by Pamela Tracy
“I’ll find out. I’ll call right now.”
“Thanks.”
Oscar went back in the hallway and pulled out his phone. Then he thought twice and called Leann Bailey instead.
“Sure, I’ll stay with Shelley,” she said after he shared his idea with her. “You do whatever it takes.”
Shelley was dozing when he got back to the room. He peeked in the bassinet to check on the baby, still not yet named.
“How’s everything?” Oscar’s favorite nurse hustled in and asked.
“Good. The baby’s eating a lot.”
“They do.” The nurse gently woke Shelley to say, “It’s time for the full pediatric exam. This will take only about thirty minutes.”
“What will you do?” asked Shelley.
“Nothing major. The doctor just looks at his eyes and checks the heart, pulse and umbilical cord.” The nurse wheeled the baby from the room. Oscar waited for Leann. When she arrived, he filled her in and then he headed for his motorcycle. At a quiet point during the night, he’d gone to his aunt’s for a quick change of clothes and something to eat before returning straight back to the hospital and Shelley’s side.
Calling Riley, he asked, “Can you arrange for a meeting between Maureen and—”
“Ryan—I mean, Billy—is on his way here from the temporary foster home. Maureen’s also here and about to jump out of her skin. I’ve never seen a—Oh!”
Oscar could hear noise, happy laughter, and Riley saying, “Be careful.”
“I’ll be there in a minute,” Oscar told him.
Hurrying inside the station, he went to the break room. Ryan was at one of the tables, laughing while Maureen stacked plastic cups so he could knock them down.
“I told Shelley about the swab being a positive match,” Oscar said.
No one said anything. They all managed to look uncomfortable.
Ryan slid to the floor, picked up three plastic cups, handed them to Maureen and ordered, “Lap.” She picked him back up, never taking her eyes off Oscar.
“Shelley wants to know if she can send some of Ry—Billy’s toys with him, clothes too, and say goodbye.”
Maureen’s head bowed.
“Where’s Mom?” Billy asked, which seemed to make everyone even more uncomfortable.
“It might be easier,” Riley said, the voice of reason, “to let Ryan see Shelley, let him slowly separate from her instead of feeling ripped away.”
Maureen looked at the ceiling, the floor and then Oscar. “I don’t know if I can. I’ve missed a whole year. I don’t want to share.”
“Look at him,” Oscar said. “He’s been well taken care of. You may not want to share, shouldn’t have to share, but Shelley’s going to be hurting exactly the same way you have for the last year, through no fault of her own.”
“I’ll think about it,” Maureen said. This time she, instead of Billy, knocked down the tower of plastic cups. Appeared as if she enjoyed it, too.
“The paperwork is finished,” Riley said. “Ms. Peterson and Billy will be leaving as soon as Trimble gets here. So far the media hasn’t heard about the threat at the hospital. I want to keep it like that. Otherwise I’m afraid there will be so many faces that something could go wrong in a crowd.”
“What threat?” Maureen asked.
Riley frowned. Obviously he’d been talking low and never expected to be overheard. He opened his mouth to answer, but Oscar’s phone pinged.
Oscar checked his screen. Leann’s name appeared. “Everything all right?” he queried.
“No!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
SHELLEY DIDN’T CARE that she was in her nightgown. The hospital didn’t have that many rooms, and she intended to search each and every one. Behind her, down the hall, she could hear Officer Leann Bailey coordinating with security. They’d already locked down the hospital. No one was getting in or out.
“The bathroom,” Leann explained loudly over her cell phone for the hundredth time. “I stepped into the bathroom for a minute.”
Shelley didn’t know who Leann was talking to and didn’t care. She cared only that during that minute, the nurse returned the baby and someone shouted as if in pain. The nurse turned away, and when she looked back, the baby was gone.
That was all it took. By the time Leann had the bathroom door open and Shelley shot out of bed, it was too late. The room across from Shelley’s was empty and had a window open. It looked like the abductor had escaped.
“Shelley—” Leann came in the room as Shelley finished searching the bathroom “—you need to get back to bed. You look ready to fall down. When we find the baby, you’ll need your strength because—”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Shelley said. “You really think I’m going to bed? I’m searching all the rooms on this side. All of them. You look on that side.”
“It could be dangerous. You’re not qualified...”
“Don’t even go there.” Shelley didn’t so much as pause. She went into the room next to the one she’d just searched and walked into the bathroom. Should she encounter Larry, she’d take him on with her bare hands.
“Shelley!” Oscar called to her.
“He didn’t leave by that window,” she told him, poking her head out of the bathroom. “But the one on the right has an open window. The grass is a bit trampled. I don’t know if that means anything or not.”
“Riley’s looking at the footage of who’s come into the hospital in the last twenty-four hours. Lucas, Culpepper and Trimble are driving a grid. I’ll tell Culpepper about the grass. A helicopter’s on its way from Runyan.”
She turned, hitting the ground with her knees and looking under the hospital bed.
“I’ll do the next room,” Oscar said.
“And I’ll do the one next to it.” Maureen Peterson was at the door, and for Shelley, who’d been holding back the tears, it was this woman’s appearance who broke the dam.
“Thank you.”
“No,” Maureen said, “thank you.”
* * *
THE MINUTES TICKED BY. Shelley and Oscar checked every empty room. The security team was at their heels, ready with keys or whatever else they needed.
Oscar’s phone trilled. He took the call and listened. When he hung up, he told them, “Riley says that no one remotely matching Larry has entered the hospital.”
“What next?” Maureen asked.
“Riley and two other officers are combing through the basement, the control room and the cafeteria. They want you to get out of sight.”
Shelley started to argue, “But—”
“Wagner knows how to play both of you. We need our attention on getting the baby back, not on...” Oscar’s voice tapered off as he heard a sound come from one of the rooms that had a patient. A giggle. For some reason, he stopped breathing. Something nudged his memory.
Riley talked about interviewing a motel clerk about one of the women Larry was having an affair with. No name. But she giggled enough that the clerk remembered.
The waiter in Runyan, too, had remembered Larry’s date, a woman who giggled.
It was a long shot. Everyone giggled. Even Oscar had been known to let one loose.
But now was not the time to giggle, and some people giggled when they were nervous.
Oscar put a finger to his lips, looked at the closed door two down from where he was standing and then at the guards.
“Marvin Templeton,” the chief security guard whispered. “Had gallbladder surgery this morning. Got ten children. They’ve all been in and out to see him.”
“In your hospital room,” Oscar ordered Shelley and Maureen in a hushed voice.
They both shook their heads.
He looked at Shelley and mouthed, I promise I’ll get your
son back. Trust me. He’d asked her to do that once before. She hadn’t been able to do it.
Maureen pulled on Shelley’s arm. “Come on. They’re right. We’re in the way.”
The giggle came again. He knew that giggle. Something else nudged at Oscar. It all came together, wildly, but together.
No.
Yes.
Maybe.
Didn’t matter.
Maureen pulled Shelley into the room she’d been searching while Oscar walked up to Marvin Templeton’s door, reaching down, turning the knob and slowly opening it.
Guiltily, Tiffany Little, Candace’s stepmother, glanced up.
“Where’s the baby?” Oscar asked.
“Oscar,” Tiffany said, cool and calm, with mock surprise. “What’s going on? There’s so much noise. Is something happening with Shelley? I’ve been afraid to leave Marvin. He’s a distant cousin. Is there a problem I should know about?”
Her eyes worried him. No feeling. None. Marvin slept. Oscar noted the sheet rise and fall.
“I’ll escort you out,” Oscar said.
“Thank goodness,” Tiffany breathed. “I’ve been so scared. Let me get my purse.” She stood, flowing royal blue shirt, white pants, silver sandals. She picked up a good-size tote bag, yarn spilling out.
“This way.” Oscar beckoned, and Tiffany came toward him. When she got to him, he held the door open wide. She peeked out, saw the empty hallway and smiled.
“I’ll tell Jack how helpful you were.”
Four moves, maybe taking three seconds. He grabbed her right hand, the one holding the tote, and before she could even open her mouth to protest, he squeezed, relieving her of the bag. He had her handcuffed when she finally mouthed the word noooo.
Shelley stepped into the corridor from the room nearby, big eyes, breathing in and out loudly to hold back tears. He knew this woman. Knew what she was thinking, feeling, what she wanted.
Oscar turned Tiffany over to the security team and cautiously reached into the tote. Shelley was right there beside him as he lifted her son from the soft cushion of yarn. Her hands entwined with his.
“Oscar,” she whispered, her hands roaming over her son, checking everything from downy hair to ten tiny fingers.
He’d do anything for her: give her the moon, rescue her son, give up the FBI. He was that in love.
She was gazing down at her son.
That was when he realized she wasn’t talking to him. She was talking to her son.
Calling the little boy Oscar.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“LARRY WAGNER’S SINGING like a canary,” Riley said from his desk at the station. “He didn’t mean to kill Candace Livingston and he’s afraid of what’ll happen next.”
“He should be afraid,” Oscar growled. They’d found Wagner at a motel the next town over. When Tiffany hadn’t returned by the designated time, he’d called. Come to find out, Wagner wasn’t the only one good at tracing.
Oscar stared at the two photos Riley’d hung on the corkboard in the interrogation room. One of Larry Wagner, the other of Tiffany Little. Not their real names.
“I still can’t believe it,” Riley said. “Man had six aliases and four ex-wives. Of course, they weren’t really wives since he wasn’t legally married to any of them. Apart from Tiffany.”
“I can’t stop thinking of him as Larry Wagner instead of LeRoy Saunders. Imagine, Tiffany Saunders.” Oscar snatched Tiffany’s photo from Riley’s hand. “She’s still claiming that Larry forced her into entering the hospital and taking the baby.”
“They’re quite a pair.” Culpepper had driven in this morning and planned to stay only the day in order to tie up loose ends. The FBI wanted to stamp this one closed. “All this to cover gambling debts and ridiculous jet-setting. Did you see the report on how much he’d paid to rent a house next month in Saint Thomas? Makes no sense.”
Riley shuffled the report he held and said, “It would be their third visit, and it wasn’t a house but a mansion.”
“I can’t believe they got away with this for so many years.”
Oscar shook his head, thinking about Tiffany and her need for things.
Tiffany, if the history they’d pieced together for her was correct, had understood the value of selling to the highest bidder. She’d been raised in Surprise, Arizona, and had a baby when she was just seventeen.
There wasn’t a father’s name on the birth certificate, and there was no evidence that Tiffany had raised a baby. She claimed that a relative had raised the little girl, but the relative she named didn’t seem to exist, and Tiffany hadn’t seen or heard from her in years. Tiffany’s family, too, seemed to have died off.
There was, however, evidence that three days after Tiffany delivered and left the hospital, she and Larry had made their first trip to a different country and stayed for a few months.
“She sold that baby,” Culpepper said. “I doubt we’ll be able to find the little girl.”
“They conned people and came up with these moneymaking schemes so they could keep a certain lifestyle,” Oscar said, amazed. “That’s hard work. It seems so unlike them. And what kind of mother sells her child?”
He didn’t understand Tiffany at all, but then, he had a mother who’d put her children before everyone. Shelley was the same way.
“The kind who loves money more than anything else,” Riley said.
“I blame her for Candace’s death,” Oscar admitted. “More than I blame Wagner, even though he did the pushing.”
The police had found in Tiffany’s belongings a certified letter, from a law firm in Nebraska, addressed to Candace. A relative on Candace’s mother’s side had passed away, and Candace was in the will for more than a million dollars.
Which Tiffany intended to get ahold of.
“She’d married Jack for money. She was bilking him and it was time to leave, but she’d wanted more. Pretending to be Candace and getting an inheritance that neither Jack nor Candace knew about must have seemed too easy.”
“I bet Wagner was ticked that the letter came after he’d burned his bridges in Sarasota Falls. It would have been easier for him had he been able to walk around freely.”
“Why didn’t Tiffany just look for the birth certificate?” Culpepper pointed out. “She was a somewhat frequent visitor at the Livingstons’ home.”
“Never alone long enough to search,” Riley replied.
Tiffany was facing charges for more than a dozen crimes, from petty ones to felonies, the most serious of which was accomplice to murder.
She was no longer giggling.
“Amazing how she went about it,” Riley said. “If only the certified letter had gone to Candace’s residence instead of Jack’s.”
“If only Candace hadn’t interrupted Wagner when he was looking for her birth certificate. It makes me mad. Someone with his devious mind and computer skills could have made a fake birth certificate easily.”
“Too easily,” Riley agreed. “He liked the game, wanted to play, and Candace got in the way.”
“I’ve never had two criminals provide such a puzzle concerning their activities,” Culpepper said. “And I’ve been an agent for thirty years.”
Riley and Oscar could only nod.
Culpepper was glued to his laptop, typing a million words a minute. “It seems Larry came here to scam the town while Tiffany began taking Jack for everything he had.”
“He’d done the home-liquidator method before, and it worked well for him,” Riley added.
“Why marry Shelley, though?” Oscar asked.
“Easier to gain the trust of the townspeople,” Riley supplied.
“I still can’t figure out why Larry kidnapped Billy from Maureen when he did,” Culpepper groused.
Shelley
and Maureen walked into the room. In one hand Shelley was holding little Oscar in his carrier, and in the other hand a basket of chocolate muffins. “I think Maureen and I have that figured out.”
She set the baby on the chief’s desk, pushing Riley aside in the process. The muffins she plunked down next to the carrier. She amazed Oscar. She had to be the strongest, bravest woman he knew. She and Maureen had met at the Station, eating Jimmy Walker’s chicken-fried steaks, and agreed to be friends. After all, they’d shared a heartache, and both had come away with the only good part of Larry.
Children.
Maureen was living with Billy in a duplex near the police station. Shelley and little Oscar had moved into Bianca’s Bed-and-Breakfast until Shelley figured out what she wanted to do next. Right now, she was a media darling. If she took one or two of the deals offered to her, she just might be able to pay back her friends who’d been ripped off by her ex-husband.
Another bonus was Peeve taking on the role of little Oscar’s faithful protector.
“Go ahead,” Riley encouraged. “Fill us in.”
“Billy was a preemie,” Shelley said. “He was born at thirty-one weeks and was in the neonatal intensive care unit, unable to breathe or eat on his own. He almost didn’t make it. I thought he was three. He’s really four, but small for his age.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” Culpepper said.
Shelley explained, “Maureen thinks that Larry held off taking Billy until he was healthy. People paying upwards of fifty thousand dollars to buy a baby want a healthy one.”
Culpepper frowned. “Even though Billy’s no longer a baby?”
“Billy’s still very young, and he’s both gorgeous and sweet,” Shelley said as she checked on little Oscar, sound asleep.
“Larry always said Billy was the prettiest baby he’d ever seen. He was beside himself that Billy was so sick those first few months. And to think I thought it was a father worrying,” Maureen told them.
“Listen, the FBI could use you and Shelley in the field to figure out cases like this,” Culpepper said, pointing at the two women.
“Not a chance,” Shelley replied. “I’ve got a job that will last at least eighteen years, not to mention all that baking.”