Just then, Scott’s phone rang. The caller ID said it was Trent.
“What’s up?” Scott asked.
“It’s safe enough now. I think you should come inside.”
Scott sped toward the front door as Sal and the other cop put Ellis in a squad car. He heard Sal reading Ellis his Miranda rights.
Scott dodged the rotted steps and hopped up onto the porch, which wasn’t all that stable. He pulled back the screenless screen door and entered the dimly lit living room.
Sprawled on a dirty couch was a thin woman who looked to be about forty years old. Her light brown hair hung in clumps over her face. She wore a pair of men’s sweat pants and a sweatshirt with the lettering cracked and flaking off. Her head lolled on the arm of the couch.
“Who’s that?” Scott asked Trent.
“The landlady, apparently. And if we’re lucky, she’ll be our witness.”
Scott took another step closer, scrutinizing the woman. Her nails were cracked and stained yellow from nicotine, he guessed, glancing at the ashtray full of cigarette butts on the flowered metal TV tray at the head of the couch. The only other furniture in the room was a floor lamp in the far corner.
“Are you arresting her?” Scott asked Trent.
“Right now, we’re taking her in for questioning.”
“Questioning?” Scott frowned. The woman seemed oblivious to their presence. “Any idea what she’s on?”
“The guys found heroin and a syringe in the bathroom.”
Just then Bob Paxton, a member of Trent’s team who had also been a Green Beret like Trent, came in from the hallway. “Detective? I think you need to see this.”
“What is it?”
“A wrinkle.” Bob headed back down the hall.
“Should I stay here?” Scott asked.
“Bob’s already scouted the house. There’s no danger.”
Scott nodded and followed the officers out of the room.
Bob stopped in front of a closed door. “I thought this was storage because it was locked. Didn’t take much to pick it.”
“More drugs?” Scott asked.
“Not exactly,” Bob replied, opening the door.
The room was small and smelled musty, with only the light from an old television illuminating the faces of a little girl, about five or six years old, and the toddler in her arms.
The girl stared at them fearfully. Her lips quivered, but she remained silent. She took a step backward and hoisted the baby closer to the crook of her neck. The baby grabbed a handful of her cotton shirt and started fussing.
She made a cooing sound into the baby’s ear and whispered something Scott couldn’t make out, but it was clear she knew exactly how to react to the baby and the baby to her.
It was as if this little girl was the mother.
What’s your name?” Trent asked her.
She pressed her lips together, remaining silent. Her big blue eyes darted to Scott and then quickly back to Trent.
Scott knew Trent to be compassionate and endearing to kids. He had certainly won the heart of Cate’s little boy, Danny, who wasn’t much older than this girl.
“Is this your little sister?” Trent asked the girl.
She lifted her chin defiantly, then shook her head.
“Your brother then?” Trent asked.
She stared at Trent, hugging the baby tighter. Scott noticed that her hands were clean and the baby looked well cared for. His heart ached for these children.
“He’s your brother, then,” Scott said, crouching down to her level.
She turned to him, and her gaze pierced him to his core. She looked to be in desperate need of a hug. A hundred hugs. He wanted to give them to her.
“What’s his name?” Scott prodded. Bob had left the room and Trent was slowly backing away.
“Michael,” she replied in a sweet voice.
The light from the TV flickered across her face, and he saw that her hair was gathered in a rubber band. He felt his heart thrum with compassion. “And what’s your name?”
“Bella.”
“I like that. It suits you. Did you know that it means beautiful?”
“No. My mom named me. She didn’t name Michael. I named him.”
“You did? That’s very interesting,” Scott replied gingerly, reaching out to touch Michael’s little back. “He’s a good baby brother, isn’t he?”
“Yes. He’s mine.” She put her hand on his head and held him tighter. Michael turned his face enough for Scott to see he had a pacifier in his mouth.
No wonder the baby was quiet. His eyes were closing slowly as sleep crept over him.
“I can see that,” Scott said.
Bella cocked her head and stared at him. He felt oddly like a specimen on display.
She frowned and she started to say something and then stopped herself.
“What is it, Bella?”
“Are you an angel?”
“An angel? No. I’m not. Why would you ask that?” Scott was taken aback.
Still holding Michael, she turned around and went to the rickety table where the television sat and picked up a DVD case. She handed it to Scott.
It was The Bishop’s Wife, an old film starring Cary Grant. He glanced at the television. It was the movie she’d been watching while her mother zoned out on heroin in the living room.
“You look like him,” she said.
He glanced down at his tux. “You think so?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, this is just a movie,” Scott said. He turned the case over and saw a price sticker from St. Mark’s resale shop. It had cost fifty cents.
“The angel comes to earth to help the people. Even the little girl,” Bella insisted.
“You’re right. And angels do exactly that, Bella. They help people. But I’m not an angel.”
Bella’s gaze shifted to Trent, who was watching them from the doorway. “Ellis said if I ever told anyone about him, the police would come and take my brother from me. Is that true?”
Trent hesitated long enough for Bella to draw her own conclusions. She backed up against the wall. “You can’t take him away from me! He’s mine!” she screamed.
Michael jolted awake and started crying, a piercing wail that seemed louder than the approaching police sirens.
“We’re not taking him from you,” Trent assured her. “Your mother has gone with some other police officers to the police station. There’s a lady coming from Department of Child Services who is going to take you to a safe house. It’s warm there and she’s a very good cook. I know. I’ve tasted her chicken and noodles.”
Bella remained silent but took in every word.
She looked at Scott. “Will you come with us?”
“I, er...” Scott glanced at Trent who nodded. “Sure,” Scott said. “I’ll help you pack your things, too.”
“We don’t have much,” she replied, swaying back and forth to quiet Michael. Then she laid him on one of the two sleeping bags that Scott guessed were their beds.
An open box of diapers and a pile of faded baby clothes, bibs and pilled blankets sat nearby.
“Where did you get these things?”
“The churches give them to me,” she replied matter-of-factly.
“The diapers, too?”
She nodded. “There’s a lady who owns a store three streets over. I go to her back door and she gives them to me.”
“Who’s that?”
“Miss Nancy. She gives me food and a little money, but I don’t tell my mom. It’s a secret.”
Scott thought he’d be the next one to cry. Nancy St. Marie owned Celebrations To Go, a gift shop. He didn’t know her personally, though he’d met her from time to time around town. People tal
ked about her generosity, but this kindness made him feel inadequate and unworthy.
It was a simple thing, wasn’t it? Giving a kid some diapers and a few bucks. And what had he done lately—or ever—that was even close to that?
One tiny act of charity. That’s all it took to make a difference in this little girl’s life. Right now she needed someone to tell her that everything was going to be all right. He wasn’t a miracle worker, but he could help her tonight.
It had to be a frightening thing to be uprooted like this. Though from what he could see, she and Michael were living in an unsafe situation. Her mother kept drugs in the house and got high with her kids in the other room. Depending on what happened at the police station tonight, she could end up in prison.
It was New Year’s Eve. The start of a new year for everyone and possibly a new life for Bella and Michael. No matter what happened, their lives would be altered.
Bella stood, shoved a few of the baby items into a plastic bag and turned to Scott. “Can you carry this?”
“Yes,” he said. “Do you have a coat?”
“Just a sweatshirt.” She picked up a too-small hoodie and pulled it on. Then she pulled a girl’s parka out from under one of the sleeping bags and put it on Michael. Scott guessed it was a hand-me-down, and that their mother hadn’t replaced many of the clothes Bella had outgrown. His heart broke a little more.
Bella scooped Michael into her arms, and Scott was amazed at her strength.
“I can carry him for you, too,” Scott offered.
“Nobody takes care of Michael but me. Not even my mom.”
“She doesn’t?”
“No. She said she doesn’t want him. She told me I’m the mother now. That’s why he’s mine.”
“I see,” Scott said, aching for these kids and the burden Bella carried.
Trent went to the corner of the room and grabbed more clothes and the DVD. He put them in another plastic bag. “We’ll go in my car,” he said. Then he whispered to Scott. “I don’t have child seats. Maybe you should sit in back and hold the baby. If she’ll let you.”
Bella looked up at Scott, and for the first time that night, she smiled. “I’m ready.”
She slipped her little hand into his. Her skin was surprisingly warm, he thought, since the apartment was chilly.
But then, temperature wasn’t supposed to affect angels. Even little ones.
CHAPTER EIGHT
IT WAS TWO O’CLOCK in the morning when Isabelle was awakened by the knocking on her door.
“What in the world?”
Few people in Isabelle’s life called on her unannounced. In fact, even her mother called or texted before a visit. Isabelle shoved her arms through a worn terry cloth robe and put her feet into the new slippers Dylan had given her for Christmas. He’d thought the ridiculous reindeer design was funny, but they were lined with sheepskin and too comfortable for words.
Brushing her hair from her face, she went to the door. “Who is it?” She peered through the peephole. Scott stood there in his tuxedo. She unlocked the door.
“Are you out of your—”
“Isabelle, I’m sorry.”
His bow tie was hanging around his neck, his top shirt button unbuttoned, and he held a bouquet of wilted flowers. But his face radiated an energy she’d never seen.
“It’s after two, Scott. You never stay up late. And you never just show up at my front door even in daylight. What’s going on?”
“These are for you.” He thrust the sad bouquet at her. “It’s all they had at the mini-mart.”
She took the flowers. “And you’ve never given me flowers. Fresh or wilted.” She ushered him in and closed the door.
“I didn’t want another hour to go by without apologizing to you.”
“You left me on the dance floor at midnight. On New Year’s Eve. New Year’s Eve, Scott. Friends don’t do that to friends.”
“I know. And you should be mad.”
“I should. I mean, I was,” she replied, studying the pink rose that was ready to drop a round of petals. “Come into the kitchen while I try to revive these,” she said, walking away.
She took out a small wood cutting board and whacked off the stems with a butcher’s knife then filled a vase with ice water and plunked the flowers in. “They’ll perk up in an hour or so, and I’ll arrange them.” She turned to Scott, who was leaning against the doorjamb, arms folded across his chest. He was staring at her intently.
“What?”
“I want to tell you what happened tonight,” he began.
“I know what happened tonight. You chose your story over me.”
Scott froze. She hadn’t meant for her words to come out like that, but for some odd reason, his abandonment had hurt. Which was ridiculous, because Scott hadn’t acted any differently than she did most of the time. She was always choosing her art over spending time with him.
“Okay,” she said. “That wasn’t fair. I’m sorry.”
“Accepted. Can we start over?”
“Yes. Let’s sit in the living room. I do want to hear about your story.”
Isabelle curled her legs beneath her robe, the antlers of the reindeer poking out from under the folds, and reached behind her to turn on a lamp.
The soft glow settled over the rugged planes of Scott’s face, enhancing the dark shadow of scruff that he would shave off in the morning before seeing his first customer. Despite the late hour, and whatever he’d been up to since midnight, he still looked handsome.
“I’m all ears.” She smiled.
“My story isn’t only about the arrest that Trent made tonight, though I will cover it for the newspaper. He took a methamphetamine producer and dealer into custody, along with the woman he lived with, who will be charged with possession, if nothing else. Drugs are doing awful things to this town.”
“I couldn’t agree more. But you’re saying there’s something else?”
Scott nodded. “There were two little kids, in the apartment, Isabelle. A girl—five years old, she finally told us, though she doesn’t know her actual birthday—but she does remember her brother’s birth and the date. That’s how we know he’s eighteen months old.”
“Oh, my God.” Isabelle straightened against the back of the sofa. “You saw them?”
“Not only did I see them, I talked with the little girl, Bella, for quite some time.” He looked down at his hands and smiled. “She thought I was an angel.”
Isabelle felt a strange jab of guilt. Scott was an angel, to his mother and to many of their friends. And especially to her. He helped her stretch canvases. He often picked up art supplies for her and brought them to the Lodges when she had to work long hours. He brought her coffee on chilly mornings after she went sculling with Sarah and their friends. He did a thousand and one things for her, and though she thanked him, she’d never considered his devotion, his selflessness. Yet a five-year-old stranger recognized Scott’s kindness on sight.
“You are,” she murmured.
“Not like that. She’d been watching an old Christmas movie with Cary Grant, who was a literal angel.”
“I love that movie.” Isabelle brushed a bit of dust off his jacket sleeve. “Guess it was your tux.”
He shrugged. “Must have been. Anyway, this little girl has been taking care of her baby brother practically since he was born. The mother is a heroin addict. Maybe meth, too. Bella has taken it on her shoulders to find food and diapers for Michael. She goes to St. Mark’s and gets donations—and there are others in town helping her out.”
As Scott continued, Isabelle found herself immersed in the past. She knew what Bella must feel like, being responsible for a younger sibling at such a young age. But Isabelle had been ten when her father died, and she’d been blessed with a hardworking, loving mot
her, despite Connie’s shortcomings. Bella was only five.
“This little girl, Isabelle, she’s different from any kid I ever met. It’s like she’s a hundred years old but in a child’s body.”
“Mmm.” Isabelle knew exactly what he meant. People had said that about her, too.
“She asked me to go with her to the police station, and I did. She held my hand while Trent talked to Zoey Phillips.”
“Who’s that?” Isabelle asked.
“She’s the head over at Department of Child Services. She told us that she’ll find a temporary foster home for Bella and Michael. If their mother is convicted, they’ll be put up for adoption. The tough part is that Bella goes into a panic at the mention of being separated from her brother.” Scott rubbed his forehead and then swiped his face with both hands. “Isabelle, the thought of those two innocent kids being lost in the system makes my skin crawl.”
“What do you mean, ‘lost’?”
“Some kids get lucky, but others get shuffled from foster home to foster home until they age out. They never have a real home. Never know what it’s like to be safe. Trent says sometimes the conditions are really bad. I’ll get more details tomorrow when I go see them and have a chance to talk to Zoey.”
Isabelle sucked in a breath as his words hit home. “You’re seeing them again? For your story, you mean?”
“No.” He flicked a piece of lint off his pant leg.
“I don’t understand.” Isabelle felt as if she were still waiting for the clock to chime in the new year. Those unbearably long pauses between seconds that stretched into the unknown future. Something was clearly happening but she hadn’t been debriefed.
Scott leaned toward her, gazing at her with a force of longing and desire she couldn’t remember seeing before. “Isabelle, I came here tonight...” He placed his hand on hers. “To ask you something.”
A sense of foreboding settled over her. “Scott, I don’t think...”
“Hear me out. We’ve always been best friends. You’re the first person I think about when I wake up. We spend so much time together. We know each other inside and out. I want us to move forward with our lives.” He squeezed her hand earnestly.
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