by Leona Karr
“Finders, Inc.,” Ted repeated thoughtfully. “Somebody lost? What gives, Mark?”
Mark put a guiding hand on Kerri’s elbow and eased her into the elevator. “The children’s mother appears to have deserted them. Talk to you later, Ted,” he said, and gave a wave of his hand as the doors closed.
In the close quarters of the elevator, she was poignantly aware of Mark Richards’s physical presence. The hand that had guided her into the elevator had been firm, and strangely disturbing. She wasn’t used to relating to any client on a personal basis, but something about this man had already begun to breach her defenses. A faint whiff of spicy aftershave lotion teased her nostrils, and she idly pictured him standing in a shower, shaving as water droplets bounced off his naked body. Stop it, she ordered, wondering if she’d suddenly taken leave of her senses. He was a client, nothing more—and she’d better remember it.
She was conscious of his stiff posture and ashen face, and she wanted to blithely reassure him that things were going to work out. But she couldn’t. Sometimes people disappeared for years. Some were never found. And some turned up dead. Kerri’s gut feeling was that nothing about this case was going to be ordinary.
They stepped out of the elevator on the fifth floor, and Mark groaned as a cacophony of squeals, laughter and raised voices vibrated down the hall from his slightly open door.
“Listen to that! How can two small children and a baby possibly make that much noise?”
“You haven’t been around kids, I gather,” she said, smiling.
“No,” he answered flatly.
“Well, you’d never survive the Kincaid family when all of us get together. I assure you, the uproar reaches deafening cycles. There are six of us and I’m the only one without a passel of kids.”
His interested eyes settled on her. “Then you never married?”
“No, though I almost relented a couple of times,” she surprised herself by admitting. “What about you?”
He shook his head. “Nope. I’ve been best man more times than you can count, but never made it to the altar myself.”
“Ever get close enough to be thinking about it?” she asked with a smile.
He grinned back. “Not when I was stone sober.”
Laughing, they shared a sudden intimacy that startled them both. Kerri immediately looked away, terribly conscious of Mark studying her as they walked down the hall.
“You must be hard to please,” he said frankly. “What kind of a man would make you decide to take the plunge?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I guess I haven’t met him yet. But I know he’d be somebody that loved children.”
“I see,” he said with a shrug. “Well, to each his own.”
A moment later, a physical shock of disbelief registered on his face as they entered his apartment. Even though he’d been warned, he couldn’t believe his eyes.
The makings of a baby crib, sides, springs and mattress, leaned against the hall wall, waiting to be assembled and they could hear a woman’s loud voice, the clatter of dishes and childish laughter coming from the open kitchen.
The place was a mess. A playpen sat in the middle of the beautiful Oriental rug, and his designer furniture was littered with pillows, toys and baby bottles. The baby was asleep in a swing, going back and forth in rhythm to some horrible tinkling melody.
Kerri ignored Mark’s muttered swearing, and walked across the room to the beautiful baby girl whose tiny feet and legs stuck out of the holes in the swing’s plastic seat. Her head lolled to one side as she slept. A soft tuft of golden hair and perfectly bowed lips made her a perfect little angel. Kerri’s heart turned over just looking at the precious infant. She couldn’t imagine any mother running off and leaving such a priceless baby girl with someone she didn’t even know.
As Kerri stared at the beautiful child, she tried to glean some hint of the truth behind this strange situation. There was something terribly wrong with this whole picture of a missing mother.
But what?
Nothing about this case appeared straightforward, and she wondered if she should refuse to get involved before her own emotions became entangled. Now was the time to retreat. She had never been as tough as she pretended, and this case could tear out her heartstrings. She avoided looking at Mark’s face as he led the way into an open kitchen, separated from the large room by a counter and some overhanging cupboards.
The size of the area astonished Kerri. For some reason, she’d expected a fairly small and compact kitchen suitable for bachelor living, not a spacious room with an island counter and every conceivable appliance suitable for gourmet cooking.
Two children perched on stools at a breakfast bar, were laughing and licking chocolate off dripping eggbeaters. A small plump woman with uncertain blond hair had finished pouring cake mix into two round pans and was running a finger around the edge of the mixing bowl, licking off a dabble of chocolate.
“Mmm-mmm, good.” Her tongue came out and licked off a dab of cake mix at the corner of her mouth. When she saw Mark, she greeted him with a cheery, “So, you’re back. I did what you said. I ordered in everything you’d need for the young’uns.” She gave a deep chuckle. “I gave them yellow pages a workout, I’m telling you.”
Mark opened his mouth to say something, and then shut it. Kerri knew he was fighting an inward battle not to let the woman know how she’d completely overstepped her bounds. “I brought Ms. Kincaid to talk with you and the children,” he said instead.
Cora shoved back her large plastic-rimmed glasses and smiled at Kerri. “So, you’re going to be tending ’em? I’m glad he was able to find someone, quicklike, ‘cause I got to get back to my regulars. Can’t take a chance on the agency sending somebody else out. I—”
“Ms. Kincaid is not here to baby-sit,” Mark interrupted, sending Kerri an apologetic look.
“Oh?” Cora said, puzzled. “I’m sorry. Is she your lady friend?”
Kerri smothered a chuckle as the exasperated look on Mark’s face was quickly followed by a renewed effort to take control of the situation. “We need to find the children’s mother and Ms. Kincaid is going to help. I’m sure she’ll locate her in short order and get these children back where they belong.”
Kerri opened her mouth to remind him that she had not committed herself to take the case but before any words came out, the small boy threw himself off the stool with such force that he turned it over with a crash.
“Timmy, come back here,” Cora yelled at him, but he didn’t pay any attention to her. As the little boy bounded out of the kitchen, his two-year-old sister nearly fell off her high stool trying to follow.
“No, you don’t, Patti.” Cora reached out and grabbed her. With flaying arms, the little girl became a wildcat, pounding Cora with her little fist, and screaming. “Me go! Me go.”
Kerri left Cora and Mark to handle the screaming Patti and hurried out of the kitchen after the little boy. She heard the bedroom door slam, so she knew where he had gone. Knocking firmly at the door, she said loudly, “Timmy, let’s talk about this.”
She turned the doorknob and found with relief that it was unlocked. Poking her head into the room, she saw his crumpled body in the middle of a king-size water bed. Quietly shutting the door behind her she walked over to the bed.
Child theatrics were not new to her. Her numerous nieces and nephews had all taken their turns acting out, but the causes of such tantrums had been minor and fleeting. She didn’t know how to handle a child whose little fists were clutching the bed quilt in a deathlike grip. She guessed that the disappearance of his mother was sinking in, sending him into the throes of fear, and perhaps catching him up in a terror that she had abandoned him forever.
Quietly, Kerri sat on the edge of the bed, and put her hand on the water-filled mattress as she leaned toward him. “It’s going to be all right, Timmy.”
Drawing up his body into a tight ball, he kept his little back toward her, and his face nearly buried in the covers.
He wasn’t crying, Kerri decided, or he was swallowing his sobs so deeply in his chest that she couldn’t hear him.
“I’m sorry. Really sorry.” Her tone was gentle, and she resisted the temptation to reach out and stroke his tousled blond head. “I want to help. Make everything all right again. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” She waited, but didn’t even hear a choked sound that might be yes.
Patience, she told herself. She wouldn’t get anything out of him if she pushed too fast and too hard with her questions. She glanced around the spacious master bedroom, noting the harmony of white-brown-and-tan wallpaper, matching draw draperies and plush carpet of soft beige. An interior decorator’s touch was evident in matching cherry wood furniture and balanced wall hangings, but the aesthetic effect of the room was spoiled by scattered books, shoes and toys littering the floor, half-opened suitcases and tote bags piled high on two bright green chairs and the round table placed by the window.
Purposefully, Kerri left the bed and walked over to the suitcases and tote bags. Very carefully she went through everything. Maybe, just maybe, she might find something that would be a clue to the mother’s whereabouts. Delving to the bottom of each case, she found nothing but clothes. As she folded and replaced each garment, she noted that none of the children’s clothes were new, and wondered if they’d been purchased at a thrift store.
As Kerri began picking up the stuff on the floor, her attention was caught by a book titled, Are You My Mother? that looked fairly new. On the inside cover was written, “To Timmy Lee on his fourth birthday. Love, Mother.” As Kerri held the book in her hand, she glanced over at the bed and saw the boy watching her. Timmy had turned over so she could see his pinched face and tight little mouth.
“Is this yours?” she asked in all innocence as she held up the book.
When he didn’t answer, she walked over to the bed, sat down on the edge, and began looking at the pictures. When he squirmed, she pretended not to notice, but when he moved close enough to peek at the pictures, she began reading the book aloud, and when she’d finished the last page, she handed the book to him.
“I’m glad your mother gave you that book,” she said with a smile. “What a nice birthday present. I didn’t know your name was Timmy Lee.”
He nodded.
“And what’s your last name?” If she had the boy’s surname name, things might go a lot faster tracking his mother. “Timmy Lee what?” she coaxed.
Setting his tiny jaw with childish stubbornness, the boy just glared at her. She wondered if Ardie had made an issue out of the kids using her newly married name, Richards. She decided it would be better not to push the matter. The way the child was glaring at her reminded her of a mongrel dog ready to sink in his teeth the moment the unwary looked away. He was going to take some gentle handling, but if she could get him to open up, he could provide some clues about his mother’s background.
She was trying to decide what tactic to take with him next when Cora opened the door and bustled in. She was holding on to Patti’s hand and Mark was right behind them, hauling in the crib frame.
“There’s more room in here to set it up,” Cora said as she gave one of the green chairs a hefty shove with an ample buttock. One of the tote bags went sailing off the chair, and would have emptied on the floor if Kerri hadn’t closed it up earlier. Cora shoved it out of the way with her foot, and stood back as Mark put down the crib pieces.
He sent Kerri a questioning look, his eyes traveling from her to the boy. She gave a slight shake of her head and his exasperation was clearly visible in the tightening of his mouth.
Patti ran across the room and clamored up on the bed beside Timmy. She giggled as the water bed moved under her and her brother’s belligerent expression eased.
“Can’t keep the little one on a regular bed,” Cora told Kerri as if she’d forgotten that Kerri wasn’t going to take over the care of the children. “Scoots right off the edge. Last night I had her blocked in by pillows. Could have put her to bed in a playpen, if I’d had one.” Then she smiled. “Should be easy to tend her now. The only thing I forgot was a high chair and I told the man to bring one by this afternoon. I signed for all the stuff, Mr. Richards, and they said they’d bill you.” She looked a little apprehensive.
“I’ll take care of it,” Mark reassured her. “Now, I think Ms. Kincaid would like to talk to you, Cora. Why don’t you two have a chat while I put this thing together.”
“Okay,” Cora answered, “but I have a cake to get out of the oven. I guess we can talk in the kitchen.” She eyed Kerri as if trying to decide whether she had ever sat chatting in a kitchen.
Mark followed them into the hall, picked up the crib’s mattress and springs, carried them back to the bedroom and dumped them on the floor beside the other pieces. A plastic sack held screws but no instructions. He’d never put a crib together in his life, but it couldn’t be all that hard, he reassured himself.
Taking off his suit coat and loosening his tie, he was aware of four bright eyes on the bed watching his every move. That’s all he needed, an audience. When he unsuccessfully tried to balance one end while he hooked it to a bottom brace, the whole thing fell. He swore under his breath and the kids laughed.
He was standing with his hands on his hips, trying to decide on a different course of action when Timmy slid off the bed and came over to him. The boy didn’t say anything, just stood there, kind of waiting, his wide eyes looking up at Mark.
Mark wondered what the kid was thinking and reined in his impatience. “You want to help?”
Timmy nodded solemnly. “Patti had a crib. My daddy put it together. He let me hold the pieces.”
“Good. I could use another pair of hands.” Mark lifted up the end section that had fallen. “Can you steady this piece while I screw in the iron bar?”
Timmy nodded.
“I help, too,” Patti scooted off the bed and tried to push Timmy out of the way.
Quickly, Mark handed her the sack of screws. “Hold this for me,” he said as he gently moved her out of the way.
For a minute her little face scrunched up in disappointment, then as quickly as the sun coming out after a summer rain, she gave Mark a lopsided smile.
Mark let out a sigh of relief. “All right, gang, let’s get to work.”
In the kitchen, Cora busily removed hot cake pans from the oven, nodding in satisfaction at their rounded chocolate tops. “Some people turn up their noses at box cakes,” she said, shooting a challenging glance at Kerri perched on one of the high kitchen stools.
“The only kind I bake,” Kerri assured her. “Smells heavenly.”
Cora set the pans on hot pads to cool. “I thought I’d leave the kids something to snack on. No telling how long their mom will be gone.”
“She didn’t give you an hint of how long that would be?” Kerri asked casually.
“Nope. I was just supposed to tend the kids ‘til Mr. Richards got home. I figured he knew all about it.” She frowned. “Funny that she’d take off without even telling him. Why do you suppose she did that?”
“Did she seem upset or worried?”
Cora thought for a minute. “Kinda preoccupied, you know what I mean? Like she had a lot on her mind.”
“How did Timmy and Patti react to her leaving?”
“They didn’t throw a fit the way some kids do. Maybe they’re used to her going off.”
“Did she mention the names of people or places? Did she say whether or not they just arrived in Denver? Or where they’d been before? Anything at all that might give us an idea where she’s gone?”
Cora shook her head. “We didn’t talk friendly-like. You know, just stuff about the kids that I’d need to know to take care of them for a few hours.”
Kerri hid her disappointment. “I didn’t find any pictures of her in the children’s things. Could you describe her for me?”
Cora cocked her head to one side in a thoughtful manner. “She was a little taller than me—I’m five foot si
x. I bet she didn’t tip the scales at more than a hundred and fifteen. Not carrying around this kind of lard.” Cora playfully slapped her fanny. “No gusty wind’s going to blow me away.”
Kerri laughed appreciatively and then prodded, “What color was her hair and how did she wear it?”
“Light colored, real curly, but not like a perm. You know, natural-like, and shoulder length. She had some of it caught up in one of those newfangled clips.” Cora touched her own bleached fuzzy locks. “I’ve been thinking about getting mine cut shorter. What do you think? They say short hair makes you look younger.” She eyed the tapered, dusky waves framing Kerri’s face. “You’re pretty,” she said with an envious sigh. “You could cut yours any old way and still look terrific.”
“Thank you,” Kerri said quickly. She didn’t want to spend precious time discussing hairstyles. “What color eyes?”
“I wasn’t really paying that much attention.”
“Would you say that she was a pretty woman?”
“Not pretty pretty. Not bad looking, though. Kinda okay.”
Kerri groaned inwardly. Great, that description should really narrow it down. “Did she make any telephone calls?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Not even to call a taxi?” Kerri prodded.
“No.” Cora thought a minute. “But now that you mention it, I remember she glanced at her watch several times, before she picked up her bag and said it was time to go, like someone was picking her up.”
“Do you have any idea who that might have been?”
“Nope.” Cora poured a couple of cups of coffee and slid one across the counter to Kerri. “I didn’t pay much attention. She said Mr. Richards would pay me when he got home so I just took care of the kids and waited. When he didn’t come until nearly seven, I wondered if there’d been a mix-up.” She shoved back her glasses and locked eyes with Kerri. “Has there? Been a mix-up?”
“We don’t know. But we’d like to talk to the mother, get a few answers. In the meantime, there’s the problem of the children. Since you can’t stay, and finding someone else suitable may be impossible, Mr. Richards may not have any choice but to contact Social Services to temporarily place the children until their mother comes back.”