by Mary Stone
“It’s just a hypothetical!” she protested.
“Sure it is. Well, I was confined to my bed for three weeks after a hernia operation, and…not much.”
She gritted her teeth. That was not the answer she wanted.
“Oh.”
“But luckily, that’s why there’s two of you. You and that hunky hubs of yours.”
Right, she thought, sighing, drumming her fingers on the glass pane. God, she missed the outdoors. She slid the window open and pressed her face against the screen, sucking in the fresh air, like some poor prisoner who hadn’t seen daylight in ages.
“What? He ain’t holding up his end of the bargain, kid?”
“No. It’s not that. He’s really helpful, but he’s not exactly one of those sharks, you know? The type who can dig deep and ask the right questions from witnesses to get results. Actually…I think he may be putting it off. Especially the hard, investigative stuff.”
“Okay…so now that we’ve established that this is about you, and you’re confined to a bed…you mind telling me what’s broken?”
“Nothing!”
“Come on. I hear the desperation in your voice. What’s going on?”
“Nothing’s broken,” she said with a sigh while picking at a loose thread on her tank top. Well, he was like the father she never had, and he was too far away to spill the news to anyone else, so… “I’m pregnant.”
Unlike her mom, Greg wasn’t one to get all crazy about her announcements. He’d barely blinked an eye when she got engaged. “Well, congrats.”
“But it’s strictly on the down-low. I’m not even two months in and I’m on bed rest because I nearly had a miscarriage.”
“Jesus. Well, you do need to stop stressing out, short stuff. I know you. You’re about as high-strung when it comes to these cases as a person can get.”
She sighed. “I know, I know. But I really feel bad for Elise. I really want to find her daughter for her. I guess I’m all hormonal too. Anyway, I just want to help her. And Linc’s just not able to ask the questions and feel out the witnesses the way I’d want to.”
“Yeah. Well, that always was your big strength, kid. You can draw the shit out of people. I don’t even know how you do it.”
“Well, thanks. But there’s not much I can do from my bed.”
There was a pause. “No…now, wait. Maybe you don’t have to go anywhere. You ever think of asking your witnesses to come to you?”
Well, she had thought of that, but she didn’t want to inconvenience them. Then again, Allison had been very interested in telling her story. During her googling session, Kylie had learned that Allison was a high-ranking advertising executive at a prestigious agency downtown. Since her baby had disappeared, she’d certainly made a name for herself and seemed important and busy. Even so, Allison had almost volunteered to drop everything and come to her the first time she’d called, but Kylie had been too worried about Linc getting in the way. That’s why she’d made the first meeting at the café.
So, maybe Allison would come to her.
Greg continued, “And…that reminds me. After we got off the phone last time, I got to thinking. I remember a case that was similar to the one you described. Where the baby was kidnapped from the mom’s house. Police thought it was the father, but when they tracked him down in Mexico, he didn’t have the kid. There was talk he might have ditched the kid, but he insisted he never had anything to do with it. Name of the mother was Hanson, I think. It’s in the files.”
Kylie’s heart whirred. “Really? That’s great. I’ll—”
“Wait. Hold on. You should take it easy. Knowing you, you won’t, but can you try at least? Let that man of yours do most or all of the heavy lifting? You got a baby to think of.”
“I know, I know. Two, actually.”
“Shit. Twins? Really?”
“Mmm-hmmm. Double the fun.”
“And double the reason to just relax your little ass.”
Kylie made an affirmative noise, but right then, she couldn’t. She did her best to pretend she was calm, asking him how his retirement was going and listening to his latest fishing story, but inside, that tornado had begun brewing again.
By the time she hung up with him, she’d already formulated her plan of action. One: Call Allison and ask her to come over right away. Two: Go through the file cabinets downstairs and look for the Hanson case.
Perfect. It was so nice to have a plan, and one that she could actually carry out, even on bed rest.
Without waiting another second, she called Allison’s number. “Allison Simmons speaking.”
“Hi, Allison, this is Kylie, the private investigator.
“Oh. Yes. Hello. I’m so very sorry for bailing on you last week.”
“It’s completely okay, and I’m hoping we can reschedule. The problem is, I’m on doctor’s ordered bed rest because, well, I’m expecting, which is why I haven’t been able to connect with you. So, I’m wondering if you might have time to come over to my house today?”
“Well, congratulations! And yes, today actually works for me. My schedule’s pretty open until three. Why don’t you text me your address, and I’ll come right over.”
Kylie’s spirits lifted. “Sounds great, but just so you know, my house is a little out of the way. It’s north of Asheville in the mountains. Is that okay?”
“Fine. I could stand to get out of the city for a little bit.”
After rattling off the address, she hung up, smiling, then looked down at herself. She’d showered…sometime. A long time ago. Actually, it had been a bath, which had been lorded over by Linc, who’d insisted on helping her wash all the difficult-to-reach places, and even some of the not-so-difficult ones. He’d washed her hair, lifted her out of the tub like a princess, and dried her with a pile of fluffy towels.
Overboard? Completely. She’d felt like freaking Cleopatra.
She went to the bathroom and quickly ran a washcloth over herself, sprayed some dry shampoo in her hair, and put on deodorant. Good enough. Then she threw a cardigan over her tank top and boxers.
Lovely.
She donned some sweats, which weren’t exactly nice-looking, but were better than boxers.
But as she crept to the door, she reminded herself that all would be fine, and what Linc didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
Vader looked at her as if she was doing something wrong as she opened the bedroom door and stood at the top of the staircase in her bare feet. She glowered at him. “I am taking it easy. It’s just twelve steps down, twelve steps up. And I’ll go slow.”
He still looked doubtful.
“The doc never said I couldn’t climb steps. That was Linc.”
It didn’t help her case any. His expression remained unchanged.
One hand on the railing, one hand on her stomach, she descended the staircase in search of the Hanson file.
18
Allison Simmons was, as usual, running late.
That’s what happened when a person had over one-hundred employees to manage in a busy but unpredictable industry. Advertising was like that. There was always some deadline looming or some fire to put out.
This was the latter. Their social media ads for their biggest client, one of the country’s biggest suppliers of running shoes and apparel, had performed dismally with test audiences, and they were due to deliver them to the client later that day.
As soon as she’d hung up with Kylie Coulter—a peppy, sweet girl who sounded more like a college cheerleader than a private investigator—she’d found herself face-to-face with two of her senior account managers, who’d broken the news.
Dammit, she’d thought, but only for a second. It was her can-do attitude that had gotten her through a lot worse in her lifetime. She broke into action, doling out orders, telling them exactly what they needed to do to keep the client happy, and keep them from being an ex-client.
When she was done, they thanked her, relieved, as if they wouldn’t have known what to d
o without her help.
That was why she was at the helm of The Creation, Asheville’s best and most innovative ad agency. She’d never had any formal schooling beyond a GED, just hard work and determination. She’d worked her way up to President and Senior Account Executive by the skin of her teeth, starting as a receptionist when she was seventeen years old.
She’d had to.
After she’d given birth, there was no way she was going back to high school. She’d had SLUT painted on her locker enough while she was walking around with a growing baby belly to know she didn’t need the drama from those immature, college-bound losers.
Besides, all of her friends who’d offered support had gradually dropped off the face of the earth after the baby died a few hours after birth.
She didn’t need them, anyway. Just like she hadn’t needed the father, an old boyfriend who’d pretended she didn’t exist the moment she told him she was pregnant.
She’d wanted that baby. Planned for the baby. Was excited about being a mom.
When the worst happened, she could’ve crawled into herself and died.
Crib death. SIDS. That’s what they’d told her. No explanation. It had happened while the baby rested in the nursery on only her second day of life.
Instead, she channeled that grief into something good. The day her baby died, her life took a turn, and she went barreling off on a new trajectory. She got her GED, started working at The Creation, got her B.A. and then her Masters, and kept rising in the ranks. She put family on hold, indefinitely.
But she never stopped thinking of what her life would have been like had that baby survived. Two completely divergent paths, stemming from one pivotal incident. An incident she’d never be able to forget as long as she lived.
When she finished putting out that latest fire, she snapped her laptop closed and stood up in her corner penthouse office. She checked the time. She’d be late, but that was okay. She was happy when Kylie had invited her to her house outside of town. After all, Allison was a fixture downtown; everyone knew her. It was better than meeting in the coffeehouse with the off-chance one of her employee’s friends might overhear something.
Quickly, she packed her things into her briefcase and set out, closing her door and telling her receptionist that she’d be back for her three o’clock appointment.
Then she headed for the elevators and took one down to the attached parking garage.
As she did, she thought of Kylie’s call.
It was funny. Some days, she didn’t think of the baby at all, and yet every once in a while, something would happen and make it hurt worse than before. When her baby had been born, the nurses had all exclaimed about how beautiful she was. She certainly looked healthy, and her Apgar score had been strong.
And then, just like that…she was gone. Complications, they’d said. Mysterious crib death, which had no actual cause.
Had she been older and less naïve, Allison might have thought to question exactly what complications they’d been talking about. She had a death notice that said something about a heart defect, but nothing else.
A couple years later, she’d read an article in the newspaper about something called child laundering and called the police, asking if it was possible her child had been involved. They assured her that no, no other children from the area had been taken in that way. Then, almost ten years to the day that she gave birth, she saw a little girl playing on the street that looked almost exactly like pictures of herself at that age.
It made her ache.
It made her wonder.
It sometimes felt that, no matter how many years passed, she’d still never feel at peace with what had happened. When Kylie called with questions about child laundering, Allison had felt compelled to speak to her.
The elevator doors slid open on the garage floor, just as Allison was typing in a message to Kylie: Running a little late. Leaving now.
As she entered the garage, she waved to a security guard stationed there. There’d been a few bomb threats made earlier in the year, so it was good to see they were beefing up security. It was someone she didn’t recognize, but he clearly recognized her because he said, “Ms. Simmons, where are you headed to? You usually don’t leave until a lot later.”
She laughed. It was true. She was fond of burning the midnight oil in her office, but that was how she’d gotten where she was. “Well, it’s a crazy job,” she said with a shrug. “I have a meeting outside of Asheville for a change, but I should be back before three.”
He smiled and gave her a little salute before she continued on to her BMW convertible.
Something made her pause, though. She hadn’t realized how empty the garage was in the middle of the day. All the cars were here, but people usually walked during lunch. There were no people.
A shiver climbed the length of her spine as she reached her car. When she turned around, with the elevator still in view, she realized the security guard was gone. The elevator doors must have reopened without her noticing, and he’d stepped inside.
Now, she was really alone.
As she hurried to the convertible, her heels clicking on the concrete, the feeling that something was wrong wouldn’t go away. She saw it before she heard it. Actually, she didn’t hear much at all. It was a battery-operated car, and it was so silent that she had no idea that it was heading straight for her.
But it was.
Fast.
Too fast.
She didn’t have time to move out of the way. She barely had time to think of anything, except that the man behind the wheel looked an awful lot like the guard she’d just seen only moments before.
“No!”
She closed her eyes and braced for impact, and even as the single word vibrated around her, the back of her head slammed against the pavement.
19
I was just sitting down to a nice cup of coffee and a scone, my afternoon snack, when the call came in from Stephen.
“You’re lucky,” he said before I could even say hello.
“Let me be the judge of that,” I said, not liking the tone of his voice. “What happened?”
“Well, you told me we’d have to nip it in the bud if your subject ever stirred up some shit. And she did. I tapped into their conversation while I was monitoring the little investigator. Allison was on her way to meet with her, but I took care of her for you. With my car. Lights out.”
I stiffened, pressing the phone even harder against my ear. “You hit her with your car?”
“Not my car, of course. I ain’t stupid.” He seemed so proud of himself.
“Did anyone see you?”
“Nope.”
I didn’t like the sound of this one bit. There was very little a person like Allison Simmons could do twenty years after her baby had disappeared. So what if she’d gotten to talk to Kylie Coulter? Maybe they’d make a connection, but her kid was long gone by now.
But people like the private investigator? They were the real threat.
Trying to choose my words carefully, I reached over and adjusted a photograph of myself with the mayor, taken when I’d received an award a few years back for my humanitarian work.
“Listen to me and listen good. I don’t give a rat’s ass about Allison or any of the other mothers. What I care about is that little witch who’s meddling in my affairs. Do you understand?”
He sputtered. “Well, I—”
“I’m not paying you to create a little trail of blood that will lead the police right to my front door, Stephen,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “I want the real problem gone.”
“Yeah, but…I don’t know. It doesn’t—”
“I’m not paying you to be soft, Stephen.”
“But ma’am. I heard her husband talking while I was tailing him in the hardware store. He was looking for enough wood to build some cribs. Two of ‘em. Your girl’s pregnant. With twins.”
I sighed. Sometimes fertility was wasted on the wrong people. It was a shame, how much mo
ney that little womb of hers could be worth. But it didn’t matter. “I don’t care. She’s too close and needs to go. And soon.”
“But she hasn’t—”
“She was going to meet with Allison, wasn’t she? That means she’s getting close. If she meets with enough of the mothers, she might start making connections. It’s too dangerous.”
“She never leaves the house,” he put in, seemingly looking for any reason to spare the bitch. He was getting on my nerves.
“Then you’ll know where to find her. Wait until she’s alone so you can’t be followed and take her out. Do you hear me?”
“Yeah,” he grumbled. “I hear you.”
He didn’t seem very happy about it, but the moment I knew it was done, you could bet your ass I was going to celebrate. Good and long.
Maybe I’d book myself another cruise.
20
Driving down the hill and back with ten puppies and a kennel with a faulty latch wasn’t the best of ideas.
Linc had handled it, though. He’d only had to pull over three times to get the dogs back into their rightful spots.
Once he did that, he tried bracing the broken lock with different things he had lying around the cab of his truck, but each time, the little rascals were too smart for whatever solution he’d devised. One minute, he was driving sixty down the highway, headed for Asheville Veterinary. And the next? He had a lap full of fur, doing everything they could to tear his eyes from the road.
Two of them, especially. Roxy and Zita, two little girls, were exactly like Vader. They were black puffballs with the most mischievous side. They had none of their mother, Storm, in them at all. He’d barely get one under control when the other would go off in the opposite direction.
He’d been thinking about going to the hardware store and picking up that lumber he’d ordered to build the cribs. But after he’d gotten done getting the puppies’ clean bill of health from the vet, he was, in a word, exhausted.
Not to mention, he was sure wrestling with the creatures on the way back up the hill would take a lot more out of him.