by T. Doyle
I woke to the sound of Joe’s alarm clock. I sat up, slid my glasses on, and shuffled into the kitchen. Joe had set the timer and a pot of fresh-brewed coffee was waiting for us. I fixed two cups and brought Joe’s cup into the bathroom and watched him shave.
“You okay, Babe?”
“No. If Tyler had knowingly placed kidnapped babies, he’s the evilest man in the world. And I could be responsible for ruining the adoptive families’ dreams. What if a parent showed up and wanted Paul back?” I gulped my coffee, hoping to fill the enormous black hole that seemed to be expanding in the pit of my stomach.
“That wouldn’t happen. Angela and Christopher knew the mother,” Joe reminded me.
“But they never met the dad. What if he never knew she was pregnant? Could he have a claim on Paul now? And what about my Mom? Do you think she ever told my bio dad about me? He’s got grandchildren he’s never met.”
Joe rinsed his face off, patted it dry and hugged me. “Hey, we’ll find him, okay? And if you’re really worried about Paul, call Angela.” He tilted my chin and kissed me. “Can we not call your father bio dad, though? I picture a guy in a HazMat suit.” Joe’s crooked smile shrank my worries.
“Okay. How about Pop?”
“Pop is great.” Joe tucked my head against his chest and rocked me side to side. “What if your dad strayed, too? Between him and Pop you could have more siblings, more nieces and nephews, more cousins.”
“Oh my. Maybe I should listen to Mom and drop it.”
“No.” Joe released me. “I think you should find Pop, find your family. He deserves to know about you. I’d be furious if someone kept my child from me.”
Which brought my worries back to my nephew and kidnapped babies being put up for adoption. And poor Mrs. Almond who still missed her first child, forced to put up for adoption by her father. “I thought empty-nest meant less problems, less stress.”
Joe raised an eyebrow. “Well, maybe for someone who isn’t as compassionate and smart, and generous, and…”
I patted his chest. “Okay, I feel better. You can stop with the adulation.” I kissed his smooth cheek. “I love you. Now get dressed and go to work.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Joe dressed and left to check on his patients at the hospital.
I poured my second cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen table. I ordered a DNA test kit, and then did the math, figuring out the month of my conception. I listed possible activities Mom enjoyed back then. Sam might be willing to help. But my brother, Robby, would be furious that I’d suggested Mom had an affair.
Mom was twenty-eight when she’d conceived me. She might have gone to her ten-year high school reunion. I’d witnessed some cringing hook-ups between old flames at my ten-year reunion. What if Pop had been her high school boyfriend? She met Dad in college, so the idea had merit. I Googled 1962 Favor High School yearbooks and found a website that wanted way too much personal information to just view the old photos. I switched over to eBay and found a set of yearbooks for sale from 1960-1964. The buy-it-now price seemed steep at fifty dollars, but I bought them anyway. In less than a week I may have a picture of Pop.
Would I recognize him?
I poured myself a third cup of coffee.
Ray called me. “Hey, we have a snag.”
“What kind of snag?” I settled back at the kitchen table.
“My friend needs to know when the kids went missing, when photos were taken, and how old the kids are now.” Ray’s voice sounded growly. I pictured him in full-morning-pirate mode, minus the parrot.
“This detective stuff is much harder than I thought. Any chance Polly’s computer has the information we need?”
Ray slurped on his end. “Yeah. Kind of. There’s no photos, but I found a list of the clients and sorted out the adoption cases. Tyler’s been working in West Virginia, Ohio, Illinois, Indiana, Tennessee, Missouri, and Virginia. Makes the eighty adoptions in five years seem more legit. When do you work today?”
“Two to ten.”
“I’m gonna forward the list to you. Put your social-media stalking skills to good use and see if you can match any of your photos to the adoptive parents’ kids.” He paused. “Please.”
“Sure. I’ll text you if I find anything. What are you going to do?”
“I’m checking the financials for both Tyler and Oscar. I’ll check in later.”
He hung up.
I started with the most recent adoptions, since according to Polly they seemed to be what triggered Oscar’s odd mood. An old composition notebook left behind by the kids served as my research journal. I was old-school and still preferred paper and pen to keyboard and bytes.
I worked backward from my photos of Tyler’s adoption photo wall to the dates of adoptions filed. When I came upon the pictures of the Crane family my heart stuttered.
The kids, now two and four, looked familiar. I recognized the dimpled chins.
I wished I hadn’t.
I wished Google didn’t have reverse image look up.
Because once I put the pictures of the kids in the browser, the news story Migrant Families Complain Police Slow to Investigate Rash of Kidnappings.
My stomach churned, acid mixing with caffeine and adrenaline and creating a wave of nausea that started in the pit of my stomach and ended with sweaty palms.
I texted Ray. Call me.
I could be wrong.
I hoped I was wrong.
I wanted to be wrong.
Chapter Nineteen
My phone pinged with Ray’s text. Meet me at Bite Me in 20.
I could be at the quirky-named downtown deli in ten. I stuffed Oscar’s tablet, my notebook and laptop into my bag and wandered into the dining room. I hadn’t moved the box with Oscar’s things we’d brought from his cabin. It still contained his notebooks, although I’d returned his school books. I didn’t know what to do with his cards and photos, it felt irreverent to throw away something so personal. I considered what Oscar would want me to do with them while I drove to Bite Me.
Hungry locals filled the deli’s narrow interior. With only ten booths opposite the counter wall most people took their food to go. The scent of fresh-baked bread permeated the air and made my mouth water. Suits and students waited in line to place their order, voices rising to be heard. I placed my order for a turkey on sourdough with the twenty-something sandwich artiste and asked for a side salad. I wasn’t sure if he heard me, and the man behind me pushed along. You had to order fast at Bite Me. I grabbed a bottle of diet soda and paid. I passed Mildred, Hilda’s friend, and settled in the next empty booth. She winked and touched her hair. My curls were disciples of Sam’s and still frizz-free. I hadn’t talked to my old stylist, Carole, about my defection and it weighed on me.
I kept my eye on the door and when Ray entered, he gave me his customary nod and stood in line to place his order. He wore his usual disheveled t-shirt and wrinkled jeans. The baseball cap placed low over his eyes hid his expression. He looked like an overgrown college student, and yet he charged the air with his über-masculine-pirate-lumberjack confidence. My Joe’s masculinity was polished, professional in public, and goofball in private. But Ray’s rough edges definitely had admirers. Like the woman in front of him. She turned and leaned closer, her shoulders rolling back until her breasts practically kissed her chin.
Ray kept his eyes on her face.
They spoke, and she turned around, lips flattened, her cheeks held a hint of pink. She wasn’t happy about whatever Ray had said.
I wondered what she’d think about Ray joining me for lunch? I texted Joe immediately because I guessed five minutes after Ray sat down, Joe would hear about it.
Having lunch at Bite Me with Ray. Found a connection.
Joe replied back. Okay. Be safe.
No kidding! If there was a kidnapping operation in Forest Forks and Oscar was killed because he found evidence, we definitely could be in danger.
Ray slid into my booth and the wooden bench creaked. He leaned h
is elbows on the scarred oak table. “What’s up?”
I pulled my notebook from my bag and handed it to him. “I made some notes this morning.”
Ray flipped the notebook open. “What did you find?” Ray scanned my notes, turning the pages.
I opened my laptop and pulled up the news article I’d read. “I’m pretty sure those are the Crane’s kids.”
Ray put my notebook down and shifted my laptop in front of him. He finished the news article about the migrant families’ kidnapped children, and then leaned back in his seat. “Did you find anymore articles?”
“Not yet.” I closed the laptop and pushed it against the wall.
“The article mentioned some families had age-progression photos. How many families?” Ray asked.
“Four families so far, but only the Crane’s matches Tyler’s group. I made a file of his adoption clients and their family photos posted on different social media sites. Most of them have cute pictures of their kids, but not too many of them as babies, and I have to say, a lot of these kids look similar.”
Ray curled his lips. “Yeah, squishy old man face and receding hairline.”
“I’m not going to argue with your horrible assessment because I really did have trouble finding distinguishing facial characteristics. Seven bald babies on Tyler’s wall look similar to the photos of the children in the article, we’d need DNA results to be sure.”
A flurry of activity spread through the crowd. People moved aside, parting for the gal from the counter. She placed our sandwiches on the table. “Y’all need anything else?” She gave Ray a long look punctuated by a wink. She was cute, in her early thirties and wore leggings and a long shirt.
I suppressed the eye roll, but not my grimace. “We’re good.”
Ray didn’t respond, too busy opening his bag of chips.
“You sure you don’t want anything special?” The waitress rested her hand on Ray’s shoulder.
He looked up and gave her a slow smile. “I’m good.”
“That’s the rumor.” Her voice dropped, and her eyebrow twitched, like she attempted a wink and changed her mind. Her seduction technique needed work.
“I’ll let you know if I need anything,” Ray said, his voice also dropped an octave.
She sashayed toward the counter.
Ray looked sheepish. He picked up his sandwich. “What?”
“Is it always like that?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes. There are two kinds of women.”
“Do tell.” I gave him my mom face, the one that said keep it clean or you’ll be sucking on soap.
“One kind likes to know I find them attractive, but they’d never act on it. You know, if a guy has a reputation but doesn’t pick up on what’s offered, it can really damage their self-esteem.”
“Gross. You can’t be serious.”
“Yeah, I am. The others want to get laid.” He took a big bite of his sandwich.
“Not buying it.” I bit into my sandwich. Somehow, food always tasted better when I didn’t have to make it. Or Bite Me used the full-fat mayo.
“That’s because you’re not a woman, you’re a mom.” He spoke with his mouth full.
I choked. “That’s absolutely ridiculous. You don’t give up womanhood when you have kids.” This argument was devolving, and we sounded like my kids.
“If you say so,” he said with a smug grin. “What kind of woman are you, then?”
“The happily married kind.”
He tilted his head to the side as if considering that. “Okay, I’ll amend my original statement to there are three types of women. But you have to admit you want to feel attractive.”
I flinched. “Just to Joe.” I picked up my fork and stabbed at my salad. “You’re Raychology of women is icky.”
He laughed and took another huge bite of his sandwich. “Raychology, I like that.” He glanced over at the closed notebook and his face changed from charismatic friend to cop.
“What do we do with our information?” I asked.
“Send me the file you made, with the adoptive parents and the links to their family photos. I’ll ask Kristi for help because I bet the ME’s office has access to age progression software.” He wiped his mouth with the paper napkin, wadded it, and tossed it onto his empty plate.
Half of my sandwich and pickle remained on my plate.
He opened the notebook and re-read. “What else did you bring?”
I pulled Oscar’s tablet out of my bag and handed it to Ray. “I noticed all my pictures updated to my Amazon photo gallery and I wondered if Oscar’s would too. Especially since he showed me how to do it.”
“Okay.” Ray opened the tablet and stared at the numeric keypad. “Any new ideas for the password?”
“Yes. We still don’t know why Oscar started playing poker, or how long he’s been playing, but maybe he used a poker term for his password.”
“Did you try any poker words yet?” Ray asked.
“I don’t know any,” I admitted.
Ray typed password combinations, writing down each one he tried on the back cover of my notebook. “About the poker playing, I went through the tournament lists and Oscar’s note with numbers.” He glanced at me. “Oscar won $2000 at Pickle Poker Tournament and $3000 at the Mardi Gras Tournament at the Del Lago Casino. I wouldn’t be surprised if the other positive numbers are from local poker games. If Oscar was making serious money he could’ve decided to put school on hold.” Ray typed another password into the tablet. “Charlie, if he dropped out of school, would you have charged him rent?”
I wiped my mouth with the napkin. “I guess we assumed he’d graduate and move. I mean, we intended to be able to use the cabin as a family get-away, not a rental.”
“Maybe he didn’t tell you he dropped out of school until he had enough saved for first and last month’s rent at a new place. When did he move in?”
“May 4th. I remember because he bought me a Mother’s Day gift that year.” Sadness swept through me at the bittersweet memory of how young Oscar was and how he thrived with some love and attention in our home. “It’s the angel statue in the family room.”
Ray typed on the screen and frowned. “Hmm. And when’s your birthday?”
“April 23rd.”
“Got it.” He gave me a small, sad smile. “It’s your birthday and the day he moved in. 423504.”
I blinked rapidly. I should have worked harder to remain closer to Oscar, even when he and Drew drifted apart. But crying while at lunch with a man not my husband was not okay. I blew out a breath, forcing the out the heartache and focused on bringing Oscar justice. I wrapped the other half of my sandwich in the paper. “Quitting school also meant he had to start paying off the student loan now.”
“But the payments are only a couple of hundred a month, and if he paid it off early, he saved the interest payments.” Ray slid the tablet toward me. “Check this out.” Ray had opened Tyler’s email.
I read the notification from Stevens College. “Oscar was on academic probation for his second semester.”
“He was about to be kicked out of school, which meant he was probably freaked out about losing his housing, too.” Ray pulled the tablet toward him. He opened the web browser and opened the history tab. We read through the list of websites Oscar recently visited. “Here’s the news story you talked about.” He pointed to the web address.
Oscar’s history went back for more than a month and revealed his growing interest in poker sites and news stories regarding illegal immigrants.
I glanced at my watch. What I wanted to do was read through everything Oscar had researched, but my shift started in thirty minutes. “I have to go to work.”
“Okay. I’ll check out the websites Oscar visited last month. I think it’s time to talk to the police about what we’ve found and suspect. Are you okay if I take your notebook?” Ray asked.
“Sure.” I grabbed my laptop and slid out of the booth.
“Text me if my mom is still angry abo
ut yesterday’s drug search.” He pulled the bill of his hat lower over his eyes.
“I will.” I walked outside with him.
Ray held the door open and Carole, my regular stylist, entered the deli.
She nearly incinerated me with the laser-like glare.
The door closed and Ray whistled. “Who was that?”
“Carole, my stylist. She must’ve found out I went to Curl Up and Dye.”
Ray pushed his cap back and seemed to swagger in place. “It feels good not to be on the receiving end of that look, for once.”
“I’ll bake her some brownies and drop by and explain everything later. I didn’t do anything wrong.” I walked toward my car.
“Right.” Ray’s light tone sounded reasonable. “You just decided to spend time with a different stylist. It’s not like you had an agreement to be exclusive.” He gave me a side-eye and smirk.
“Haircuts aren’t the same thing as relationships, and you know it.” I unlocked my car.
He held my car door open. “Not true. Getting a drink with someone is completely casual. Trusting them with a pair of scissors and your hair?” Ray stepped back. “That’s significant.”
I slammed the car door, hating that he was right. Smoothing things over with Carole could require more than brownies. I added it to the list of things to feel guilty about, right before recognizing the Crane’s adopted children and after not really knowing Oscar.
I called my sister-in-law, Angela, on my drive to work.
“Hey Charlie, what’s up?” I heard the whirring of a blender in the background.
“I have a weird question about Paul’s adoption for you.” I pulled over before heading onto the winding country road. “Did you ever meet his biological father?”
The blender turned off. “No. Why? What’s going on?” Angela’s questions came rapid-fire. I’d poked the momma-bear.
“I think Tyler might be involved in Oscar’s murder. I think it could be about some of the adoptions he’s done recently and it got me thinking about Paul’s adoption.”
“I never met his biological father, but he’s listed on the birth certificate and Tyler had him sign over his paternal rights so we could legally adopt Paul.”