by Joan Hess
I resisted the urge to ram her cart and send her stumbling into the strained fiver, beets, peas, carrots, and whatever designer vegetables were being strained these days. “Yes, she’s sixteen, and she’s also about to be late to algebra. I hope your cat recovers.”
“I’m sure she will, in due time.”
I received a few curious glances as I waited in line at the checkout counter, taking some comfort in the fact I did not have the matronly aura of a grandmother. And, yes, I realize some grandmothers run marathons, dance until dawn, oversee megabuck businesses, and have seats in the U.S. Congress or cells in federal penitentiaries. An eclectic group.
Skyler was watching the sunlight on the upholstery when I arrived at the car. Caron ignored me. I dropped her off at the high school, then continued to the Book Depot. I parked behind the store and carried the basket through the back door. Discretion rather than cowardice, I told myself as I made sure Skyler was content.
I’d barely started making coffee when the telephone rang. Despite my reluctance, I answered it with a timid hello.
“What is going on?” demanded Luanne, wasting no time with conventional greetings. “Are you plotting to kidnap the sole heir of a wealthy stockbroker?”
“Know any?”
“That is not an answer.”
“It’s a response, though.”
Luanne took a deep breath. “Why were you buying disposable diapers this morning? Most of us tend to equate diapers with babies. Have you opened an infant day-care center in the back room of the bookstore?”
“In a way,” I admitted, then told her the whole story from Skyler’s first appearance to his most recent one.
“Oh, dear,” she said at last. “Oh, dear. You have no idea who the mother is or why she left the baby on your porch?”
“How could I? I suppose I might try to track Arnie down, but he’s more likely to be on a freight train to Topeka than in a local shelter. The other witness had a car and an attitude. I don’t have a clue where the mother’s been staying for the last month. It’s not that much of a crisis, Luanne. I’m looking at a couple of days of diapers and formula, not the specter of athletic shoes, college tuition, and future in-laws.”
“Sally is convinced that he’s Caron’s child.”
I would have uttered an Anglo-Saxon expletive had Skyler not been observing me; I did not want to be responsible if his first utterance was indelicate. “Sally dealt with Caron and Inez five weeks ago, for pity’s sake! She knows perfectly well that Caron wasn’t wearing pants with an elastic waistband and a maternity blouse.”
“She was rather puzzled,” said Luanne. “So, are you going to Anthony’s press conference?”
“I don’t see how I can.”
Luanne rumbled for a moment, then said, “I’ll find a stroller and a car seat at the thrift shop, and pick up you and your ward at eleven-thirty. If you’re afraid of gossip, I’ll push the stroller.”
I was interested in hearing what Anthony Armstrong had to say, as well as what action he intended to take. Mr. Constantine, the Greens’ lawyer, was shuffling his notes outside the courthouse, so we could expect to learn if he’d been successful in his plea for an injunction. And of course, Skyler was not too young for his first foray into the machinations of local politics. The one person who would have enjoyed it most was oak-bound.
Parking was scarce near the square, but we found a space behind a defunct department store that had succumbed to the mall. The KFAR van had the prime spot in front of the two-story granite courthouse. Jessica was nowhere in sight, but a cameraman was tinkering with his equipment. A substantial crowd had gathered. Finnigan Baybergen and his followers milled about, their signs held high and their voices strident. A few college students in T-shirts and ripped jeans raised clenched fists and chanted slogans that were artfully rhymed but also obscene. The rednecks were not present, which meant they were either working or had lost interest. Two uniformed officers stood on the opposite side of the street.
Several strangers paused to make nonsensical noises at Skyler. Luanne smiled modestly and avoided answering questions. I didn’t know if Sally was there. She took an interest in all matters civic, but she was short enough to be hidden by the crowd. If she approached us, I would come up with a more elaborate lie about the cousin’s arrival and desire for a nap.
A few minutes before noon, Jessica emerged from the van and took her position in front of the camera. She did not smile, but it was clear she was elated to be going “live” with a potentially rowdy audience. With a bit of luck, violence might ensue and her clip would make the national news.
At high noon, so to speak, the front door of the courthouse opened and a man dressed in a somber suit took a position on the steps. He had clipped silver hair and the genial expression of a politician who’d smoked a lot of cigars behind closed doors. He was more than stocky, and his chin was already showing symptoms of wattling, but he was no doubt a formidable presence on the golf course (and in the clubhouse bar). I could easily imagine him issuing an order to raze a hospice or an orphanage to create space for a gourmet coffee shop. We would never be friends. His loss.
Behind him came a bristly man with a briefcase, followed by a woman who looked to be in her early twenties, with flawless ash-blond hair and muted makeup. She wore a floral print ensemble that I assumed was derigueur at country club luncheons and charity style shows. Despite her determined smile, she looked extremely bored with the melodrama of the moment.
Jessica assessed her for a moment, then looked into the camera and said,‘This is Jessica Princeton, live from the steps of the Farberville courthouse. Anthony Armstrong, developer of the controversial Phase Two of Oakland Heights, has called this press conference to tell us his side of the story. Mr. Armstrong?”
“Thank you, Jessica,” he said in a voice as facile as hers. “Before I proceed, let me say I’m a big fan of yours. Adrienne and I make a point of watching you every night. Isn’t that right, honey?” The blond woman obligingly nodded, although she appeared more the type to fret over her nail polish than get mired in local news. I could see that Jessica and Adrienne would never play on the same side of the net at the club tennis tournament.
Armstrong continued. “For those of you who are concerned about Miss Emily Parchester, rest assured that I am equally concerned for her physical well-being. Professor Baybergen provided me with a list of the names of the Farberville Green Party, and a security officer made sure no one else except those listed approached the tree after eleven o’clock last night. I personally spoke to Miss Parchester this morning. She acknowledged that she had not slept well but was looking forward to a cup of tea.”
Finnigan and his followers offered a few catcalls, but subsided when Jessica glowered at them. “So why is it necessary to remove this particular stand of trees, Mr. Armstrong?” she said.
“I have only one acre, the minimum for twenty-four additional units, for which I am required to provide parking spaces. I have spent six months and more than fifty thousand dollars with an engineering firm. I have filed the necessary papers with the city planning board, the landscape department, the streets and sewers commissions, and the tree preservation subcommittee. I have provided everything that is required by all the boards and commissions.”
“And you were given permission to go ahead?”
Armstrong gazed solemnly at the camera. “That’s correct, Jessica. I presented a plan that indicates which trees are to be removed, and the quantity to be replaced after construction is completed to meet the requirements of the city ordinance.”
“How much did you pay under the table for the variance?” shouted Finnigan.
The man with the briefcase stepped forward, but Armstrong blocked him.
“I suspect my lawyer would like to explain the concept of slander, but we all need to act in a spirit of cooperation, not contentiousness. The head of the tree preservation subcommittee reviewed the plan in detail and agreed that I could reduce the canopy by an additional four percent in ord
er to avoid problems that came to light with the grading plan and drainage calculations.”
He went on, but I stopped listening as I spotted a figure standing behind one of the elm trees that ringed the courthouse. “Luanne,” I whispered, elbowing her in the ribs for good measure, “look over there. It’s Skyler’s mother!”
Her face jerked around. “Where?”
I realized the girl must have seen me staring at her, because she had vanished in all of a few seconds. “I’m going to see if I can catch her. Wait here for me.”
I strolled to the corner, hoping I looked nonchalant, then found the place where she’d been. It was hopeless to pursue her; there were stores ringing the square, and the courthouse had an entrance twenty feet away. I could not see myself bursting into every shop, office, and restroom in a three-block radius.
“Did you find her?” Luanne asked as I rejoined her.
I shook my head. “Did I miss anything?”
“A judge is hearing a request for a temporary injunction as we speak, and will rule this afternoon. Shall we go?”
Once Skyler was strapped in the car seat, I said, “Why don’t we pick up some sandwiches and have a picnic at Phase Two? Miss Parchester might like to hear about the press conference.”
Luanne agreed, and Skyler offered no objection. We stopped at one of the sandwich shops on Thurber Street, then made our way through the noon traffic and headed east.
“Why do you think Skyler’s mother was there?” I asked. “She’s likely to have more pressing problems than the deliverance of a stand of trees.”
“Are you sure it was her?”
“I got a good look at her. She’s thin, but her clothes and hair were clean.” I thought for a moment. “If she’d figured out I wasn’t home, and then seen that the Book Depot was closed, she might have taken a chance I was at the courthouse.”
“And wanted to speak to you?”
“Most certainly not that,” I said ruefully. “She bolted like a cat confronted with a hose. If she’d wanted to ask me how Skyler was, all she would have had to do was wait where she was.”
Luanne raised her eyebrows. “So she might be a fugitive?”
“She can’t have done anything more serious than shoplifting or I’d have seen a mention in the local paper. If she’d allowed social services to take Skyler shortly after birth, and subsequently changed her mind and snatched him away from foster care…”
“It must have happened yesterday. Would it be considered kidnapping?”
“I don’t know,” I said, “and I can’t call the department and ask them without tipping my hand. I suppose it would depend on whether or not she signed papers granting custody to the state.” I twisted around to smile at Skyler. “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell us, are you?”
He had fallen asleep. When we arrived at Oakland Heights, I transferred him to the basket while Luanne juggled the sandwiches and cups of iced tea. The curtains were drawn in the Scarpos’ condo, which was of no consequence since Randy had failed to call me and Jillian might appear with a steak knife if I knocked on their door.
“Miss Parchester!” I called as the three of us approached the oak. “It’s Claire. I’ve brought Luanne Bradshaw and a wee visitor. May we offer you a chicken salad sandwich and iced tea for lunch?”
Her face appeared. “What a lovely surprise, Claire. I regret to say there’s insufficient room for all of you up here, and of course I couldn’t come down even if I wished. Is that an infant?”
“Yes, a cousin and all that sort of thing. Very complicated. If you drop the ladder, I’ll bring up your lunch.”
“That won’t be necessary,” she said as a basket attached to a length of twine nearly hit my head. My shoulder was less fortunate, but I’d survive. “Miss Peterson thought it might be expedient to utilize this if I needed something not too heavy, such as batteries or a newspaper. She’s the chairperson of the hospital auxiliary and quite astute in foreseeing problems.”
The sandwich and cup were dutifully sent up. I set Skyler’s basket in the shade, then Luanne and I made ourselves as comfortable as we could on the rocky ground.
“Have you heard what took place at the press conference?” I called, craning my neck to stare at the bottom of the platform.
“No,” she answered, “but I would be surprised if Mr. Armstrong said anything he hasn’t already said at countless planning commission meetings. They brought to mind all the mindless faculty meetings after school, in which each person felt obligated to repeat whatever point had already been made. I used to sit in the back and crochet doilies. Do you crochet?”
“I do,” Luanne said. “Soothing, isn’t it?”
While they chatted about various patterns and thread weights, I thought about the girl who’d been introduced as Wal-Mart. She’d left her baby on my porch the previous evening and tracked me down at noon, probably to make sure that the situation was under control. I couldn’t remember anything she’d said that might help me find her.
Luanne and I were packing up the remains of our lunch when the security officer came puffing up the incline.
“You gotta go,” he announced.
“And we will, when we’re ready,” I said sweetly.
“You gotta go right now. You’re trespassing on private property.”
Miss Parchester’s face appeared. “Now, Howie, these are my guests. It’s rude of you to speak to them that way. I hope you remember that conversation we had several years ago after you accused Dibbins of stealing your jar of rubber cement. Where was it, Howie?”
He turned red. “In the supply cabinet, Miss Parchester.”
“And what did I advise you to do?”
“Apologize. But this is different. These ladies are trespassing. Mr. Armstrong said I should call the police if anyone refuses to leave. He’s gonna have somebody put up signs this afternoon.”
“Is he worried that we’re going to dig up the tree and transport it to a safe haven?” I inquired. “Arboretum Anonymous?”
“Or perhaps,” Luanne added tartly, “he’s now so concerned about the environment that he’s afraid visitors will leave litter. He may intend to donate the land to the city for a quaint little park. A few picnic tables and barbecue pits will really lend charm.”
Howie was still red, but he held his ground. “All I know is that nobody’s allowed to come any closer than the edge of the parking lot.”
“What if Miss Parchester needs food, water, or even medication?” I asked.
“I’m just following orders,” he mumbled. “Otherwise, I’ll get fired.”
“Howie, Howie, Howie,” Miss Parchester said with a discouraged sigh. “I doubt you will ever amount to anything with that attitude. Most of the atrocities against humanity were committed by those who claimed to be following orders.” She looked at me. “I have everything I need, and I have mastered the cell phone. Your little Mend appears to be stirring. You run along. Thank you ever so much for the sandwich and tea.”
I shot Howie a cold look as Luanne and I went by him and returned to her car. Only when Skyler had been buckled in the car seat and we were driving away did I find my voice. “That Armstrong is a scumbag! An hour ago he was blinking back tears as he told us how worried he was about poor Miss Parchester. He must have forgotten to mention he was cutting off her supplies. I’m sure Finnigan and the others assumed they could bring whatever she might need on a daily basis.”
“I can’t see them crossing the line and risking arrest.”
“Or putting on camouflage and scuttling between the trees in the middle of the night,” I said. “You, on the other hand, look quite fetching in olive green and matching greasepaint.”
“So do you.”
We arrived at the Book Depot, transferred Skyler to the basket and the car seat to my car, and wished each other improbably profitable afternoons. No customers were jostling for position underneath the portico as I took die Closed sign out of the window and unlocked the door. I poured out the morni
ng coffee and utilized a pot of hot water to warm a bottle of formula.
This baby business wasn’t that complicated, I told myself as I settled Skyler in the office for a nap, then went to peruse the self-help rack for anything that might be useful. I sat down on the stool behind the counter and thumbed through a developmental guide, even though I knew I wouldn’t have him long enough to see much progress.
I was in the fourth month (sitting up, reaching for toys) when the bell above the front door jangled and Peter came inside. I hastily stuffed the book in a drawer.
“I brought you a cappuccino and a cookie,” he said. “I came by earlier to see if you might go out for lunch, but you weren’t here.”
“Luanne and I went to the press conference at the courthouse. Did you hear about it?”
“Only that he seems to believe he has the law on his side and the planning commission in his back pocket.” He put a sack on the counter and produced two paper cups with plastic lids. “Chocolate chip cookies okay with you?”
He was trying hard to pretend I hadn’t booted him out the door the previous evening. I found it so endearing that I leaned over and kissed him.
“I’m sorry about what happened,” I said. “Caron, uh, met a boy and it upset her. She was desperate to talk about it. Every now and then she really does want my advice. It happens so rarely that I can’t put her off.”
His eyes had a libidinous glint. “Then odds are good it won’t happen any time soon. Why don’t we go out to dinner tonight, then go to your place, open a bottle of wine, and watch a movie featuring a sheik and a voluptuous harlot draped in scarves?”
Oops.
CHAPTER FOUR
Lying to Sally was a mentally stimulating exercise in mendacity, but I wasn’t comfortable having to lie to Peter. We’d had our differences, certainly, but he was damn close to everything I desired in a relationship that just might last for a very long time. Physical appeal aside (and that was not insignificant—I am not yet over the particular hill in question), he was amusing, warm, sensual, and sensitive. He called my bluffs, as I did his. When it came to tidying up investigations of a felonious nature, he had his officious position, but I had my wits and perspicacity. Caron was fond of him; she would never refer to him as “Father,” but she would be thrilled if and when the day arrived that she would ask him to escort her down the aisle.