was unsure of his own name. Probably just unsure of his reception.
“Hi, Caleb,” I said. “What’s up?”
“Um … Vern said to call you? I mean, if we found the suspect?”
“Suspect? Isn’t she on her way down to the jail by now?”
“Not the lady Ms. Flugleman brought. The other lady. The one we caught trying to sneak into your yard just now.”
My pulse quickened.
“Bring her in,” I said. “You can use the back door if it’s closer. And you might want to let Chief Burke know she’s here. I think he wants to talk to her, too.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I made sure Lark was soundly asleep with the dogs on either side and made my way quietly to the kitchen. I peered out the window over the sink. The first snowflakes were starting to fall, and it looked as if they were sticking to the ground on the shoveled paths. Normally our two younger llamas would have been frolicking in it, while the older two just stood around sticking out their tongues to catch snowflakes—had they picked that up from the boys?—but now all four of them were clustered just inside the fence along one side of their pen watching a small party of humans approaching on one of the paths. Caleb Shiffley was in the lead, and another Shiffley, whose name I didn’t remember offhand, brought up the rear. Between them was the woman. They towered over her, but then they were Shiffleys. Shiffleys only came in two sizes: tall and taller. She probably wasn’t more than two or three inches short of my five foot ten. She wasn’t wearing a hat—just a silk scarf tied around her head in babushka style—and her coat didn’t look nearly warm enough for the weather. When they climbed the back steps, I could see that she wasn’t even wearing boots.
Lark! the Herald Angels Sing Page 7