This Little Baby

by Joyce Sullivan

“And?” she probed.

  “And?” For a moment Gil didn’t know how to respond. His eyes narrowed on her as he swirled his Scotch in the crystal glass. “You’re good, you know that? Insightful.” He set his drink down on the tray. “But I’ll play the game, since I started it. I in not willing to take that step until I have everything a man should give a wife and children. Why make life harder than it has to be? My dad was a carpenter—a damned good one—until he fell and injured his back. I was nine and Ted was two. Our whole life changed.”

  Gil rotated the glass a quarter turn, not wanting to dwell too much on the irreparable damage the accident had inflicted on his father’s self-esteem. “My mom got a fulltime job as a cashier in a grocery store to put food on the table and Ted got left with a succession of neighbors. My mom did the best she could under the circumstances, but I’ve always wondered if Ted would have grown into a more secure, confident adult if Mom hadn’t gone to work just then. Ted was a—” he paused, searching for the right word. “Drifter. He’d go from one job to another, from one girlfriend to another. He probably wouldn’t have stuck around with Cindy if it hadn’t been for the baby. His last job was laying asphalt.”

  Gil clamped his mouth shut. Paulina’s head was slightly turned toward him on the leather seat back and she appeared to be listening intently. But he was certain he was boring her half to death. She probably didn’t want to hear how he’d gone to Northwestern University on a football scholarship and had majored in computer science. His dad’s accident had taught him it wasn’t wise to depend on your physical abilities for employment. One stroke of bad luck and your future was wiped away. Gil was proud he had his own consulting firm by the time he was thirty.

  A chime sounded in the compartment and the pilot announced they were making the final descent to Winnipeg. Paulina was just too darn attractive. Not to mention easy to talk to—and available.

  That realization dominated his thoughts as they hired a rental car and found a steak house for a late dinner. Then they went in search of a hotel located near the hardware store. It was almost midnight when he walked her to her room. They’d spent nearly fourteen hours together, and yet he was reluctant to say good-bye. She was one sexy, competent lady, with a heart the size of Ontario when it came to finding kids. Was it really just a conflict of schedules that prevented her from having a family of her own?

  She pushed the key in the knob and opened the door, reaching her hand inside the room to flick on the lights. She’d insisted on carrying her own luggage.

  Her eyes were luminescent as she turned back to him and held out her hand, her expression solemn. “Well, good night, then.”

  Gil grasped her hand and drew it to his lips. Her fingers were strong, resisting him, her skin satiny soft. He knew it was her very opposition that made him savor the sweetness of her skin. “Thanks for everything,” he said quietly, meaning it with all his heart. He waited a moment until she’d closed her door before going to his own room.

  As he stripped off his clothes and slid between the sheets, his tired mind fiddled with the possibility that after Mikey and Cindy were found he might do something really unorthodox to celebrate…like ask one certain midnight-haired, starry-eyed P.L. for a date.

  Not that she’d say yes, but Gil thought it would be worth asking just to hear her reason for turning him down.

  THE PLEATED SKIN nipping together Paulina’s feather-thin brows was not a good omen, Gil decided when he joined her for coffee the next morning at eight-thirty sharp in the hotel’s restaurant. Nor was the forced nature of her welcoming smile. Maybe he’d gotten too familiar last night. Or maybe she was only thinking about the case, which is what he was paying her to do.

  She’d definitely say no if he asked her out.

  With a sigh, he ordered a black coffee.

  “Okay, Gil, here’s the game plan for Tweedie,” she said briskly, immediately getting down to business. “Cindy’s my best friend and you’re my husband. I do the talking. And you—” she pointed at him “—try to keep the dark frowns off your face.”

  Gil nodded bleakly. “I know the drill.” He watched her as she produced a gold wedding band from her change purse, which she slipped onto her ring finger.

  “There, that should look convincing. Just don’t tell my ex I’m recycling his jewelry.”

  Gil noticed she wore a simple blue print dress scattered with flowers over a long-sleeved white blouse and pearl studs in her ears. He was wearing an Ottawa Senators T-shirt he’d bought at the airport the previous day.

  “If Tweedie seems reluctant to talk to me,” she continued, “then you can try a man-to-man line such as, ‘Please tell my wife what she wants to know, because if you don’t she’s going to drag me all over the country looking for her friend.’ If that doesn’t work, play it by ear like you did at the diner yesterday.”

  Her hand came to rest on his shoulder and Gil felt an inexplicable lightening sensation in his chest. Her touch was the closest he’d come to comfort in a long time. “You’re a good salesman. You’ll do fine.” A waitress came and placed two pancake specials in front of them. “By the way, I ordered for both of us,” she explained with an apologetic smile. “Now, eat up. We’ve got to leave in fifteen minutes. We don’t want to risk missing Tweedie.”

  Tweedie had already arrived at the Home Hardware store. When Paulina explained the reason for their visit, the manager kindly allowed them to talk privately with Tweedie in the back office.

  Paulina shook Mr. Tweedie’s hand, taking in the wrinkles on his tanned face, the shock of white hair, hazel eyes and a short-sleeved blue shirt tucked into neatly pressed gray slacks. A silver cross rested at the base of his throat.

  “Oh, yes, I remember your friend,” Tweedie remarked, studying the photograph Paulina had handed him. “We talked for quite a while as I recall. She had a troubled heart.”

  “That’s why we’ve flown here to see you. Sometimes I think we tell strangers more than our nearest and dearest—especially during difficult times.”

  Gil’s arm settled around her shoulders. “There, there, sweetheart, we’re going to find her.”

  Paulina froze as his invading warmth and his almost palpable fear for Mikey and Cindy stole into her heart. Tears welled in her eyes. She knew firsthand how frightening the prospect of never seeing a loved one again could be.

  Mr. Tweedie passed her a tissue from a box on the desk. “We’re all family in the eyes of the Lord. I’m sure Cindy knows the value of your friendship.”

  Paulina dabbed at her eyes. “Thank you. But something must be terribly wrong. It’s not like her to abandon her apartment and not tell me.”

  “I’ll be glad to share what little I know. I stopped by her table because she looked sadly in need of a friend. She told me she’d made a big decision about her future and her baby’s future…and she was scared. A man had given her an ultimatum—was trying to tell her what to do about the baby.” Tweedie scratched his head. “I was under the impression she might have to give up her son.”

  “For heaven’s sake,” Paulina whispered, praying Gil wouldn’t overreact. “Poor Cindy. I had no idea. She loves Mikey. No wonder she ran as far and as fast as she could.”

  “Well, she was in such a state, I suggested she speak to a counselor. She told me she’d already done so—and she’d spoken to a lawyer, too.”

  “Did she mention any names?” Paulina asked, feeling Gil’s arm tighten around her shoulders. She reached up and squeezed his hand, sharing his frustration and pain. “Maybe they’d have some idea where Cindy planned to go.’

  “I believe the lawyer was Vern Newcombe. I’m usually quite good with names—being in sales and all—but you might want to check with Francine Loiselle at Joe’s to be sure. Francine would know, because I understand she referred Cindy to this fella. He was a relative of someone or what have you. The counselor’s name was Elva—no last name. I remember that real well ‘cause it’s my mother’s name.”

  “Did Cindy mention anyt
hing else that might suggest where she was headed?”

  “No, sorry. After she’d let it all tumble out, I told her that when the time came the Lord would let her know in her heart what was the right decision for herself and the baby.”

  Paulina glanced into his hazel eyes: they were calm and unruffled like the waters of a clear rock-bottomed pond. “Thank you very much. We’ll let you get on with your business now.”

  “It was no trouble. God bless you both.”

  Paulina noticed Gil couldn’t get out of the store fast enough. “Tweedie certainly confirmed that I’m the one responsible for Cindy’s taking off.” The words exploded from him like sharp reports the instant his Brooks running shoes hit the sidewalk. His fists clenched.

  Paulina grabbed his arm. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

  His blue eyes blazed down at her. Every muscle in his face was taut. A faint white line rimmed the tight seam of his lips. “I swear, I never once suggested wanting custody of Mikey. I’d never do that.”

  “I believe you.” Gil was a straightforward person to read. “So, look, we find Cindy and you can apologize. Then you let her draw up the rules, so she won’t feel pressured by your desire to stay involved in Mikey’s life. It’s very common for people to overreact during times of great stress—particularly after the death of a loved one. I lost my father two years ago and I was an emotional mess for a year. It’s still hard. It takes time to adjust. Give yourself a break.”

  Gil seemed to accept what she said; the rigidity of his shoulders eased. The fact they’d both lost a family member formed a common bond between them. Gil removed her fingers from his biceps and gave them a faint squeeze.

  Paulina noticed he didn’t talk much as they returned to the Winnipeg airport to catch the next available flight to Ottawa. But then, maybe he didn’t want to break her concentration—except to remark that she needed a laptop computer when she pulled out pen and paper to write a report of their conversation with Tweedie while the details remained fresh in her mind. After a while he fell asleep, which was a relief because it gave her time to think—undisturbed. However, she soon discovered that Gil, even asleep, with a lock of dark hair drifting boyishly onto his forehead, still disturbed her.

  It was three-thirty by the time the taxi deposited her at her Clarence Street office. At the airport, she’d insisted Gil go home and rest. She had other cases requiring her attention. She let herself into her office, dropped her bags and gathered the day’s mail, grateful to be alone in her own domain. The red button flashed on her answering machine. She hit the playback button, hoping there was nothing urgent. She needed a couple hours of solitude to go over Cindy’s file and plan her strategy.

  The first message immediately caught her attention. “Ma’am, this is Max—the manager of the Market Apartments. It’s one o’clock. The police just came by about Cindy. They found a baby stroller with her name and address on it. I told them about you and Mr. Boyer and gave them your phone number. I hope that’s okay.”

  “That’s more than okay, Max,” Paulina said out loud, a thread of unease wisping down her spine. “Every little bit helps.” Since when were the police in the business of returning lost baby strollers? The answering machine beeped and another male voice—this one instantly recognizable as authoritative—filled her reception area, requesting her to call a detective with the Ottawa-Carleton Regional Police ASAP. Paulina grabbed a pencil.

  She didn’t have time to make the call though. The door to her agency opened and two men sporting conservative suits, short haircuts and tough-cop expressions made an entrance. Paulina felt physically ill. This little visit wasn’t about a stroller. She eyed them warily. “I’m Paulina Stewart. Which one of you is Detective Robbins?”

  “That would be me, ma’am.” The tall sandy-haired man removed his ID from the breast pocket of his tan tweed sport coat. His eyes were a cool dove gray, giving her a quick survey. She had no doubt he’d noticed her suitcase by the door and the wrinkles in her dress. He gestured toward his sallow-faced, thirty-pounds-heavier sidekick. “This is my partner, Detective Zuker.” A web of fine lines appeared at the corners of Robbins’s eyes as he smiled briefly. Too briefly. “Ms. Stewart, we understand you were asking questions yesterday about a Cindy D’Angelo at her place of residence.”

  “Yes, I was.”

  “May we ask what your involvement is with Ms. D’ Angelo?”

  “Certainly. I was hired by a member of Cindy’s family to find her. She’d missed an appointment and wasn’t answering her phone. Her brother-in-law grew concerned after several days and contacted me on Monday. We talked to the manager of her apartment building. It looks like she cleared out without paying her next month’s rent. In fact, we just arrived back from Winnipeg, following up a lead.”

  “We?” Robbins was digging for information like a dog after a bone.

  “My client, Mr. Boyer, and I.”

  “Is Mr. Boyer here with you?”

  “No, he went home to rest.”

  “Did Ms. D’Angelo have a child with her?”

  “Yes, her five-month-old son, Mikey.”

  “Was Ms. D’Angelo involved in a custody dispute over the child?”

  Paulina ignored the question, tired of having dirt kicked in her face. “Perhaps I could be of more help if you told me what this is about, Detective.”

  Robbins didn’t pull any punches. “We’re with the major-crime unit. The body of a white female was found on the east side of town earlier today. We have reason to believe the woman is Cindy D’Angelo. Foul play is suspected.”

  Paulina felt the blood drain from her face and a clamminess creep over her skin. Horror clutched at her heart at the news of Cindy’s death, but a deeper, insidious horror invaded her body. A horror so profound she could barely get her mouth to function properly…to ask what needed to be asked. “Wh-what about Mikey?”

  Chapter Four

  “No ma’am, the body of an infant was not found at the scene,” Detective Robbins gravely informed her.

  Paulina was acutely aware both detectives were observing her reaction. Detective Zuker’s black eyes scrutinized her like a wolf trying to spot a weakness in its prey.

  “The woman had no purse or other ID,” Zuker added. “We thought she might be another murdered prostitute, but then we found an ID tag on a brand-new pricey stroller in the same Dumpster. The woman matches the description the apartment manager gave us of Cindy D’Angelo.”

  Paulina closed her eyes and tried to blank out the image the detective’s words painted in her mind. Poor Cindy! Worry needled Paulina’s stomach with thousands of tiny painful pricks. What had happened to Mikey? Had he been murdered, too—or kidnapped? Then she remembered Gil. He was already close to the snapping point over his brother’s death. This news would send him over the edge.

  She forced her eyes open. Forced herself to think. Be businesslike. “I have a photo of Cindy in my briefcase. Let’s make sure we’re talking about the right woman.” Her fingers trembled as she opened her briefcase and passed Cindy’s photo to the detectives. “She’s twenty-two years old, five feet four inches tall, 120 pounds.”

  “That’s her,” Robbins confirmed.

  Paulina’s last shred of hope evaporated. But there were questions she should be asking—for Gil. For Mikey. “Wh-when did it happen?”

  Robbins seemed to be the lead investigator. He answered her questions. “Not sure yet. The autopsy will tell us that.”

  She reached for the legal pad that was on top of Mikey’s file in her briefcase to take notes. “What was the cause of death?”

  “Strangulation, though we’d prefer not to discuss any further details, ma’am, as this is a murder investigation.”

  “Of course.” She carefully set the legal pad on her desk, knowing the page would remain blank. They were stonewalling her.

  Zuker’s curious glance drifted pointedly to her open briefcase and Mikey’s case file. “We’ll also need a description and identifying informatio
n about the baby if you have it. We’ll have to move fast…” His comment trailed off unfinished.

  Paulina focused on keeping her temper in check. “I’m fully aware that every second that passes takes the baby farther away from being recovered, Detectives. My client and I will cooperate with your investigation in every way.” She removed several extra prints of Mikey’s photo from the file and gave them to Zuker. “I’ll just go down the hall to run off photocopies of Mikey’s identification sheet. It’ll take a minute for the photocopier to warm up.”

  Paulina heard the murmur of their voices conferring in the reception area over the hum of the photocopier, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying. Should she try phoning Gil? Tell him about Cindy so he heard the news from someone more compassionate than Robbins? No, better to wait until the police had left.

  She returned to the reception area and passed the stillwarm photocopies into Zuker’s waiting hand.

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  At Robbins’s request, she gave them Gil’s full name, address and phone number.

  “We’ll contact him immediately,” he said. “Someone will have to positively identify the body at the Riverside Hospital morgue.”

  “Mr. Boyer is Cindy’s only local relative,” she explained. Her gaze shifted from one officer to the other. She knew that police procedure required them to pick up Gil, drive him to the morgue and then to the station to be interviewed. She wasn’t going to abandon him to endure that alone—not if she could help it. She took a deep, bracing breath. “I’d like to accompany you to Mr. Boyer’s home. I know you’re well trained in compassionate duty, but I think it would be easier on him if I told him about Cindy.”

  “Didn’t you just meet yesterday?” Robbins’s question oozed with suspicion.

  “Yes,” Paulina admitted, feeling perspiration dampen her blouse. “I specialize in missing children investigations—mostly custodial abductions. People turn to agencies like mine as their last hope…when they’ve exhausted other resources. They need hand holding and emotional support, because you and I both know the leads are few and far between and it can take years to locate a child.” She squared her shoulders. “Mr. Boyer and I spent most of the last twenty-four hours trying to locate Cindy. You discover a lot about a person in twenty-four hours. Life has been rough enough on my client lately. His only brother—Cindy’s common-law husband—was killed about six weeks ago in a hit-and-run accident on the Queensway. That’s why my client was so concerned about her.”