Hot Property

by Karen Leabo

  “Actually she does,” Wendy said. “But the driver keeps pretty busy shuttling Maggie’s husband around.”

  Wendy didn’t even have to honk or go to the door. Mrs. Courtland was waiting. Pretty, blond, and about Wendy’s age, she scurried out the door and duck-walked toward the waiting van amazingly fast for a woman who looked as if she’d swallowed a watermelon.

  “Good Lord, she looks like she should have had the kid last month,” Michael said under his breath before hopping out of the van to help the woman into the back seat.

  “Would you be more comfortable in front?” he asked when Maggie was halfway in.

  “Oh, no, I like it back here. I can stretch out a bit.” She sounded out of breath, and her face was pale. “Wendy, hi. Who’s your friend?”

  “New employee,” Wendy answered before Michael could tell her the truth. “I’m training him. You’re due in a couple of weeks, aren’t you?” she asked as Maggie got situated and Michael took his seat in front.

  “Yes, mid-April. But I think the doc got the due date wrong. This is my fourth baby, and I’ve learned to tell … well, there are signs, you know?”

  “Mm,” Wendy said noncommittally. She knew next to nothing about having babies. “Where’s your doctor?”

  “In Preston Center. On Luther and—oh!”

  “Luther and what?” Wendy asked as she pulled out of the driveway.

  “Luther and—omigod!

  Omigod? She’d never heard of that street.

  “Uh, Wendy, I think we have a problem,” Michael said. He didn’t raise his voice, but there was a definite note of panic there.

  Wendy stopped the van and turned to look at her back-seat passenger. Maggie’s face was contorted with pain, and she clutched her swollen belly. “Maggie, what’s wrong?”

  “What do you think’s wrong?” Michael asked, unfastening his seat belt. “The woman’s in labor.”

  Maggie took a few gasping breaths. “Your friend’s right. My water just broke. Better skip the doctor and head straight for the hospital.”

  Wendy’s hands started shaking. She’d had some odd experiences as a personal shopper, but she’d never delivered a pregnant woman to the hospital before. “Which hospital?”

  “Presbyterian,” Maggie answered. “Please, hurry. My babies come quick, and this one feels impatient—oh!”

  “Take Central,” Michael ordered. “On second thought, I’ll drive. You take care of Mrs. Courtland.”

  He had such authority in his voice that Wendy didn’t offer any argument. She threw the van into Park, unfastened her seat belt, and climbed into the back.

  Michael scooted behind the wheel, shifted the seat back, and had the van in motion in seconds flat.

  “Don’t take Central Expressway,” Wendy said as she helped Maggie lie down on the back seat, using a wadded-up denim jacket as a pillow. “The construction is murder. Take Oak Lawn to Walnut Hill.”

  “Too many lights and school zones,” Michael argued. “This time of day there won’t be much traffic on the freeway. It’ll be faster.”

  “There’s always traffic!”

  Maggie, in the throes of another contraction, gave a strangled cry.

  “Michael, she’s having another contraction!” Wendy said. “She just had one.”

  Maggie gripped Wendy’s arm. “It’ll be all right, Wendy,” she said, though her eyes were a little wild. “My babies always pop out without any problem. I’ve got good hips, my doctor says.”

  “You’re not reassuring me. I can’t deliver a baby, Maggie. So just hold it in till we get to the hospital.”

  Maggie shook her head. “It doesn’t work that way, friend. I didn’t want to tell you, but I’ve been having contractions for over an hour.” Her face contorted in pain, and when the contraction released her, she actually screamed. “Wendy! The baby’s coming. He’s not fooling around. Help me get my clothes off.”

  Fighting off hysteria, Wendy did as Maggie instructed.

  “You’re having it right now?” Michael asked.

  “Yes,” Maggie replied, panting now. “We should find, you know, something to wrap him in when he gets here.”

  “Newspaper!” Wendy said. “I saw that in a movie once. Newspapers are sanitary.” She leaned over the back seat and rooted around until she found the paper she’d picked up from her porch that morning and tossed in back, unread. There it was, still rolled into its pink plastic bag.

  She was vaguely aware of the van turning onto the Central Expressway access road. “Don’t get on Central,” she said to Michael again, but he didn’t listen. Why did men always think they were smarter when it came to driving? She spent eight hours a day in her car running all over town. She knew what routes were faster.

  “Look, see? Almost no traffic.”

  Wendy raised up and looked out the windshield. The lanes ahead did look pretty clear, until they came over the first rise. “What’s that?”

  “What?” Michael asked.

  “That sign. It says the road’s narrowing down to one lane.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Maggie said, sounding a little calmer now. “I wouldn’t have made it anyway. I need to push.”

  “No!” Wendy and Michael said together. Michael added, “Five minutes, tops, and we’ll be at the hospital.” Even as those words were leaving his lips, he had to put on the brakes. After thirty seconds of creeping bumper to bumper, they came to a dead stop.

  “We’re not moving,” Wendy pointed out.

  “They’re moving a big crane in the road up ahead. We’re not going anywhere for a while.”

  Twenty minutes later they were still stuck in traffic.

  “I’m pushing,” Maggie said. “You can’t stop me.”

  “Oooh, Michael, the baby’s coming,” Wendy said, near panic. She could see the crown of its head. “Help me! Please?”

  Michael set the brake and unfastened his seat belt, then squeezed between the front seats to join the two women. “Tell me what to do.”

  “I’m the one who needs help,” Maggie groused. “Who’s doing all the work here? Help me sit up. Birthing is easier—oh, Lord have mercy—sitting up.”

  Michael immediately grasped Maggie’s shoulders and pulled her up, then slid onto the seat behind her so she could rest against him. “Like that?”

  “That’s good.”

  “Maggie, I don’t know what to do!” Wendy complained, willing herself not to fall apart. But it turned out she really didn’t need help. The baby practically flew into her waiting hands.

  Maggie let out an exultant cry. “There! You did it!”

  “I didn’t do anything!” Wendy objected, holding the tiny scrap of humanity in her hands as if it were a space alien. “You did it all. Michael! I’ve got a baby here!”

  She looked up at her partner in crime. Beaming like an idiot, he was no help at all. “Looks like you’re doing just fine,” he said. “Is it a girl or a boy?”

  Wendy’d been so panicked she forgot to look. She did now. “Oh, it’s another boy, Maggie.” Her voice trembled with emotion. She’d never seen a baby born except on a film in high school sex education class, and then she’d closed her eyes. “Now you have two of each. Aren’t I supposed to hold him upside down or whack him on the butt or something?”

  In response, the baby spit something out of his mouth and started wailing.

  “You’re not expecting me to cut the cord, are you?” she asked Maggie.

  “Just put him on my stomach,” Maggie said, laughing and crying at the same time. She reached for her new son. “I think the cord can wait for the doctor.”

  Wendy was only too happy to surrender the baby. She’d gotten so excited during the birth that she’d forgotten about the newspaper. Too late now, she supposed. As she watched Maggie cradling the infant against her stomach, looking for all the world like a Madonna, an intense wave of feelings washed over Wendy. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

  She wasn’t normally the sappy sor
t, but all at once she started crying.

  “Wendy?” Michael asked. “You okay?” He reached out and touched her hair very tentatively.

  “F-fine,” she said, mortified. That’s when she noticed the horns honking. “The traffic’s moving again.”

  Five minutes later they pulled up to the emergency entrance at Presbyterian. Maggie and her baby were whisked away. Wendy, in a daze, left Michael sitting behind the wheel of the van and dashed inside after the gurney, feeling a protectiveness for the mother and baby that was one of the strongest emotions she’d ever experienced.

  When it became clear that Wendy wasn’t needed anymore, that Maggie was in capable hands, she felt deflated and dazed. A nurse stopped her in the hallway and asked her if she needed help.

  “No, I’m fine,” she said, even as she looked down at herself and realized she was covered with blood. She ducked into a rest room and cleaned up the best she could. That was when the exultation of witnessing a birth, of being part of it, receded and doubts assailed her.

  What if she’d done it all wrong? Maybe she should have used the newspaper after all. Was the baby all right? Was Maggie all right?

  As she exited the ladies’ room, intent on finding a doctor and getting some answers, she nearly ran over Michael.

  “There you are,” he said, steadying her with a warm hand to her arm. “You disappeared. I was worried about you.”

  “Did you think I was fleeing custody?” she asked, only half kidding. She never knew with Michael.

  But he was looking at her with an expression she’d never seen on him before, maybe not on anyone. It was sort of the way someone might look at an angel, or some other miraculous phenomenon.

  “You are awesome, Wendy Thayer.”

  She realized then that he hadn’t let go of her arm. “What are you talking about? I was a blundering idiot. I panicked. Thank God I didn’t really need to do anything.”

  “You did great,” he insisted. Then he looked down at his shoes. “Despite my driving. I should’ve listened to you and taken Oak Lawn. I appreciate that you didn’t say ‘I told you so’ when the traffic started stacking up.”

  She would have, she realized, if she hadn’t been in such a state of hysterics. She’d missed a perfectly good chance to score a point with her nemesis.

  She was about to remedy that situation when something in his eyes stopped her. He was staring at her with this dopey smile gripping his mouth. Then the smile disappeared. Her heart quickened as his face drew closer to hers. He was going to kiss her, she realized. A well of excitement overflowed inside her even as alarm bells sounded between her ears.

  “You the one who delivered the baby?”

  Michael jerked back as a doctor approached, looking at Wendy.

  Wendy nodded and tried to compose herself. Michael had almost kissed her! That was insane. He was still her enemy, even if he had shown himself to be a bit more human.

  “That would be me,” she said to the doctor.

  “Mrs. Courtland is doing fine. The pediatrician is checking over the baby now, but he looked perfectly normal. Seven and a half pounds’ worth of healthy boy, with good lungs.”

  Wendy sagged with relief. “Thank God,” she murmured. “I was afraid I’d done something wrong.”

  “On the contrary, you did a great job. You can see her now. They’ll be transferring her to the maternity ward soon, but for now she’s still in Treatment Room Five.”

  Wendy wasted no time hustling to find Maggie. She didn’t look at Michael or in any way acknowledge what had almost transpired between them. She hoped they could simply pretend it hadn’t happened.

  Michael mentally kicked himself six ways to Sunday while they paid their respects to Maggie Courtland, who was beaming from her gurney in the ER.

  What had come over him? He would be the first to admit that watching a child being born was a life-altering experience. His throat had felt thick and his eyes had stung when he’d watched Wendy guide that tiny new life into the world.

  She claimed she’d done nothing extraordinary, but he knew better. He’d seen the look on her face.

  Still, was that any excuse to kiss the woman? Thank God that doctor had come along and interrupted them, or he would have crossed an ethical line from which there was no turning back. Wendy was a suspect in an ongoing investigation—his investigation. Any personal involvement with her would compromise the whole case.

  “My husband’s on his way,” Maggie was saying. “You don’t need to stay here and keep me company. I know you have more shopping and errands to do. Jillian said you were swamped.”

  Actually, Michael thought, the only thing they had pressing was a visit to an interrogation room downtown. If there was any way he could delay that meeting, he would. Wendy could no doubt use a little breathing space.

  “If you’re sure,” Wendy was saying. “I am a little behind schedule.”

  “Oh, I should pay you.” Maggie looked around for her purse. “And I’ll pay to have your van cleaned. Your back seat may never be the same.”

  “That can wait,” Wendy assured her with a laugh. “I’ll send you a bill. And I promise I won’t charge anywhere near what your obstetrician would have.”

  They said good-bye and had almost cleared Maggie’s room when a nurse arrived with a squirming bundle in her arms. “I have your son, Mrs. Courtland,” she said.

  Michael didn’t think he could take any more. He’d never thought much about babies before. Faye had made it clear she didn’t want any, and that had suited him fine. He worked too many long hours to be a good father.

  Suddenly those long-held convictions were just so much sawdust. This baby was special. The memory of bringing him into the world would be with him for a long time to come. And the memory of Wendy holding him, looking at him with something akin to love even though he was a stranger, would be branded into his memory for life.

  He slipped out of the treatment room and left Wendy, Maggie, and the baby to finish up their goodbyes.

  FIVE

  Wendy was grateful that Michael allowed her to make a detour to her house to change clothes before returning to the police station for more questioning. Funny, but a couple of hours earlier her new status as a burglary suspect had seemed a near mortal blow to her life. Now, after helping a new life come into the world and avoiding the myriad disasters that could have befallen them, she’d put things into perspective.

  She would weather this thing just fine, she resolved as she hastily stripped down to her underthings, acutely aware of Michael waiting in her living room with a thin wall separating them. She would answer the questions put to her as completely and honestly as she could, and the truth would set her free.

  Or maybe an alibi would. Thank heavens she kept such a detailed calendar.

  She dithered only a moment about what to wear. Something conservative, she decided, snatching from her closet a pair of khaki slacks and a modest cotton blouse in an unthreatening light blue. She wished she had time for a shower, but she didn’t want to stretch the detective’s goodwill too far. He was being pretty accommodating as it was.

  When she returned to the living room, she found Michael sitting stiffly on the edge of her flower-patterned sofa with Bill and Ted wrapped around him as if he were a giant catnip toy.

  “Oh, sorry,” she said, walking swiftly over to rescue him from the affections of her demanding pets. She grabbed Bill off Michael’s lap and set him aside, then pulled the other cat from around Michael’s neck and cuddled him herself. “They’re shelter cats. Deprived of affection when they were kittens, so now they demand a lot of it.”

  “You are an animal psychologist,” he accused, though one corner of his mouth turned up, softening the criticism. “Do they have low self-esteem problems too?”

  “No, not Bill and Ted,” she said, setting Ted on the sofa and giving each cat a token scratch behind the ears. “They think a lot of themselves. You like cats?” She realized she was tense, waiting for his answer. For som
e stupid reason, it was important to her that he get along with her babies.

  “I’m a guy. Guys aren’t supposed to like cats,” he hedged.

  “That’s a cop-out, if you’ll pardon the pun.”

  Michael reached out reluctantly to pet Bill, who immediately abandoned Wendy’s attentions for the lure of a friendly stranger. “I guess cats are okay,” he admitted. “Especially big, manly boy cats like these who know how to show affection. What I can’t stand are those fluffy ones with the smushed-in faces.”

  “You sound like you have personal experience.”

  He nodded. “Snow Fluff. Faye’s cat. He cost four hundred dollars, ate nothing but albacore tuna, and hated me. He shredded my ostrich boots.”

  Wendy couldn’t help it—she laughed at the mental picture he painted.

  Michael scowled at her. “It’s not funny. Those boots cost more than the cat did. My one indulgence.”

  She laughed again. “Well, Bill and Ted cost ten bucks apiece to adopt, eat bargain-basement cat food, love everyone, and they haven’t developed a taste for ostrich that I know of.”

  “Then we’ll all get along fine. You ready?”

  At the reminder of the ordeal ahead of her, Wendy tensed again. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  They didn’t talk much on the way downtown, until Wendy asked, “Michael, do you think there’s a chance, even a one-in-a-million chance, that I won’t be convicted?”

  “There’s a huge chance you won’t be convicted. You’ve got a great lawyer. The district attorney’s office could blunder in any number of ways—”

  “But if no mistakes are made?”

  Michael sighed. “It looks bad for you, Wendy. What can I say?”

  “And what about you?” she asked in a quiet voice. “Do you think I’m guilty?” She held her breath, waiting for his answer. It seemed to her that if, after getting to know her as he had, he still thought she was a thief, then she might as well pack it in right now, plead guilty and be done with it.

  He hesitated. “Well, if I were to look strictly at the evidence—”