Sloane Monroe 06-Hush Now Baby

by Bradshaw, Cheryl

  “Okay, okay,” the woman leveled her hands in front of her. “We got it—we’re getting out.”

  “Yeah,” the man laughed, palms raised, “don’t shoot.”

  It took every ounce of what little restraint I’d been blessed with for me not to brandish the pistol I’d stashed in my jacket pocket earlier that morning. Anything to sequester their incessant giggling.

  I peeked into the back of the van. Saw camera equipment. Lots of it. And based on the lilac-colored blazer the forty-something-year-old woman wore and her sprayed-to-immovable-perfection blond locks, I deduced the only threat they posed was the exposure kind.

  “You hit another car, possibly injuring the other person in the process,” I said, “or worse. Can you two at least stop acting like a couple of jackasses and pretend like you care?”

  The man swished a hand through the air. “Bonnie’s fine. It’ll take a lot more than a wee fender bender to take her out, I assure you.” He stretched out his hand. “Name’s Joe Rigby, and this is Shonda Pierce.”

  “I assume you’re with a news channel?”

  They nodded in unison.

  “Why did you two take off when you saw us coming?” I asked.

  Shonda spoke first. “We’re not really supposed to be here. Well, not yet. That’s what we were arguing about. When Joe saw Detective McCoy walking out of Jack Westwood’s house, he wanted to leave. I wanted to stay, and since I was driving—”

  “You haven’t answered my question. Why were you staking out the house in the first place? The family is grieving. They’re not accepting interviews. You have no right to be here.”

  Joe and Shonda exchanged glances. “We were just waiting until we received confirmation.”

  “On what? A husband is mourning his wife, a father is missing his child. If you think you’re going anywhere near Jack, now or in the near future, think again.”

  Shonda patted down her stiff hair. It barely moved. “We’re not here about what happened last night. We’re here about what happened today.”

  “Nothing happened today.”

  Shonda raised a brow. She turned to Joe who tugged at his jawline with his fingers.

  “You mean to say you don’t know?” Joe asked.

  “Don’t know what?”

  Shonda snapped her mouth shut and zigzagged her arms, stared at a patchy piece of grass shooting out of a crack in the pavement.

  I turned to Joe, hoping they weren’t both going to clam up. “Well, looks like it’s up to you to tell me what’s really going on here.”

  “There was … umm … what we heard anyway … I need you to realize none of this has been confirmed yet, which is why we didn’t approach Jack in person …”

  Good hell.

  “Spit it out, Joe,” I said.

  “There was a baby found today.”

  It was like the entire neighborhood held its breath. There was no sound. No movement. Nothing but deathlike noiselessness.

  In an instant Cade’s fists encased the collar of Joe’s jacket. “Where was the baby found? Where?!”

  “Five hours from here in Ogden, Utah.”

  “Whatever it is you’re not tellin’ us, you’ve got about five seconds to—”

  Joe writhed around, freed himself from Cade’s grip. “Whoa … now hold on, detective. All we know is the baby they found was a boy. An infant. Not sure how old. Not even sure if the kid’s related to this case or not. We’ve been waiting to find out whether or not he’s Jack’s boy.”

  “The baby,” Cade asked. “What do you know about him?”

  “Like I said before, not much.”

  “Is he alive? Dead?”

  Joe hesitated, reluctant to answer. “From what we’ve been told, he’s dead.”

  CHAPTER 10

  In the early morning hours, a baby had been found zipped inside a nylon duffel bag that had been discarded on the shoulder of the I-15 freeway between Logan and Bountiful, Utah. Although it was too soon to tell, based on the acute fractures the child suffered ante mortem, the first medical team to reach the scene suspected foul play, an obvious presumption. The ME asserted the baby had most likely been heaved from a vehicle, while the vehicle was still in motion. Whether the boy had died before or after his tragic exit from the vehicle was still unknown.

  I needed answers.

  Now.

  And I knew who could give them to me.

  I dialed Maddie’s number.

  “How’s your weekend going?” Maddie asked.

  “Nothing like I thought. How’s Boo?”

  “Fine. He’s missing you though.”

  “I may need you to keep him a little longer. Is that okay?”

  “Of course.” The familiar sound of gum cracked in the distance. She’d never been the quietest chewer. “Does your decision to stay longer have anything to do with you finally admitting your feelings for Cade?”

  She surmised too much.

  “I … umm … took a case.”

  The tone of her voice spiked, going up several octaves. “Really? That’s great! I knew you wouldn’t be able to give it up.”

  I stayed quiet.

  “Hey, you there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “I need a favor.”

  “Sure, name it.”

  As one of the best MEs in the state of Utah, Maddie frequently came in handy. She’d broken the rules for me on several occasions, trusting me with information I otherwise wouldn’t have access to, information that had allowed me to solve some of my hardest cases. We’d worked well together over the years, even though there’d been a handful of times when her over-exuberant, high-octane personality got us into trouble. Even when it did, we’d always made a good team.

  “Have you heard about the baby found inside the duffel bag?”

  “Yeah, everyone in my circle has,” she said. “It’s all over the news. Wait—the baby isn’t your case, right?”

  “I’m not sure yet. Who’s the coroner?”

  “Hardy. Why?”

  “How well do you know him?”

  “Her,” she said. “Why?”

  “What do you know so far?”

  “If I tell you, are you going to stop asking questions and tell me why you’re asking?”

  “Yes.”

  “They found the infant around five this morning. The officer who spotted the bag thought it was someone’s luggage or school bag, at first. Imagine his surprise when he looked inside. Twisted. I can’t believe it myself.”

  “How bad did the baby look?”

  “Bad enough,” she said. “From what I heard, there’s some visible bruising, scrape marks on the baby’s hands and face. Haven’t seen any pictures though, so the abrasions could have been caused by the freeway. They’re checking traffic cameras, trying to find out how he ended up on the road, establishing a time frame of how long he was out there before anyone caught sight of him. Now … why are you so interested? I assume you’re working another missing child case?”

  I filled her in on the day’s events, told her everything I knew.

  “Tell Cade I’m sorry,” she said when I finished. “Are they close—Cade and his cousin?”

  “I’m not sure. He hasn’t said. Seems like he had a good relationship with his entire family though.”

  “How can I help?”

  “I need a photo of the baby’s face. Can you get it?”

  “Yeah, shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll make a phone call, see what I can do. If I get any grief, I’ll drive over, look at the little one myself.”

  “I appreciate it, Maddie. Right now a photo is the fastest way for me to determine if we’re talking about the same baby.”

  “For Cade’s family’s sake and for yours, I hope not.”

  CHAPTER 11

  In a bizarre moment of deja vu, I found myself back where we started an hour before, on Jack’s front lawn. This time Cade, Bonnie, and Grace were huddled together in the group, swapping info
rmation with each other. The reckless reporter and her sidekick were gone. After filling out an accident report, they departed under the watchful eye of us all, knowing full well what would happen if they returned again.

  Bonnie had a husky look to her, and the demeanor of a woman who plucked the feathers off her own chickens before tossing them into the cooking pot. She had the kind of face that had never been on the receiving end of anti-wrinkle cream, and yet, I could tell by looking at her that she’d lived a full life, probably a fuller one than most people did.

  A tow truck had been called for Bonnie’s car. So far, it hadn’t arrived. She waited, hands positioned on her hips, pointer finger tapping the leather strap on the belt tied around her waist. “I believe I’ve had all the excitement I can handle today. Besides, it’s a bit damp out here for my liking. Why don’t we all go inside?”

  “He locked us out,” Grace said.

  “So you said on the phone earlier,” Bonnie replied. “What I can’t make sense of is why you all let him get away with it.”

  “We were just trying to be respectful, Mom. He’s a mess.”

  “Exactly. That’s why whether he likes it or not, he’s letting us in.”

  Bonnie marched her way to the front door, banged on the outside with her fist. “Jack, it’s your mother. Open up.” Her patience expired a full twenty seconds later when she added, “Fine! You don’t want to come to the door, I will get my tire iron, I will put it through one of these fancy front windows of yours, and I will come in. Door or window, Son? Choice is yours.”

  Another thirty seconds and her fear tactic hadn’t yielded any positive results. She muttered something sarcastic under her breath while pressing a round, blue button on her key chain. The trunk of her car popped open. She seemed satisfied. “Well, whadd’ya know? Trunk latch still works.”

  “Aunt Bonnie,” Cade said, “now hold on just a—”

  She ignored him, outstretched an arm in his direction like she was on stage with the Supremes. “Watch and learn, Cade. Watch and learn.”

  I think I’d just met my new favorite person.

  Bonnie removed the tire iron from the trunk as promised and hoisted it into the air, so if Jack was watching, he’d see her intent was real. I glanced at the house. A hand brushed aside a sheer curtain draped in front of the interior window. He had seen. He was watching. I wondered if this meant he would open the door, and what would happen if he didn’t. Had Bonnie really meant what she said?

  Cade looked like he believed she did. And yet, he did nothing to stop her. I imagine it was because she was Jack’s mother, and as such, he trusted she knew the best way to get through to her son, or anyone, for that matter.

  Halfway back to the porch, tire iron in hand, the front door swung open. Jack stood cautiously behind it. He poked his head out, glanced at each of us, turned, and skulked down the hall, defeated.

  Bonnie walked in, the first words from her mouth being, “Hand over the liquor, Son.”

  He disappeared for a short time and returned holding the bottle I’d discovered earlier and a brown paper sack containing two more of the same.

  “Is this all of it?” Bonnie asked.

  “Yep,” he said.

  “No lies?”

  “No lies.”

  Bonnie turned on the tap, removed the lids from the bottles, and dumped about a hundred dollars’ worth of whiskey down the drain like it was nothing more than a forty-four-ounce soda from the gas station. She filled a glass with water and planted it on the table in front of him. “Drink this.”

  “I don’t feel like—”

  “Son, I’m not askin’. Now do it.”

  Once Jack was sorted out, Bonnie set her sights on me. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced yet, hun.”

  I started to stand. She flailed her arms in front of her. “Sit, sit. You can skip the formalities. I’m about as informal as they come.”

  “Sloane Monroe.”

  Grace grinned at Bonnie who half-closed one eye, assessing me in a whole new light. “Cade’s Sloane?”

  Cade’s Sloane?

  The insinuations were getting harder for me to withstand.

  “You all right?” Bonnie asked, eyes riveted on me. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It’s just … well … nice to finally see the woman he’s always going on about.”

  Cade tensed, although I could tell a part of him found it amusing. “We’re friends, Bonnie. Nothin’ more.”

  “Nothing more—yet,” Bonnie added, stifling a laugh.

  I sensed Bonnie didn’t hesitate to verbalize any thought or inclination once it entered her mind. Unnerved, I shifted my focus to Jack, watching him sip the water he’d been given like it tasted stale. With his wrist lengthened in front of him, I noticed a black, one-inch initial “R” tattoo. Earlier he’d called his late wife Rena. Must have been what the tattoo stood for. I gawked a few seconds too long, and he caught me staring. He rubbed over the ink with his other hand, shielding it from view.

  “I’m … sorry,” he said, “for earlier. I’m not usually … I mean to say, I don’t act this way.”

  “You can act whatever way you need to,” I said. “Throw a fit, scream, put your fist through a wall if you want. You have every right.”

  “Want to know what I really want? Sleep. No dreams, just sleep, so I can forget any of this ever happened.”

  “You might think it’s better to be alone. I’ve been where you are right now. I’ve gone through what you’re going through. Not with a spouse, with my sister. I’ve pushed people away and locked myself inside, thinking one day I’d wake up and it would all be better. Better is embracing the love all around you. What I’m trying to say is—your family is here to support you. Let them.”

  Bonnie smiled at Cade. “This one’s a keeper.”

  My phone vibrated in my pocket.

  “Where’s the restroom?” I asked.

  Three individual fingers pointed the way. Once inside, I picked the phone out of my back pocket, instantly aware of the photo attachment I’d received from Maddie. Before opening it, I peered out the bathroom door. Seeing no one, I slid into the master bedroom. On the dresser was a photo of Finn. Next to him on each side were his parents, smiling for the camera, smiling like they didn’t have a care in the world. A few weeks ago, they didn’t.

  I pressed on the attachment link from Maddie, inhaled a lungful of air, braced myself for whatever might appear on the screen in front of me. The baby’s face, thin and pale, wasn’t what I expected. His tiny, fragile eyes were closed. He looked like he was sleeping. He looked like he was at peace. The scratches he had were minimal. Still, I wanted to run a finger along his sweet face, smoothing even the smallest blemish away.

  Staring at the photo in the frame and then back at my digital screen, I was about seventy-five-percent sure my assumption about whether the boy was Finn or not was accurate. Seventy-five wasn’t good enough. I needed all one hundred before I had the confidence to make an announcement.

  “It’s sad, you know.” Bonnie entered the room, arms folded. “For years they had one dream, one desire—to find a way to have a child of their own. They finally achieve it, and now this. Doesn’t seem fair, does it?

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “In my years I’ve learned life is just as sour as it is sweet.”

  I turned the screen of my phone away from her. “Are you married?”

  “Widowed. A couple of years gone now.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Hal was my everything. We had a wonderful life together. He lived to see our children grow up, marry. He fulfilled every dream he had. His life was cut short, it’s true, but he went out on top, bucket list complete, just like I always knew he would.”

  There was a moment of awkward silence between us while I pondered what I was about to say, and whether she was the right person to say it to.

  “You going to show me what you’ve got there … whatever you were staring at with such in
tensity when I entered the room?”

  “I was trying to decide whether I should or not,” I said.

  There was nothing as refreshing as a dose of honesty from time to time.

  “Is it what I think it is?”

  “A photo of the baby they found in Utah? Yes. I need someone to verify if the boy in the photo is Finn or not. If you’re uncomfortable, I understand. I can ask someone else.”

  “You’ve had the privilege of spending the last couple hours with me. What do you think?”

  “I think you’re one of the strongest women I’ve ever met.”

  Second only to my grandmother, and Maddie.

  My high regard pleased Bonnie.

  “I’ve been blessed to live the kind of raw, rugged lifestyle most girls are shielded from,” she said. “There’s little I can’t handle, whether it be in this life or the next, though far off it may well be.”

  I thought of Grace and the presumptuous opinion I’d formed of her earlier. She couldn’t help the way she was. Listening to Bonnie, I gained a better perception of how Grace was brought up, why she seemed indifferent to Serena’s murder. Who was I to determine how she was truly feeling? If anyone was guilty at masking their true feelings, their true self, it wasn’t them. It was me.

  The screen on my phone had timed out, dimmed to black. I pressed a button, watched it spark to life again.

  Bonnie leaned over, viewed the photo. “That’s not Finn.”

  “Are you sure? Are you absolutely positive?”

  “Hun, I’ve visited this house every single day since my grandbaby graced this earth with his presence. And I’m telling you … that’s not our boy.”

  CHAPTER 12

  The sting of disbelief pricked my skin like needles on a hot day. Even if by the tiniest grain of sand, there was hope we’d be able to find him. Hope Finn was alive. Statistically, of the percentage of kidnapped children, babies rarely went missing. This truth left me with even more questions.

  By the time the police station was notified that Finn was missing, and an AMBER Alert was sent out, the three-hour window, known as the most critical hours to find a child alive, had passed. Even so, I had to ask myself—who could be cruel enough to kill a baby?