“Gail’s offered to coach me during labor, too. I want to try to have Diane naturally, so I won’t miss any of the experience.”
Casey’s cheeks had regained their color since this morning, Jack noted. She seemed to be looking forward to this childbirth business.
To him, it sounded painful and messy. He doubted any guy he knew would choose to go through an experience like that wide awake if he could help it. Even talking about it gave him the willies.
“Thanks for the invite, but I think I’ll talk to the other tenants,” he said. “I’m sure you ladies are way ahead of me on this baby business, anyway.”
“Don’t you want to ask Gail about her ex-husband?” Casey put in.
“I can do that later.” The smell of talcum powder reminded Jack of his first foster home, although this time the association wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Despite the initial rebuke, he’d peeked into the nursery occasionally because the baby always looked so glad to see him. The memory of that little face brought back the bittersweet emotions he’d felt, torn between wanting to fit in and knowing he never could.
“I think we have a squeamish father here.” Gail’s cool, professional manner took any sting out of the words.
“No way!” Casey said. “Jack was a policeman. He’s probably delivered babies, right?”
“We had to learn the basics, but mostly we relied on the paramedics.” Jack didn’t retain much from his Police Academy days, anyway, although he and Mike made a point of keeping up their CPR certification.
Casey’s shoulders drooped. He hated disappointing her. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to learn how to change a diaper,” he muttered.
Her smile encouraged him. It occurred to Jack that he probably should visit his daughter when he had to fly cross-country anyway. Maybe she’d give him one of those big, toothless grins and let him pick her up. At least this time nobody would order him out of the nursery, and he wouldn’t have to worry about his parenting skills if he only stayed for a little while.
“Okay. I was planning to start with breathing exercises, but we can do those later.” Gail reached for the doll. “The first thing to remember about a newborn is that you want to support the head and neck.” She demonstrated with firm, smooth motions. “Never, ever shake a child. I’m sure you know that, officer.”
“Call me Jack. And yes, I’m aware it can cause brain damage.” Despite himself, he listened with interest. This wasn’t any baby they were talking about but Diane, the little girl who would resemble her beautiful mother.
She might also look a bit like Jack. He pitied her already.
As Casey paid attention to the nurse, her hand rested on her enlarged abdomen. She didn’t seem to notice the way she stroked it.
When it came time to diaper the doll, Jack figured that part would be easy, since this infant couldn’t squirm. Sure enough, he had no trouble positioning the diaper and attaching the tapes. It came as a distinct surprise, though, when the whole production fell down around the doll’s ankles the moment he lifted her.
“Well, let’s hope our little precious hasn’t done a number in there,” Gail remarked.
Casey laughed.
“What did I do wrong?” Jack stared at his failure in disbelief.
“You need to pull everything tighter,” the nurse advised. “Let’s try it again.”
He did a better job the second time. To his satisfaction, Casey took a while to master the procedure as well.
The nurse lifted the doll when they’d finished, cradling it for a moment almost as if it were a real child. “Sweet, isn’t she?” she said wistfully. “I can’t wait until we hold the real one! Okay, I did things backwards today because I figured child care would interest your husband, but now let’s talk about labor and delivery.”
This topic made Jack a bit queasy, and his lungs ached when he tried the breathing exercises. As he listened to the nurse describe something called dilation, he could almost smell the hospital the times his mother had fled there after beatings and, later, while undergoing treatment for cancer. Jack had huddled next to her in an endless series of waiting rooms, frightened by the sick people around them and repulsed by the odor of antiseptics.
Suddenly he found the air chokingly stale. Blurting an excuse, Jack strode from the house, down the porch steps and into the clearing across the driveway. Amid the pine odor and the open vista, his sense of entrapment abated.
Whatever fatherhood called for, Jack didn’t have it in him. Although it bothered him that he wouldn’t be there for Diane, she didn’t need a man pretending to be her daddy only because he missed her mother.
He needed to work. To have a role, to focus on what must be done. Right now, that meant investigating the prowler.
Mentally, he tried to piece together the clues. Nothing fit a pattern or formed a larger picture. Whoever this guy was, he had a peculiar way of making his presence known and possibly mixed motives.
A short time later, someone came out of the house. When he glanced over, he saw the nurse’s sturdy figure in crisp pink trousers and a flowered blouse.
“Casey asked me to talk to you.” The woman addressed him matter-of-factly. “We like to joke in obstetrics that we haven’t lost a father yet.”
“I’m fine.” Jack didn’t want anyone trying to soothe him with platitudes or to psychoanalyze him, either. “I’d like to pose a few questions about the prowler, if you don’t mind.”
“Be my guest.” She leaned on the porch railing, rubbing her fingers together restlessly. He’d be willing to bet she used to smoke at some point and still missed it.
“Tell me about your ex-husband.” From his pocket, he retrieved his notebook. It felt good to have something concrete to do.
“Dean? He’s two years older than me, so that would make him sixty-three,” Gail said. “He’s tall and solid but not fat. He works as a plumber and his clients think he’s a good-natured guy, always telling jokes and making nice with the customers. That’s because he doesn’t drink much during the day.”
“He gets drunk regularly?”
She nodded. “Mostly at night. That’s when the nasty side comes out. I don’t think I need to paint you a picture.”
“You certainly don’t.” Her ex-husband sounded like Jack’s own father and far too many domestic abusers he’d encountered as a police officer. As long as they earned a living, they figured they had the right to mess up their families’ lives to their hearts’ content. “Any kids?”
“No.” Her expression soured, as if she’d bitten into a lemon. It was obviously a sore subject.
That must be tough on a woman who worked with expectant moms all day, but some people channeled their misfortunes into caring for others. In a way, that’s what Jack had done when he became a police officer.
“Has Dean ever stalked you?” he asked.
“Not that I’m aware of. Usually he keeps everything bottled up and then explodes. I’ve got the scars to prove it.”
He didn’t see any on her face, but the guy might have made a point of battering where it wouldn’t show. “How long were you married?”
Nearly thirty years, Gail said, although during the first twenty Dean had served in the military so he’d been absent for long periods. After mustering out, he’d spent a few years on the wagon.
A layoff from his civilian job had sent him over the edge by forcing him to face the aging process and confront financial difficulties. For whatever reason, he’d sunk into a cycle of depression and abuse that continued even after he was rehired. About five years ago, Gail had left.
Although he made some threats when she sued for divorce, Dean had never attempted to carry them out. Gail only heard from him about financial matters, and not very often then, since they’d reached a settlement that didn’t involve alimony. As far as she knew, he still lived in Michigan.
“Has he visited you here?”
She shook her head. “I get Christmas cards from him, though, so I know he has the address.”
“Has he met Casey or any of the other tenants?”
“No.”
Jack took down the man’s phone number, address and last name. Using an on-line database he subscribed to, he could check out Dean’s arrest record and credit rating, which should give a clue as to whether the guy was at risk of becoming violent.
A thirty-year marriage might not be set aside as easily as Gail implied, Jack mused. The fact that she hadn’t completely cut off contact might look like encouragement to her ex. Still, the man’s behavior pattern didn’t fit a typical stalker.
As he was pulling together his thoughts, Gail asked, “Do you carry a gun?”
“No, why?”
“I don’t see how you can protect Casey without one.”
“There are practical and legal reasons why I don’t,” Jack told her. “It’s not easy to get a license in California, and even if I had one, I couldn’t take a weapon on an airplane or carry it out of state. Also, if you keep a firearm, there’s the risk of an accidental discharge or of a criminal getting his hands on it.”
“You’d better hope this prowler isn’t armed,” Gail said tartly.
“Does your ex have a gun?”
She reflected a moment. “I never saw one. But in case it isn’t him, you should know that plenty of people have them around here. For hunting and so forth.”
That didn’t surprise him. Keeping a gun in one’s own home was legal in most places, although not necessarily safe. “Any of the tenants, as far as you know?”
“Bo has one.” She waited as he flipped to a clean page in his notebook. “That’s Bo Rogers. He and his wife Rita live in the cabin behind Enid’s. He’s mentally challenged, a very nice young man. In his midthirties, I’d say.”
“Handgun or rifle?”
“Rifle, for hunting rabbits. He offered to bring me one, but I couldn’t bear to eat a cute little thing like that,” she said.
“There’s another male tenant, isn’t there? What about him?”
“Matt Dorning. He lives in the cabin behind me.” She spelled the last name without being asked. “I don’t know about a gun but he has plenty of knives.”
“What kind of knives?”
“Mostly for whittling, I guess,” Gail replied. “He sells animal figures to shops around the region. He’s got a whole display of them in a case. The knives, I mean.”
Jack asked a few more questions without learning anything significant. “Thanks.” He closed the notebook. “You’ve been a big help.” He paused in case she wanted to add anything. People sometimes revealed vital clues as an afterthought.
Not Gail. All she said was, “Casey could use your support, but I’m not going to tell you your business. I was sorry to hear about your car.”
“Thanks.”
She said a brief farewell, collected her supplies and departed, taking the footpath toward her cabin. Jack went inside.
In the living room, Casey sat on the couch, her head bent over some yarn she was working with a hooked needle. Crocheting, Jack thought it was called. He had no idea what the floppy little circle in her hands was supposed to be.
“I’m going to go talk to a couple of your tenants,” he told her. “You’re welcome to come with me.”.
She didn’t answer.
When Casey clammed up, that never boded well. “Something the matter?” he inquired.
Still no answer.
“Did Gail say something about me?”
She gave a headshake.
Seeking a way to break the ice, Jack asked, “What are you making?”
“Sweater.” She stared at it far more intently than seemed necessary.
“Kind of a small sweater.” He realized what a stupid comment that was. “For Diane, right?”
Her head bobbed. It marked progress, of a sort.
He sat on the couch beside her. During their marriage, Jack hadn’t known how to respond when Casey ignored him, so he’d gone about his business. She always got over her sulks eventually, but the two of them never went back and discussed what had been bothering her.
It seemed to him, in retrospect, that issues had to be addressed or they piled up like trash in a corner. Besides, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what had set her off. “You’re upset because I walked out.”
“You always do that.” She lowered the crocheting. “Whenever I try to bring you inside my life, to include you in things that matter, you freak out.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I thought you might change.” She blinked away tears. The sight of her distress made Jack’s fists clench, as if he could fight off the villain who’d done this to her. However, that would be himself.
“Believe me, I wish I knew how to fix this,” he said.
“You never tell me what you’re thinking.”
“It isn’t worth repeating.” He had no idea how to express thoughts that seemed jumbled and irrelevant. And painful.
“I almost wish you hadn’t come back.” Casey’s blue eyes glittered. “I know it’s stupid, but I started to hope you might begin to care about Diane. Fat chance, huh?”
“I do care. Anything you need, just ask. I’m not going to abandon either of you.”
“Did Gail talk you into saying that?” she demanded.
“I’m not a complete jerk!” he snapped, annoyed at the implication. “Gail didn’t have to talk me into anything. As a matter fact, she hardly mentioned the baby. We discussed her ex-husband.”
“Oh.” Casey let out a long breath. She didn’t look fed up any more, just resigned. That bothered Jack even more than her stubbornness. “I guess it’s time I accepted you the way you are. That’s why we can’t be together any more, and I regret it, but there it is.”
Perversely, he wanted to argue, only to what end? Although he’d nursed the fantasy that he could win Casey back on his own terms, her pregnancy made that impossible. Whatever fantasy she’d clung to about him, he’d apparently popped that balloon as well.
“I guess we both need to accept each other,” he conceded. “You’re in a difficult situation and I’m doing my best to help. Now, would you like to come with me to interview the tenants?”
She dumped the crocheting on the coffee table. “Sure,” she said. “Let me get my jacket.”
It was a truce of sorts, Jack thought. He hoped it would last.
CHAPTER SEVEN
At least he’d tried to open up, Casey told herself as they strolled through the crisp afternoon toward Enid’s cabin. She had to admit that she didn’t always have an easy time expressing her own feelings, and it must be infinitely harder for Jack.
In her family, people had usually got along. When problems cropped up, they’d resolved themselves naturally because her parents shared the same values and dreams. As a result, they hadn’t needed to work on their communications skills.
She couldn’t imagine what Jack’s life had been like. Although she realized he’d lost his parents and grown up in foster homes, she didn’t understand his antagonism toward parenthood. To her, having a baby meant establishing one’s own warm, safe home.
Once in a while, an uncharacteristic vulnerability would shine in his face, reinforcing her belief that, deep inside, Jack had a tender heart. If only he’d try to see things her way!
She could have sworn he’d shown real interest when he tried to diaper the doll. Surely he could learn to love his daughter, if he only let himself.
Fiercely, Casey jammed her hands into her pockets and picked up the pace. Believing in the impossible had landed her in the middle of a divorce, where she faced life as a single mom. She supposed she’d better rein in her fantasies before she got hurt all over again.
The curving lower driveway at Pine Woods Court formed a backwards S, with her house at the lower bulge and Enid’s at the upper one. Above that point, the driveway split into the shape of an H lying on its side, with each of the four units occupying one endpoint. Until her parents bought the place, the cabins, shielded from view by swelling lan
d and abundant trees, had rented by the week or month. They’d been popular among hunters, hikers and fishermen
As they walked, Jack gazed from side to side, taking stock. She saw him scan a rock outcropping and study an old, fallen tree that Casey had left in place because animals nested in it. Even though he probably viewed all of it as cover for criminals, she hoped he might start to enjoy the intrinsic beauty as well.
At her suggestion, he’d exchanged his suit for a corduroy jacket, jeans and suede work shoes that fit the surroundings and emphasized his natural masculinity. She liked his self-possessed stride, with no wasted motion or swagger.
Impulsively, she wondered how he’d react if she tugged him behind the outcropping, unzipped his jacket and pulled him onto the grass. She certainly knew how she would react as she imagined the warmth of his body sheltering hers from the spring breeze.
“Tell me about Enid.” Jack’s words yanked her to reality. “What’s her background?”
“She was my high-school math teacher.” When Casey flew back here after her mother’s heart attack, she’d been pleased to find Miss Purdue in residence. “I wasn’t exactly one of her more brilliant students and sometimes she made it tough on me, but eventually I earned her respect.” After a moment, she added, “She’s the one who organized the baby shower last night.”
“Does she have any ex-husbands who might be lurking around?”
“She never married.” Richfield Crossing didn’t offer many romantic opportunities, particularly to a woman who worked with youngsters all day. “She told me once she wished they’d had the Internet back then, because she might have found someone.”
“Any chance she’s been looking for love on the web recently?” The technology had spawned a lot of good relationships and also some tragedies. A sheltered woman such as Enid Purdue might unwittingly draw the interest of a disturbed individual.
“She doesn’t have an Internet account,” Casey explained. “She goes to the library or borrows my computer when she wants to order something she can’t find locally. So I doubt she’s Internet dating. Besides, although she heard somebody rummaging around outside once, it doesn’t appear that anybody’s targeting her.”
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