Lullabies and Lies

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Lullabies and Lies Page 5

by Mallory Kane


  Still, he needed the money. And Janie was clever. She wanted Sunny Loveless off their scent, and she’d planned the break-in at the investigator’s office to take care of that. Hiram had mined Loveless’s case files for ideas to distract her from Ed and Janie. He made mysterious threatening phone calls, pretending to be disgruntled clients or injured parties from her recent cases.

  It was working, too. Loveless hadn’t contacted the Grosses again.

  But Janie couldn’t leave well enough alone. She’d come to Nashville to check on Hiram, and ended up stealing Sunny Loveless’s baby. Now Hiram was in too deep to get out.

  He knocked again.

  The fellow who opened the door looked eighty-five if he was a day.

  Hiram flashed his fake badge and smiled at him. “Good evening.” He paused for effect, like the cops did on TV. He liked playing a detective. It made him feel important.

  “Mr. Joseph Mabry? Hate to bother you so late. We just need a few minutes more of your time. Need to straighten out a few things.”

  “Police yesterday and twice today? I told that detective this afternoon that y’all know everything I know.”

  The police had been here this afternoon? Hiram swallowed nervously. “Uh, we’re all pitching in on this case. You know how it is when a kid goes missing.”

  Why had the police come back here today? Had Loveless told them something else? His stomach churned. “Well, I just need to confirm a couple of things. Now, how long ago did Ms. Loveless first contact you?”

  “Month or so ago. She said she was looking for someone named Jane from back around ’91. I told her everything I remembered about Ed Gross and his wife. I’d plumb forgot about those two until Ms. Loveless showed up asking all those questions. Hell, I hardly ever saw Ed Gross, and that wife of his was more scarce than him. She never stuck her nose out the door. The police think they stole the Loveless woman’s baby?”

  Hiram took a ragged envelope and a stubby pencil from his pocket. “We’re looking at all Ms. Loveless’s cases. Trying to eliminate suspects in the disappearance of her baby. You know how it is. She mentioned your name in her police report.”

  “Right. She said there were four Janes that she was trying to track down. Looking for her client’s birth parents.” Mabry squinted at him. “Say, haven’t I seen you before?”

  “Nope. I just need to see the apartment where they stayed.”

  The old man sighed and looked behind him, toward the pallid blue light flickering in the darkness. “Awright, but can we hurry? I’m watching Law & Order.”

  Hiram followed him up the stairs.

  Talk to him, Janie had said when she’d seen Mabry’s name in the Loveless woman’s case file on Jennifer Curry. Make sure he hasn’t told the police anything. If he remembers me being pregnant, or the day we left town, he could ruin us all. He’s got to be ninety, so he probably doesn’t remember how to pee, but I can’t take that chance.

  At the top of the stairs, the old man was hardly out of breath. Hiram, on the other hand, was wheezing. He hitched up his pants and wiped his face with a handkerchief.

  “So, it’s real sad, her baby being stolen, isn’t it?” Hiram struggled for breath.

  “Yep. Real sad. She was a nice young lady. The Grosses stayed in apartment number four.” Mabry pointed a gnarled finger at a door that was tucked in behind the stairwell. “I can’t let you inside. It’s rented. Summer students. Mostly the apartments are empty this time of year.”

  “Then why’d you drag me up here?” Hiram huffed, struggling to catch his breath. “You could have told me that downstairs.”

  “You’re the one who said you wanted to see the apartment. Them other detectives were interested in how the door’s hidden by the stairs.”

  “Right, right.” Hiram tucked his handkerchief back in his pocket.

  “I told Ms. Loveless I thought the wife was in the family way, but it was hard to tell. She stayed to herself and always wore them baggy dresses. But I never did see a baby. Then they up and left June 30, ’91. Just disappeared in the night.”

  “You remember the exact day they left?” Hiram hadn’t remembered. All he knew was, he and Ed had been job hunting together, up until the day he’d come by to pick up Ed and discovered they were gone. Surprised the hell out of him. And scared him, truth be told. He hadn’t slept for weeks, afraid the police were going to show up on his doorstep.

  He’d have bet his right arm that skipping town had been Janie’s idea. He’d never liked Janie. She’d always been weird, and ruthless. He wouldn’t have put it past her to turn him in for his part in their baby-selling racket. He’d been petrified that he’d go down alone. Nothing ever seemed to touch Janie. It was as if she were invisible.

  “Tell me, Mr. Mabry. Did you mention the date they left to the police?”

  “More’n likely.”

  The date was the one thing Janie was so worried about. Hiram had wondered why, until he’d spent a day searching through the newspaper archives, reading every news story from that day fifteen years ago. One story in particular had caught his eye, the story of the disappearance of a toddler from a public space, and suddenly it all made sense. He understood why Janie was so worried.

  It was nice, having something on her for a change. Maybe she’d pay him more, when she found out how much he knew.

  He knew the truth. Still, if he could find the answer that easily, then so could Sunny Loveless. So could the police. It would be obvious why Ed and Janie had fled town so abruptly. If Loveless had put the when and the why together, and if she’d told the police, Ed and Janie would be toast. And Hiram knew they’d take him down with them.

  “Are we done now?”

  Hiram shook his head, making a show of writing on the envelope. “Just a couple more questions. How is it you remember the exact date?”

  “Why, ’cause their rent was due on the first of the month. They skipped out on me the night before.” He shook his head. “First time I ever had a tenant skip out on me. I’ll never forget it.”

  Mabry shuffled over to the stairs and put his hand on the banister. “I gotta get back downstairs. I’m missing Law & Order. The original. That’s my favorite.”

  The old man squinted at him. “You sure look familiar. You never lived here—I’d remember that. But you’ve been around before.”

  Hiram shook his head. “Not me. I guess I’ve just got one of those faces.”

  “Nope. I know I’ve seen you before. Right around the time the Grosses lived here. Let me see that badge again.”

  “I’m telling you you’re wrong.”

  “And I’m telling you I never forget a face.”

  Hiram felt sweat running down the side of his neck and pooling at the base of his spine. He couldn’t afford to have the old man recognize him. He needed to get out of here.

  “Well, you forgot this one. I hate that you had to miss Law & Order.” He put out a hand, his heart pounding like a jackhammer. Old men tripped and fell downstairs all the time, didn’t they? “Here. Let me give you a hand.”

  Chapter Three

  59 hours missing

  The next morning Griff slammed the door of his rental car and lifted his gaze to the brick Victorian house with its white gingerbread molding. In the early-morning sunlight it looked elegant and lovely and proud, just like its owner.

  A small wood-burned sign hung over the entrance. Loveless, Inc. We Specialize in Happy Endings.

  The ache in his chest grew. He ran his palm across his breastbone and took a deep breath.

  What would Sunny have to say about happy endings once he told her about the suspicious death Carver had called him about at three o’clock this morning?

  Walking up to the front door, he rang the doorbell.

  A man of medium height in a wrinkled sport coat opened the door.

  Griff showed him his badge. “Griff Stone, FBI.”

  The man pulled his coat back to reveal his Nashville Police Department badge. “The Lieutenant told me you
might show up.”

  He stepped back and Griff strode past him into the foyer. A staircase faced a bay window on his right; there was a closed door on the left wall, and a tall doorway arched ten feet in front of him.

  In the doorway between the foyer and the living room, a Queen Anne table served as a reception desk, and behind the table sat a slender elderly lady in a bright pink jogging suit. She had a phone propped between her shoulder and chin and was typing rapidly on a computer keyboard.

  “Yes, Mr. Thomas, that’s right. As long as you continue to pay your child support, you can claim the deductions.” Her mouth pursed with disgust as she listened.

  Griff let his gaze roam the reception area. It was clean and bright, with gauzy curtains at the windows and family photographs on the walls.

  Several of the photos were of Ms. Loveless with a beautiful, fair-skinned baby with downy blond hair. The kidnapped child. He’d seen a newspaper clipping, but now he quickly studied the infant’s features. His gaze took in Ms. Loveless’s happy smile and the brilliant emerald sparkle in her eyes as she held her child. His heart twisted.

  “Fine then,” the woman at the desk said briskly. “The IRS thanks you.”

  As Griff turned, she hit Enter on her keyboard with a flourish and hung up the phone. “Deadbeat piece of scum,” she muttered.

  Griff cocked an eyebrow. “The IRS?”

  The lady shrugged as she briefly met his gaze, her eyes twinkling. “I used to be an investigator. The lingo comes in handy if I need some information.”

  She dropped her gaze to his shoes. As she panned his pants legs to his belt, then on up, he felt as if he was being measured for something—possibly a coffin.

  “You must be the FBI agent. If you were a local, I’d remember you.”

  “I’m Special Agent Griffin Stone.”

  The lady’s sharp brown eyes snapped to his face. Her eyebrows lifted a couple of millimeters. “You have ID?”

  He held it out. “And you are?”

  She glanced down at his badge and ID card, then back up at him. “Lillian Jackson. Next-door neighbor, friend, assistant. What can I do for you, Mr. Stone?”

  “I need to see Ms. Loveless. It’s important.”

  The lady’s face changed and she clutched her collar. “Is it Emily? Did you find her?”

  “No ma’am. Sorry. But I need to discuss some things with Sunny, ask her some questions.”

  The lady looked toward the staircase. “She’s not up yet. She hasn’t slept since Tuesday night. I’m intimately familiar with the case. Perhaps I can help you.”

  “Not with this. I need to talk to her,” he said. “Now.”

  Lillian sat up, shaking her head.

  “It’s okay, Lil. I’m awake.”

  The hoarse, soft voice floated down to Griff. He lifted his gaze.

  She’d descended a few steps down the staircase, far enough to see his face.

  She was dressed in a loose white T-shirt and pajama bottoms that were blue with white clouds. Her body was as slender and curvaceous as he’d imagined it under the tailored slacks and shirt she’d worn yesterday, with the same airbrushed skin he remembered. The scratches on her cheek seemed a little fainter.

  “Is it about Emily?” The hope that lifted her voice and sparkled in her eyes was heartbreaking. He hated to quash it.

  He shook his head. “No, but it is relevant to the case.”

  The sparkle went out of her eyes, and for Griff, the day turned less bright.

  She nodded. “I’ll be down as soon as I dress.”

  “Are you sure, darling?” Lillian asked with a frown. “I know you didn’t sleep well.”

  “I’m okay.” She walked back up the stairs, and Griff watched her bare feet and slender ankles until they disappeared at the top of the stairs. He swallowed. He’d never paid any attention to a woman’s feet before.

  He turned to find a sad smile lighting Lillian’s face.

  “She’s been so brave. Emily has been her whole life for the past six months. The courage you see is just a front. Inside, she’s about to fall apart.” Love and worry rang in Lillian’s voice.

  He nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Ms. Jackson, what do you know about her cases, her friends, her enemies? Who would want to hurt her?”

  Lillian sank deeper into her chair and assessed him keenly.

  He waited.

  “Most of the people she’s helped send Christmas cards, with pictures of their kids and pets. I could probably count unhappy clients on one hand.”

  “Maybe you could do that for me.”

  Lillian Jackson brushed a strand of gray hair away from her face. “Lately, there have been some harassing phone calls, a couple of different people—I think.”

  “Like your deadbeat piece of scum on the phone just now?”

  She nodded. “His ex-wife hired Sunny to find him. He was using his child support to vacation in Jamaica with his girlfriend. When Sunny tracked him down, he told her she’d be sorry she’d meddled in his life.”

  Griff flipped his notebook open and skimmed his notes. “Would that be Bob Thomas? He has an alibi for Tuesday night.”

  Lillian nodded. “I know.”

  “So you just called him to harass him?”

  “And to get a record of his voice. We’ve been trying to put all our case files back together since the break-in a month and a half ago. Someone has called a couple of times making vague threats about stopping Sunny’s meddling, but I don’t think it was him.”

  His mouth quirked. “Says the IRS investigator?”

  She straightened. “That’s right.”

  “Then who could it be?”

  “The first one that comes to mind, of course, is Burt Means.”

  “Means?” Griff flipped pages in his notebook. “The father?”

  “Right. Emily’s biological father. Sunny helped prosecute him for statutory rape. He threatened her.”

  “And his release from prison fits the timeline. Anyone else?”

  “A man who wanted to find the sister he hadn’t seen for ten years. She didn’t want to see him. Got really angry at Sunny.”

  “What about others?”

  Lillian nodded at his notebook. “Don’t you have them all in there?”

  Griff cocked his brow. “Yes, I do, but a written report is never as good as an interview.”

  “That’s certainly true.”

  Griff held her gaze. “Ms. Jackson, you of all people know the importance of having all the facts.”

  Lillian’s gaze turned wary.

  Griff leaned over the desk and stared into her eyes. “You know she’s got to give us the notes. She’s putting her baby in grave danger by hiding her contact with the kidnappers. I saw her find the note yesterday.”

  He waited, holding his breath, while she assessed him. Did she know about the notes? And if she did, which side would win—her logical investigator side, or the protective, mothering side?

  “Sunny’s so tired, and she’s been through so much.”

  He didn’t answer.

  Finally she sighed. “I’ve tried to reason with her.” Her eyes glistened damply. “She’s not thinking like a private investigator. She’s thinking like a mother.”

  Griff nodded and straightened. A strong-willed mother. With more guts than most. He straightened. Maybe now she’d listen to reason. Now that tragedy had struck.

  WHEN THE PHONE RANG, Hiram shot straight up in bed. His heart leaped into his throat. It rang again, pumping fear through his veins like blood.

  It was the police. He knew it was.

  He’d fallen into bed fully clothed after cowering in his apartment all night, sweating like a pig, hardly able to breathe as he waited for the knock on the door he was sure he’d hear any second.

  He’d never moved as fast in his life as when he’d scrambled down those stairs and past the ominously still body of Mabry, crumpled on the bottom step.

  The phone kept ringing. Hiram looked at it, wishing the thing would
just explode into pieces and leave him alone.

  With a hand that shook like an old man, he gingerly lifted the receiver to his ear.

  “What the hell have you done?”

  Janie’s strident voice scraped across his nerves like a cheese grater against bare knuckles. Wincing, thinking he might be better off in the hands of the police, he opened his mouth.

  But all that emerged was a pathetic, unmanly squeak.

  “Hiram, you—” Janie let loose with a string of invectives that would make a longshoreman blush.

  He swung his legs onto the floor and tried to get up, but his knees were like jelly. “Janie,” he croaked.

  “—complete and utter idiot.” Finally she ran out of steam.

  He heard her draw deeply on a cigarette.

  “I don’t know what happened.” He remembered thinking about pushing Mabry, then suddenly the old man was lying ominously still at the foot of the stairs.

  “You don’t—how can you not know? I’m sitting here watching the national news and hearing that the landlord of the apartment where Eddie and I lived fell down his stairs. He’s dead. How in the hell does that divert attention, you incompetent, blubbering fool?”

  “It was an accident. I can fix it.”

  “Fix it?” Janie yelled, then coughed. “How?”

  Hiram tried again to rise. His knees held, so he stood and paced, raking his hand through his thinning hair. He had no clue, but he would never admit that to her.

  Think!

  “The father!” he blurted. The lump that choked his throat made his voice squeaky. “Burt Means just got out of prison. The Loveless woman put him there. He was a construction worker. I’ll rig something to scare ’em, and leave a clue to link it to him.”

  “Hang on, hang on. Let me think.”

  Hiram grimaced at the sound of Janie hacking through the phone. He walked over to the window and lifted the dusty blinds just enough to peer out.

  What if he’d left something at the landlord’s place? He broke out in a cold sweat. Where was the damn envelope he’d been writing on?

  “You cannot screw this up, Hiram. If I have to come down there and take care of things again, I’ll take care of you at the same time. Do you understand me?”

 

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