Amanda Stevens Bestseller Collection: Stranger In Paradise/A Baby's Cry

by Amanda Stevens

  “Do you know why Dr. Brad Robinson left the clinic?”

  “That was years ago. Long before I came.”

  “You haven’t heard any talk around the clinic concerning their falling out? It’s a small hospital.”

  “And people love to talk. Yes, I know.” She smiled but her eyes glinted with suspicion. “Are you really here investigating Dr. Robinson’s death?”

  “Why else would I be here?”

  She studied him for another long moment. “Mrs. Robinson was out here a few days ago. I didn’t talk to her myself, but the gossip around the hospital has it that she was asking more questions regarding the birth of her child than she was about her husband’s death.” Allison uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, folding her arms across her desk. “What’s this really all about, Sergeant?”

  Dillon hesitated, not sure how much he was willing to reveal to Allison St. James. There was something about the woman that didn’t seem quite right. It wasn’t just her youthful appearance in contrast to her severe business attire that gave him the feeling she was playacting. There was something in her eyes. Something dark and not altogether pleasant.

  “How can I help you if I don’t know what you really want?” she said softly. “Level with me, Dillon.”

  They measured each other for another long moment. “All right,” he said. “Taylor Robinson was told her baby died at birth, but since the death of her husband, she’s been receiving anonymous messages and phone calls, which seem to suggest that the child might still be alive.”

  Allison looked taken aback by the revelation, as if she’d been expecting almost anything but this. “You mean…she thinks her baby was stolen? Here at the clinic?”

  Dillon nodded. “Stolen or swapped. Mrs. Robinson was put under for the birth. She never saw the child.”

  Allison looked genuinely shaken. “My God,” she said. “That poor woman. No wonder she looked so desperate. I can only imagine how she must feel.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t see her.”

  Allison blinked. “I…didn’t talk to her. I saw her in the lobby. I asked one of the nurses about her, and she told me the woman was Dr. Robinson’s widow.”

  “You can see why it’s important for us to get a look at those records,” he said quietly.

  “But if this is a police matter, why don’t you just get a court order?”

  “It’s not as simple as that.”

  “I see. If I made a call to your supervisor at the police department—”

  “I’d be in a lot of trouble,” Dillon said candidly.

  “So what is Mrs. Robinson to you?”

  “A friend.”

  Allison St. James smiled knowingly. “Of course. Well, we all could use a friend like you, Sergeant. But I’m afraid I still can’t let you see those records without a court order.”

  “What about the employee files? It would be helpful to know who was on duty that night.”

  Allison shrugged. “Same problem, I’m afraid. The personnel files are also confidential.”

  Dillon stood and handed her his card. “If you think of some way we can get around that court order, why don’t you give me a call? You can reach me at home if you need to.”

  She accepted the card, letting her fingers brush across his. Then she stood, too, and came around the desk, leaning one hip against the edge. “Perhaps we could discuss the possibilities over dinner some evening, Sergeant.”

  Just as Dillon was wondering how he could gracefully make his exit, someone knocked on the door and then opened it. A tall, dark-haired man, elegantly dressed in a gray pin-striped suit, stared at them from the doorway.

  “Dr. Westcott.” Allison St. James stood up from the desk. For a moment, Dillon thought she might even come to attention and salute.

  A woman in a white, starched nurse’s uniform stood just behind Dr. Westcott. She was around fifty-five, with iron gray hair, faded blue eyes and thin, dry lips drawn into a disapproving line.

  “What’s going on in here, Ms. St. James?” Dr. Westcott demanded. “Doris said the police are here.”

  Allison St. James looked plenty flustered now. She swept her hand nervously toward Dillon. “This is Sergeant Reeves from the Memphis Police Department. He’s investigating Dr. Robinson’s death.”

  Dr. Westcott scowled at Dillon. “I understood that investigation was closed.”

  “Inactive,” Dillon corrected. “But new evidence has recently come to light that sheds some doubt on the cause of Dr. Robinson’s death.”

  Westcott looked arrogantly skeptical. “And just what is this new evidence?”

  “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to divulge that information.”

  “Then what makes you think either my staff or myself has any reason to cooperate with this bogus investigation of yours?”

  Dillon shrugged. “No reason. Except that Brad Robinson once worked at the clinic. I believe you were his mentor. Seems to me you’d want to see justice done.”

  “I believe justice has already been done,” said Dr. Westcott coldly.

  “Mrs. Robinson thinks otherwise.”

  “Then the woman is obviously unbalanced. Who in their right mind would believe the utter nonsense she’s been spouting?”

  “Then you’ve talked to her,” Dillon said.

  “Yes, I’ve talked to her. And it only confirmed my suspicions. She is in no way fit to supervise the welfare of children, and until she gets the professional help she needs, I think she should be removed from her position at Claymore Academy. Now, if you will excuse us, I’d like to have a private word with Ms. St. James.”

  Dillon threw Allison a glance. The woman looked positively petrified. She didn’t even look at him.

  The nurse in the doorway said sternly, “I’ll show you out.”

  At the door, Dillon turned and said, “I’ll be in touch,” but neither Allison nor Dr. Westcott acknowledged him.

  Outside the office, Dillon made a point of studying the name tag on the woman’s uniform. Doris K. Rafferty. “How long have you worked at the clinic, Ms., uh, Rafferty?”

  “Long enough,” she said curtly.

  “Were you working here nine years ago? The night Dr. Robinson’s wife gave birth?”

  Her features hardened. Her eyes snapped with suspicion. “You’re working for her, aren’t you? That’s what this is all about.”

  “I’m not a P.I. if that’s what you mean.”

  “I told him she meant trouble,” Doris muttered. “I told him the minute I saw her walk through the door that day.”

  “Who?”

  At his sharp question, Doris Rafferty seemed to collect herself. She gave Dillon a long, pointed stare. “After all these years, I don’t know why she’s come back to cause trouble for Dr. Westcott. Her baby died that night. There was nothing anyone could do.”

  “Then you were on duty when it happened?”

  Doris Rafferty’s mouth thinned even more. “It’s all a matter of public record. What happened that night, I mean. The birth and death certificates were filed with the proper authorities.”

  “I’ve seen them,” Dillon said. “But they don’t really prove anything, do they? There was a storm that night. The clinic was shorthanded. It would have been a simple matter to swap two babies, and in the confusion, no one would have been the wiser.”

  Doris’s eyes narrowed on him. “You tell her if she keeps on like this, she’ll be sorry. He could have her job. And yours. Dr. Westcott has a lot of influential friends in this town.”

  “You’re one of Dr. Westcott’s friends, aren’t you, Doris? You seem very loyal.”

  Doris’s heavy chin lifted. “The man’s a saint in my book. Mrs. Robinson should be down on her knees, thanking God every night of her life that she had a doctor like him to look after her. She had a lot of complications with that birth. Did she tell you that? If it hadn’t been for the doctor, she’d have died with her baby that night.”

  In spite of his outward calm, Dillon was
shaken by the woman’s words. Taylor hadn’t told him that she’d been in danger that night. In his mind’s eye, he could see her pale and weak, all alone and fighting for her life.

  And then when she woke up, to be told her baby was dead…

  For the first time, Dillon had an inkling of what she had gone through. What she had felt. An aching emptiness settled around his heart, and he wondered if that was what Taylor had lived with all these years.

  Doris left him at the front door. Outside, he put on his sunglasses and stared at the opulent grounds. The setting of the Westcott Clinic was lovely. Idyllic even.

  But there was something indefinably creepy about the place. An oppressiveness that couldn’t quite be dispelled by the sunshine and elegance that hung over the place like an expensive designer dress that didn’t quite fit.

  He hadn’t noticed how the clinic had affected him or how on edge his nerves were until he was leaving. Now, he experienced the same sense of overwhelming relief he used to feel leaving the house on Tamarind Street.

  Crossing the parking area to his car, he paused for a moment to stare up at the building. A movement at one of the second-story windows caught his eye, and he wondered if one of the patients was looking down at him.

  Whoever was up there was making a point not to be seen. They stood well away from the window, a mere shadow in the afternoon sunshine.

  An uneasy shiver crept up his spine as those invisible eyes continued to watch him.

  “HE’S BAACCK,” Nicholas Baker drawled as he pointed toward the doorway of the art room.

  Taylor gazed over her shoulder. Like yesterday, Dillon stood in the doorway, watching her with a sort of brooding intensity that set her heart to pounding.

  “You’ve got a funny look on your face,” Nicholas accused. “Who is that guy, anyway?”

  “He’s a policeman.” Taylor gave Nicholas a meaningful look.

  Nicholas looked impressed in spite of himself. “What’s a cop doing in this joint?”

  “He’s here on official business.”

  Gasps of “Wow!” and “Cool!” exploded from the other kids in the room. Nicholas tried to hide his own reaction to the news, but Taylor could tell he was just as excited as the other kids.

  “Is he wearing a gun?” he demanded.

  “I hope not.”

  Across the table from Nicholas, Alisha sat staring at the doorway, obviously enraptured by the visitor. When Dillon caught her eye and grinned, she ducked her head. But to Taylor’s astonishment, she saw that the child was smiling. Taylor had never seen Alisha so receptive to anyone so quickly, but she had to admit Dillon’s presence was pretty overwhelming, even to her.

  She crossed the room, then followed him out into the hallway.

  “What do you remember about a Dr. Jillian Forster?” he asked her without preamble. “She was a resident at the Westcott Clinic while you were a patient there.”

  The name sounded vaguely familiar. Taylor searched her memory, but she couldn’t put a face with the name. She shook her head. “I don’t remember anything about her.”

  “From what I’ve been able to learn, she and Brad were friends. She was on staff at Mercy General when he was dismissed, and she went to bat for him with the hospital review board, pitting herself against the most powerful doctor at the hospital.”

  “Westcott?”

  “You were right about him,” Dillon said. “He was the one who instigated the charges against Brad and brought him before the review board. It was his testimony that got Brad suspended.”

  Taylor nodded. “I’m not surprised. That’s exactly what Brad suspected.” She thought about her last conversation with Brad, the way he’d ranted and raved about Dr. Westcott, his one-time mentor. What had caused their falling out? What had turned Westcott against Brad?

  “So where does Dr. Forster fit in?” she asked.

  “I figure she could shed some light on the relationship between Brad and Westcott, give us the real story about what happened. She might even have been on duty the night the baby was born.”

  “Have you talked to her?”

  “That’s why I’m here. She won’t see me. In fact, I couldn’t get past her receptionist. I want you to call and make an appointment.”

  “You mean pretend I’m a patient? Is that ethical?”

  Dillon shrugged. “You want ethics or answers?”

  Taylor glanced up at him, thinking again how very much he’d changed over the years. “Is this how you conduct all your investigations?”

  “When it’s necessary. I learned a long time ago you can’t always get what you want by playing by the rules. I get results, Taylor. Isn’t that why you came to me for help?”

  She’d been asking herself that same question for days now. Wasn’t that why she’d gone to Dillon in the first place? To get his help? To get, as he put it, results?

  Or had there been another reason? A motivation so deeply hidden Taylor herself wasn’t even aware of it?

  The thought made her shiver as she turned back to the classroom to dismiss the students.

  AS IT TURNED OUT, Dr. Forster’s receptionist was quite helpful. There’d been a last-minute cancellation that afternoon, and if Taylor could come to the office in an hour, Dr. Forster would be able to see her.

  As soon as Taylor was free at school, she and Dillon got into his dark green Firebird and drove west on Union Avenue, toward downtown. Dr. Forster’s office was in a medical center.

  After Taylor filled out the necessary paperwork, she and Dillon were ushered into an examination room. The nurse left them alone, and Taylor sat on the exam table fully dressed while Dillon paced the floor.

  Exactly as if they were expectant parents.

  Taylor couldn’t help remembering all the times she’d been in similar examination rooms when she’d been pregnant. Her emotions had run the gamut back then. She’d been thrilled to hear the baby’s heartbeat for the first time, ecstatic at the first ultrasound.

  But through it all, she’d kept thinking what it would be like if Dillon were by her side, sharing with her the anticipation of their baby’s birth.

  Brad had been kind and considerate, infinitely patient. But he hadn’t been Dillon. And everything about her pregnancy had only reinforced that fact in both their minds…until finally Taylor had stopped talking about the baby altogether. She’d kept her emotions—the highs and the lows—to herself.

  And then one day, seven months into her pregnancy, Dr. Westcott warned her of a possible complication. He recommended complete bed rest, preferably at the Westcott Clinic where she would be looked after by experts twenty-four hours a day.

  Taylor had been devastated by the news, certain that something she’d done—or hadn’t done—had caused the problem. She’d been so frightened that something might happen to her baby she’d readily agreed to enter the clinic.

  Now, as she gazed around the stark and sterile room, she wondered if that had been the biggest mistake of her life. If that one decision had cost her the baby she’d wanted more than anything in this world.

  She lifted her gaze to meet Dillon’s. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “I’m sorry, too.”

  There was no need to say anything more. Somehow Taylor knew he was feeling exactly what she was experiencing. She had the almost overpowering urge to reach out to him, to take his hand in hers and draw him to her. In that moment, she had never felt as close to another living soul.

  “How did it happen?” she asked. “How could we lose so much?”

  Dillon’s eyes looked distant, bleak. “Because we let it happen,” he said simply.

  His words were like a dark and heavy cloak descending over Taylor. Like frames from a movie, the past ten years of her life flashed through her mind. Finding out Dillon had left town. Her rushed marriage to a man she didn’t love. Being told her baby was dead. The subsequent problems with Brad—his drinking, the drugs, the depression, the threats.

  And through it all, the killing lo
neliness.

  Taylor had convinced herself she was doing the right thing for her baby by marrying Brad. A child needed a father. She’d told herself she was being noble and selfless by not tracking Dillon down and telling him about the pregnancy, by not trapping him into a marriage that would have taken away all his dreams.

  But as she stared at him now, the full weight of what she had done hit her. She’d changed both their lives, and there was no going back. Ever.

  As if unsettled by his own thoughts, Dillon glanced at his watch. “I wonder what’s keeping her.”

  No sooner had he spoken the words, then the door opened and a woman, wearing a white lab coat and carrying Taylor’s file in one hand, walked into the exam room.

  Dr. Jillian Forster was in her late thirties, tall and slender with auburn hair and green, slightly tilted eyes. She was not just attractive, but striking, exuding an air of superiority and supreme confidence.

  Taylor stared at her in shocked recognition. Dr. Jillian Forster was the woman she’d seen at Brad’s funeral. The woman who had seemed to be staring at her.

  Dr. Forster’s gaze immediately fastened on Taylor and widened with her own recognition. She quickly scanned the file in her hand. “Mrs. Reeves?”

  “Actually, her name’s Robinson,” Dillon cut in. “Taylor Robinson.”

  Dr. Forster glanced sharply at Dillon, and then her gaze went back to Taylor, raking her from head to toe.

  “I’m sorry I gave you a false name,” Taylor said. “But I was afraid you wouldn’t see me otherwise.”

  “Then I assume you aren’t here because you’re pregnant.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  Dr. Forster tossed Taylor’s file onto the table. “I’m a very busy woman, Mrs. Robinson. I don’t have time for games.”

  “This isn’t a game, I assure you,” Taylor said. “I’d like for you to tell me about Brad. I want to know why he was dismissed from Mercy General.”

  “What makes you think I know?”

  “Because you were there. You spoke to the review board on Brad’s behalf.”

  Annoyance flickered across the doctor’s stunning features. “You were Brad’s wife,” she said with an air of resentment. “Didn’t he tell you what happened?”