Mrs. Durdan pursed her lips and shook her head. She transferred the chicken from the roasting pan to an oval platter. “Oh, yes, the Gypsy child snatchings. Mother talked about it so many times. I imagine every parent in town used Maggie Blackwell’s story as a warning to their youngsters to run away if they ever saw a Gypsy wagon. So are you trying to find those Gypsies? I’m sure they’re all dead and gone by now.”
“Mrs. Durdan, we don’t believe—”
“Let’s save our investigation for after dinner, all right?” Sean gave Meghan a warning look, then turned a smile on their hostess. “Never mix business with pleasure.”
The woman laughed. “You’re a wise man, Detective Eagle, just like my Nolan.”
During dinner, Mrs. Durdan kept up a steady stream of one-sided conversation. They learned more than they would have asked about the woman’s personal life, including the fact that she and her husband weren’t able to have children of their own.
“We never knew which of us was, shall we say, incapable since we never saw a doctor, the way folks do today. I suppose I feared I’d blame Nolan if it was his fault, and he feared he’d blame me if it was my fault, so we just took in foster children and satisfied ourselves with that. I was used to lots of children around since Mother ran the orphans’ home and I helped as much as I could. Then when you count the foster children…Well, I surely raised more children than I ever would have if I’d had some of my own.”
Sean forked up a bite of stuffing and stabbed some chicken with it. “What keeps you here now that all the children and your husband are gone?”
Her brow puckered as if she considered the question ludicrous. “Where else would I go? I was born here. My mother and father and husband are buried in Cumpton Cemetery. The foster children who never got adopted, and even some who grew up here when Mother was still running the orphanage, come back and visit me. They wouldn’t know where to look if I moved away. Besides, this land is mine, and the buildings. Mother bought it all from the state when they closed the orphanage in 1959. Then she signed it over to me. She paid a highfalutin lawyer from Bentonville to do the papers so it would be legal and nobody could take it away from me.”
Sean raised his eyebrows. “She must have had a lot of business savvy.”
“I don’t know about her being savvy. I do know she never wanted me to be forced to take a lowly position like hers to keep bread on the table. So it makes sense for me to stay. This is…home.”
A funny tingle made its way up Meghan’s spine, but she couldn’t discern its source. She chopped a green bean in half and carried it to her mouth. “You don’t think you’ll ever move away from here?”
Mrs. Durdan smiled. A lovely, complacent, peaceful smile. “Honey, the next place I move will be Cumpton Cemetery, in the plot right next to Nolan’s. And according to the papers Mother had drawn up at the lawyer’s office, the day after they lay me in the ground, officials are to set fire to this place and burn it to the ground.”
Sean and Meghan exchanged startled looks. Sean said, “Why?”
Mrs. Durdan drew back, surprise on her face, too. “You know, I’m not altogether sure. But, knowing Mother, she had her reasons. Of course, I can’t ask her what they are anymore, since she isn’t here. But although she was a very outgoing person—always out and about, talking with folks and going here and there—in some ways she was also a very private person. She didn’t care for people poking their noses into her affairs.”
She sat back and pointed at them in turn with her fork. “Why, I recall one September afternoon, shortly after school had started in ’48—my last year of school here in Cumpton—a fellow came to the door to ask about buying her 1946 Plymouth. He said the dealer in Rogers had told him she intended to trade it in for a brand-new custom four-door Dodge sedan, and this fellow said he’d give her two hundred dollars more than trade-in if she’d sell it outright to him. My mother pitched a fit right there in the yard. She told that man to tell the gabby dealer in Rogers to never expect any business from her again. From then on, she bought all her cars in Centerton.”
Shaking her head, she poked the last two green beans on her plate with her fork. “She didn’t mind driving all over the county in her cars, and she didn’t mind involving herself in sharing local gossip, but she didn’t want people talking about her. She was peculiar like that. So when she made the arrangements for this place to be burned, she was probably thinking about strangers poking around out here.”
Sean wiped his mouth and dropped his napkin onto his empty plate. “If she was able to purchase new cars every year, the state must have paid your mother fairly well as director of the orphans’ home. Or did the state buy the vehicles for her since she had to transport children?”
Mrs. Durdan gave a little gasp. “Oh, I was never privy to Mother’s financial arrangements with the state, Detective Eagle. She considered me a child, even if she did depend on me quite a lot. But I do know she was meticulous with her record keeping. She had three books—one to show how the state’s money was spent and one with information about families who adopted a child from the home. A representative from the state came out every three months or so to check the books, and he never found one questionable thing. Mother was quite proud of that.”
Meghan frowned. “What was the third book?”
“The third one?” Mrs. Durdan blinked twice, confusion registering. “You know, I’m not sure. She never brought it out for visits, yet I saw her writing in it quite often. It was different from the others because it had a large pocket at the back where she kept letters.”
She shrugged and laid her napkin aside. “Maybe it was her personal accounting book. When the orphans’ home closed, a gentleman from the state came and took the income-and-expense ledger and the adoption-records one. But Mother’s other book is still safe in a locked cabinet in her office in the basement part of the orphanage. I suppose the book will go up in smoke the same as the building someday.”
Thirty-Five
Meghan snapped her seat belt and then shot an eager grin at Sean. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“If you’re thinking Mrs. Nora Burton had something to hide, then yes, I’m thinking what you’re thinking.” He started the engine, did a three-point turn, and aimed the truck for the road.
“Do you think it has anything to do with Maggie?”
“I have to admit, if Mrs. Burton wanted to sneak off with children without anyone suspecting her, she had the perfect setup. She was known for transporting kids, and with an automobile, she could get from place to place fairly quickly. And by changing automobiles frequently, even if someone saw a child whisked away in a blue Ford, it wouldn’t be long before she’d be driving a green Plymouth. Perfect cover.”
Meghan held her hands wide. “But why would she take children? Gracious sakes, she had a whole orphanage full of kids to take care of. Why take more?”
“I don’t want to venture a guess at this point, but there are some things I want to explore. Something isn’t adding up.” Sean nodded toward his leather briefcase, which was wedged in by Meghan’s feet. “Take out my tablet, please, and let’s make some notes before we forget everything Mrs. Durdan told us.”
Meghan retrieved the tablet, placed it on her lap, and opened the memo app. They should’ve taken notes during the conversation. What if they didn’t recall everything of importance? They’d spent more than two hours with Mrs. Durdan, and she’d shared nonstop. Urgency made her hands tremble.
“Okay, chime in with anything you don’t hear me say.” She began tapping on the tablet’s touch keyboard, reading aloud as she went. “Mrs. Burton traveled to every city in Benton County and occasionally crossed into Oklahoma when picking up or delivering children. She had enough money to purchase new vehicles nearly every year—even during the Depression!—and bought outright the orphanage property when the state closed the facility.”
She paused and crinkled her brow. “How much do you think she paid for the orphans’ home
? I mean, it seems as though it should be pretty pricey to buy a property of that size, but maybe since the building wouldn’t be of much use anymore, the state let it go for next to nothing.”
“It should be part of the public records. I’ll explore that on my computer tonight.” He reached over and pointed to the list she’d started. “Put on there what Mrs. Durdan said about her mother keeping careful financial records. I want to know what salary she received every month for running the orphanage. I’m sure room and board were part of the package, so I’m mostly interested in what she got in actual cash payment so I can balance that against her purchases.”
Meghan added his thoughts and then sat, fingers idle, her brain racing. “Isn’t it interesting how Mrs. Durdan talked about the Gypsies? At least three times she mentioned Gypsies and how they would steal children. Obviously her mother drilled that into her, and the poor lady still believes it. Why didn’t you tell her there’s no real proof Gypsies have ever been responsible for stealing children?”
Sean shrugged. “What would it have accomplished? No one wants to find out they were lied to by someone they loved.”
“True.” Meghan cupped her chin and gazed out the window at the countryside. They’d reached the paved road and the ride was much smoother, but thick trees on both sides of the road threw heavy shadows across the blacktop and hid all but brief glimpses of the evening sky. Anything could lurk in the gray woods, and they wouldn’t know until it leaped out at them.
She shivered.
“You cold?” Sean reached for the AC buttons.
“No. I’m…” What? She licked her lips and tried to turn her thoughts into words. “Edgy. And I’m not sure why.”
“Me, too.” His grim statement surprised her. Sean generally didn’t let a case affect him. At least not outwardly. He gripped the steering wheel with both hands and sent an unsmiling glance in her direction. “Let’s spend tomorrow at the hotel on the computer. We might need to call Sanderson and have him explore a few things not available through public records. Either way, I’m going to have him overnight a DNA kit to your grandmother.”
Meghan jolted. “Her DNA?”
“We could use yours since you’re a blood relative, but hers would be better.” His tone was musing, as if he’d forgotten she sat next to him.
“Sean, why do you want Grandma’s DNA?”
He glared at the dark road ahead, his gaze darting from one side to the other, the muscles in his jaw twitching.
“Sean?”
He glanced at her, his brows low. “I want it as a comparison. Just in case.”
His comment increased the unsettledness under her skin.
“And, Meghan, I think we need to concentrate our investigation on Nora Burton.”
Las Vegas, Nevada
Diane
Diane held the bag with Mother’s extra clothing, toiletries, and Bible on her lap, hugging it in lieu of hugging her mother. Her stomach cramped from hunger—Mother hadn’t been allowed any food or liquid that morning, so Diane hadn’t partaken either—and also from worry. Mother seemed nonplussed, however. She flipped pages in a magazine, pointing out pictures or headlines that caught her attention, so serene it set Diane’s teeth on edge.
A middle-aged, smiley woman in light-blue scrubs, what Diane recognized as surgical gear, entered the room from a hallway and moved directly to them. “Good morning, Mrs. DeFord. Or do you prefer to be called Hazel?”
“Mrs. DeFord is fine.”
“Very well. I’m Liz, and I’ll be helping to take care of you today. Are you ready to go back?”
“I suppose it’s too late to object now.”
Liz laughed. “Yes, you’re probably right. And who is this with you?”
“My daughter, Margaret Diane. She prefers to be called Diane.”
To Diane’s memory, it was the first time her mother had ever acknowledged her life-long preference for the shortened name. She swallowed the lump that filled her throat. Mother set the magazine aside, and Diane rose with her.
Liz’s lips puckered into a sympathetic pout. “Actually, Diane, I need to take your mother by herself right now. We’re going to a pre-op room. We’ll do a few tests and put in her IVs. When that’s done, I’ll come get you so you can sit with her before she goes to the operating room.”
Diane offered her mother the bag.
“Go ahead and keep that with you for now, if you don’t mind.” Liz aimed her smile at Mother. “Are you ready, Mrs. DeFord?”
Mother went with the woman, smiling and chatting as if they were heading to a social event. Diane sank into the chair and gripped the bag to her spinning stomach. A vending machine with a variety of snacks from sweet to salty stood in the corner next to a counter with a monstrous three-burner coffee maker. Half-full pots of dark coffee rested on two burners, and the third held water. On the corner of the counter, cups, wooden stir sticks, and several clear plastic buckets containing packets of sugar, powdered creamer, and tea bags were arranged on a wooden tray. Maybe if she ate and drank something she’d feel better.
A half hour later her stomach was still pinching. The granola bar and hot tea hadn’t settled her at all. In fact, she feared she might throw up. She grabbed Mother’s bag and headed for the receptionist’s desk, intending to ask where she could find a bathroom. Before she had a chance to ask, Liz bustled toward her.
“Diane, your mother is all settled. Would you like to come back and sit with her until the surgery?”
Diane battled a wave of nausea. She grimaced.
“Most patients find it comforting to have someone familiar close by while they’re waiting.”
The woman had misinterpreted Diane’s reluctance, but Diane didn’t want to explain. Maybe her stomach would settle down once she’d seen Mother and talked with her a little bit. “Yes, thank you, I’d like to go back.”
Liz led her up a long hallway and around a corner into a large rectangular area. A long counter filled the middle of the floor, and sliding glass doors with curtains hanging behind them lined both sides. The nurse guided Diane to the middle room on the right-hand side. She took Mother’s bag and instructed Diane to use some of the antiseptic foam from a bottle mounted on the wall. Then she gestured to a gap in the curtains.
“We gave her a mild sedative to help her relax. Her blood pressure was elevated—typical for someone who’s about to undergo a serious procedure. So she might be a little groggy.”
“All right.”
The nurse returned the bag to Diane. “I’ll be right out here finishing some paperwork if you need me.” She patted Diane’s arm and then stepped behind the counter.
Diane slipped through the opening and crossed the tile floor of the small room, keeping step with the steady beep-beep of one of the machines. She placed Mother’s bag on a plastic chair against the wall, then turned and curled her hands over the bed railing. She swallowed. Mother looked so frail, so helpless in the hospital gown. A blue paper cap covered her snow-white hair, and lines trailed from her hand—one to a fat plastic bag of clear liquid mounted on a pole and the other to a black box that flashed numbers on a digital screen. If she appeared so weak and weary before the surgery, how would she look afterward?
Mother’s eyes opened. Her gaze latched on to Diane’s so quickly it made Diane wonder if she could see through her eyelids. “Hi, honey.”
Diane took Mother’s hand—the one without the IV and pulse clip on her finger—and smiled. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. Just wanted to peek at you again before you go back. To help me remember you pre-Frankenstein scar.”
Mother laughed softly. “The doctor assures me the scar will disappear into my neck wrinkles by Christmastime. I suppose that’s one good thing about being as old as Methuselah—I have neck wrinkles to hide my scars.”
Diane offered the expected chuckle. “Wrinkles or not, you’re still beautiful, Mother.” She gave a little jolt of surprise. She wouldn’t have expected to say such a thing. She cleared her throat. “You pr
obably need to rest. I’ll go to the—”
Mother’s fingers curled tight around Diane’s. “I’ll have plenty of time to sleep afterward. Stay with me.”
Diane read a flicker of fear in her mother’s eyes. She nodded. “All right.”
Mother sighed. “It’s good to see someone who isn’t wearing scrubs, but you still smell like alcohol.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’d prefer the smell of your awful tea to the antiseptic aroma everyone carries around here.”
Diane choked back a laugh. “My tea isn’t awful.”
“You’ve grown immune to it. Trust me, Margaret Diane, it’s awful.”
Diane let the laugh escape. “You’re impossible.”
Mother gave a slow-motion wink. She yawned. Her eyelids slid closed.
Diane hung her head and bit her lower lip. Her stomach began to roll again. She should go, but she needed to say something first. She glanced over her shoulder and past the two-foot-wide opening in the curtains. Hospital personnel were engaged in various acts of busyness, but no one seemed to be approaching. Heart pounding, she leaned close to Mother and lowered her voice to a whisper so soft it was almost silent. “Don’t die.”
Mother’s eyes opened again. Such empathy glowed in her brown irises, tears immediately formed in Diane’s eyes.
Mother lifted her hand and cupped Diane’s cheek. “There’s little risk of that happening today, Margaret Diane.”
Diane pressed her hand over Mother’s, holding it in place. She wasn’t just talking about today. She didn’t want her mother to die. She didn’t want to be both fatherless and motherless. The deep fear surprised her and left her weak and quivering. She licked her lips, and she tasted salty tears. Another surprise.
“I’ll be all right. Dr. Nobbs said Dr. Bashad is the best in the state, so don’t worry.”
Mother, the one facing major surgery, was reassuring Diane. How could Mother be so calm? “Aren’t you scared at all?”
Bringing Maggie Home Page 28