“Don’t you dare cry, Nicole,” Gabby said. “We have to hold ourselves together for her.”
“I know, I’m sorry. Gabby, I’m going to call Skip. He’d never forgive us if something is really wrong and we didn’t let him know.”
“Do it,” Gabby said as she ran to the bedroom to get dressed.
Nicole held the cell to her ear, her fingers trembling. “Skip, it’s Nicole.”
“What’s happened? Is Gilly hurt?”
“She’s on her way to the hospital, Swedish Medical Center. With the medics and Anne. Gabby and I are leaving now. We think she’s in labor.”
“Premature! How premature?”
“Three weeks. She’s probably fine … it’s just she’s so tired.”
“I’ll meet you at the hospital. Damn.”
“What’s the matter, Skip?”
“I dropped my cell trying to pull my arm through my sweatshirt. See you at the hospital.”
Nicole picked up the car keys and Gabby locked the door as they ran out.
At the hospital, they found Anne in a waiting area down the hall from the delivery room. Skip burst through the door on their heels. They all sat in silence.
Waiting.
Wondering what was happening down the hall.
A nurse stepped into the area, glanced around at the group assembled before her. “Mrs. Wilder’s doctor has arrived. Are you the father?” she said to Skip.
“No. Close friend.”
“I’m her mother,” Anne said. “Is she … is she going to be all right? The baby?”
“I haven’t talked with the doctor. It’s going to be awhile. Can I get you some coffee?”
Nicole nodded yes. “I’ll go with you.”
She returned shortly with four cups of coffee on a tray, creamer and sugar packets, napkins and stirrers. “The nurse insisted on all this. There’s a coffee station around the corner. She fixed a pot.”
Nicole set the tray down on a table. She’d done all she could. She huddled into a green leatherette chair beside the others.
From time to time, Skip would stand, pace around the room, pull his hand over his buzz cut, and sit down again. His five o’clock shadow deepened.
Two hours passed and then there she stood. Dr. Kirkpatrick. She had a tired smile on her face. “The baby girl weighed in at five pounds three ounces. A tad early but they’re both doing fine. Gillianne is extremely tired and I told her I’m ordering her to stay in the hospital for three full days. Right now the baby is in an incubator.”
“Oh,” Anne’s hand flew to her mouth, fear in her eyes.
“It’s just a precaution, Mrs. Wilder. She’s tired, too. Give the nurses about fifteen minutes and you can see the baby in the nursery. You can stop by Gilly’s room after that but I urge you not to stay long. She needs to sleep.”
The doctor turned to leave, and then turned back. “The baby sure is her mother’s daughter. Has a mop of curly red hair around her sweet little face. But, boy oh boy, can she holler.”
Nicole and Gabby hugged Anne, then Skip, then each other. “Oh, my God,” Nicole said in a panic. “Maria. We have to call Maria.”
“Hurry. Do it before we go to the nursery,” Gabby said handing Nicole her purse.
Glee had replaced tension.
A nurse came up to the group and asked them to follow her to the nursery.
There she was. A tiny little red-haired angel screaming her head off in the incubator then with a jerk of her tiny fists she fell asleep, totally spent from her sudden emergence into the world.
The four adults, noses a breath away from the glass, smiled at the little bundle. Nicole at the end pulled a tissue out of her pocket, dabbed her eyes and handed the tissue to Gabby who did the same, handed it to Anne who dabbed her eyes, and she handed it to Skip who held the damp tissue to his eyes.
The nurse tapped Anne on the shoulder. “Want to see your daughter?”
“Oh, yes. Come on everyone. We won’t stay but we can sure say hi.”
Gilly’s eyes were closed when they tiptoed into her room.
Anne picked up her hand. “Gilly, sweetie, you did good. The baby is beautiful.”
Gilly opened her sleepy eyes, mustered a smile and looked from one to the other and then saw Skip as he stepped to the foot of her bed. She was about to say something but closed her eyes. Anne kissed her forehead and then moved as Nicole and Gabby on either side gently grasped her hands.
“So,” Nicole whispered. “What’s her name? or haven’t you—
“Robyn Anne Wilder,” Gilly whispered opening her eyes a little witnessing the smiles on their faces.
“Love it,” Gabby said. “Now, we’re going. The doc’s ordered you to stay in the hospital for three days. And, Missy, don’t you dare try to come home early.”
“We’ll be back tomorrow, or I guess it’s today,” Nicole giggled. “Get some rest.” She lifted Gilly’s hand for a quick kiss. “Oh, I called Maria. She’s so relieved you’re okay and … little Robyn, too. Said she’d be over soon.”
“If you all don’t mind I think I’ll sit with her a bit. Is that okay?” Skip asked looking at Anne.
“Of course.” Anne gave him a hug and followed the girls out of the room.
Skip drew up a chair, resting his elbows on the edge of the bed, picked up Gilly’s hand pressing it to his lips.
He saw her eyes flutter.
He held her hand to his forehead. “I love you, Gilly.” He slowly raised his head to look into her green eyes, but they were closed, her breathing even and deep. She was asleep and hadn’t heard his confession.
Later, Gilly’s eyes slowly opened. She was surprised to see Skip leaning in, his head down on the edge of the bed.
“I love you, Skip,” she whispered. He didn’t move. He was asleep and had missed the words he had waited so long to hear.
Chapter 45
───
EVERYONE’S ROUTINE DRAMATICALLY changed with a newborn taking up residence in the apartment on the second floor above The Working Girl shop. Lists were made and changed. Schedules were set, changed, and changed again. However, Coco stopped her roaming—she had her lap back.
Gilly thrived.
Robyn thrived.
Anne stayed to help for five days then left exhausted with Will and Gramps on the Sunday afternoon ferry.
The studio was a blur of activity—chaos to anyone dropping in to visit.
But, everyone soon settled into the organized chaos. Before Will left, he installed a board on the studio wall—a whiteboard for messages. The board served as a sign-out sheet—each person noting where they were going and when they expected to return.
The display of the spring collection in the shop’s window enticed more and more women who were walking down the street on their lunch break to enter for a look at the new line. Tired of the dreary winter skies on this first day of spring they were dreaming of a hot new wardrobe.
New orders went from drips and drabs to a steadily increasing volume.
Gabby set up a meeting area in the studio where, after exciting a potential buyer with the new collection in the beauty of the shop downstairs, she took them up the stairs to her buyer’s corner. A tall window and an oriental rug anchored the space. In the center a large coffee table, surrounded with chairs and a couch, enticed the visitor to open the lookbooks Maria had placed within easy reach.
Nicole spent most of her time at the factory, continually checking for flaws in the production process. But with Tony Vinsenso’s help, she spent more and more time sourcing fabrics, trims and researching trends.
Maria switched photographers, updated the website, introduced new signage in the shop, and redesigned the lookbooks and marketing materials.
Arthur Lewis set up his computer, commandeering a corner opposite the buyer’s corner. Whenever he spotted Gabby bounding up the staircase with a visitor in tow, he rushed to the kitchen, brewed a pot of coffee, and set the fresh carafe on a table near the guests. After checkin
g that the mini creamers were fresh, he returned to his computer.
Three weeks after Robyn’s arrival, Gilly offered Arthur a full-time position—Accounting Manager. His hourly pay, switched to a salary, was still low, but he felt rich. His wife was a part-time sales clerk at a card shop several blocks away. They had no children.
Gilly staked out her area: her design tablet always stashed into her tote at the end of the day for safe keeping still leery of someone stealing her ideas, fabric swatches, Patty standing with muslin draped in one way or another, cell phone, pages torn from magazines, and Robyn’s bassinet.
From time to time, Gilly disappeared to the privacy of the nursery. Her dad had restored the rocker Anne used when Gilly was born surprising her with the gift on one of his painting weekends. After nursing her angel, Gilly laid her in her crib. With a kiss on her wispy red curls she gazed at her miracle from Paris. Maxime was a distant memory. She no longer felt hatred toward him—she felt nothing for him.
Skip popped up for coffee, or lunch, a few times a week. Neither repeated the words they said to each other at the hospital. Knowing their words went unheard, each felt content to leave them that way, once again for fear they would be rebuffed. Skip’s laptop was now permanently attached to his underarm. On his visits, he brought up on the screen his latest pages of the Wellington Gold Heist Expose for Gilly’s comments. While she absorbed the additions to the manuscript, Skip played with Robyn—just one more of her mothers.
Chapter 46
───
COCO POUNCED ON GILLY’S bed letting out a screech then darted out of the bedroom. Startled, Gilly sat up as Coco leaped on the bed again crying out. Gilly flashed back to the earthquake two years ago and Coco’s strange behavior racing out of the living room and under the bed for no reason. Did she sense another earthquake?
Gilly checked Robyn in her crib. The baby slept soundly. Coco darted passed her diving under the bed. Something was upsetting her. Gilly glanced at the clock—2:38 a.m. She tiptoed out to the studio.
Flames flickered around the door to the back staircase, puffs of smoke curling into the air.
Gilly screamed to Nicole and Gabby.
“Fire. Fire. Nicole. Gabby get out.”
The flames started licking at the wall.
Gilly raced to Robyn lifting the sleeping infant into her arms, wrapping her in her blanket.
Nicole stood in the middle of the studio frozen at the onslaught of the flames. Gabby grabbed her arm propelling her to the door and center staircase leading down to the shop below.
Gilly raced to her bedroom, swung her tote over her shoulder, snatched her cell off the dresser, punched 911 screaming into the phone that the building was on fire as she ran down the stairs behind Nicole and Gabby, her arms wrapped firmly around her baby.
Gilly shut the phone. Opened it again and without another thought hit Skip’s code.
“Gilly it’s only …”
“Fire. The building’s on fire!” she yelled gulping air.
“Are you out? Robyn?”
“Yes. I called 911. Hold on I have to unlock the front doors.”
Skip heard sirens. Gilly said something to Nicole. She couldn’t get the door unlocked. Gabby yanked the keys from her.
Skip pulled on his pants and T-shirt shoving his cell into his pocket as he ran to his Jeep.
Gabby pushed the plate glass doors wide as two fire engines turned down the alley to the back of the building, another pulled up in front. Clutching Robyn, Gilly darted out to the sidewalk Nicole behind her. A fireman pulled them away from the entrance as he shouted directions to his crew.
Gabby pushed up the sliding bar anchoring both of the doors open.
“Ma’am, where did you see the fire?”
“Second floor. The back. There’s an entrance and stairs. We came out the front.”
“The stairs—
“Stairs straight through the shop—on your right.”
“Stay back. Someone will be with you in a minute.”
Gabby joined Nicole standing on either side of Gilly as they watched the firemen position ladders, hook hoses to the fire hydrant, as another engine drove up the street. Horns blared, men yelled orders to one another.
Skip came running out of the alley, down the street, and up to the three women. “Everyone okay?” he shouted. Seeing them stare in horror unable to speak but out of danger. He looked up and saw a faint glow in the second floor windows. The fire must have started in the back. He dashed back down the alley, jumping over hoses, flashing his Seattle Times’ badge when a fireman tried to stop him.
Flames were flaring out of the bank of windows along the back of the building. He could see that the firemen were trying to stop the progress of the fire at the studio. It hadn’t reached the two windows of the apartment. If they could hold it, maybe they could keep the building from being gutted.
A Red Cross unit pulled around a fire engine and stopped. The driver asked something of one of the firemen who pointed across the street. The woman and a man wearing a white vest with a big red cross on the front and back ran up to Gilly and the two beside her wrapping each in a blanket. The woman rushed back to the Red Cross van, grabbed three pairs of slipper-socks and ran back. She and the man helped the women pull on the slippers.
“Coco. Oh, my God, Coco’s in there.” Gilly began to cross the street.
“Miss, stop. Who’s Coco?”
“My cat. Coco. Please tell them. She saved our lives. She warned us. Please. Please tell them,” she yelled over the din clutching Robyn under the Red Cross blanket.
The fireman ran down the alley out of sight.
The noise was deafening—fire engines, men shouting, police sirens, more engines their horns blaring for cars and bystanders to get out of the way. The KOMO cable news crew filled the street beside the fire trucks. More engines pulled around back. The Seattle Fire Departments weren’t taking any chances that a building on fire in the heart of the city might spread to surrounding buildings.
Skip ran out of the alley looking for Gilly. Spotting her he ran across the street and grabbed her shoulders forcing her to look at him.
“It’s almost under control.”
Gilly looked up at the windows. Flames were still visible. It didn’t look like it was under control to her.
She looked back at Skip, her eyes filling with tears. “Skip, Coco’s in there,” she whispered.
“Stay here.”
Skip took off disappearing down the alley—reappearing several minutes later with a firefighter holding something in a towel. As they came nearer, Gilly saw Coco’s tail hanging limp from under the towel.
“Ma’am, is this your cat?” He pulled back the towel to reveal a very frightened Coco, shaking, singed paws, ears, tail and back. Coco opened her mouth and gave out a soft mew. It wasn’t much, but she was alive.
“Yes, yes.” Gilly, tears streaming down her cheeks, put her nose close to Coco’s. “Good girl, Coco, Pretty kitty. I love you.”
“Ma’am, if it’s all right with you I’ll take her to a veterinary hospital. There’s one about two miles from here. I know the vet. He’ll take good care of her.”
Skip pulled out his reporter’s business card, wrote Gilly’s name on the back and circled his cell number on the front. Handing it to the firefighter, he told him Gilly could be reached on his number and that the vet better take special care of her.
Gilly cut in, “She saved four lives tonight.”
Gilly felt a touch on her elbow. Detective DuBois was standing beside her. In a soft voice, looking up at the windows which were now smashed and dark, clouds of black smoke slowly dissipating, he spoke in her ear asking her to tell him exactly what happened.
Matching his matter-of-fact tone and staring at the burned-out windows she related what she knew: Coco waking her, seeing the flames around the door of the back staircase to the alley, grabbing her baby and screaming to Gabby and Nicole to get out.
“Did you smell anything?”<
br />
Gilly turned to the detective. Her eyes sharpened as she understood his question.
“Gas. A strong cleaning liquid.”
Chapter 47
───
TOSSING AND TURNING, PHILIP Wellington finally gave up on an extra hour of sleep. He picked up the TV remote from his bedside table and snapped on KOMO news. A fire engulfing a building in the heart of Seattle filled the screen: firemen shouting as they raced up a ladder laden down with equipment, firemen feeding hoses to other firemen, water gushing from the nozzles, police trying to hold back spectators.
The cameraman panned the street filled with fire engines, police cars and emergency vehicles. Wellington’s eye caught sight of Skip Hunter talking to Gillianne Wilder his arm around her shoulders. She was wrapped in a blanket holding a baby. Detective DuBois stood beside Hunter. Two other women, also wrapped in blankets, were standing beside Gillianne, arms holding each other as they watched the shop going up in flames.
Wellington made a quick decision. Standing in his pajamas and bare feet, he snatched his cell from his mahogany wardrobe valet, scanned the numbers in his directory, and punched one.
“DuBois!”
“Detective, Philip Wellington here. I’m watching you on television. Would you mind handing your phone to Skip Hunter? I see him standing beside you.”
“Hunter here.”
“Skip, Philip Wellington. Terrible fire.”
“Yes. Sorry, Mr. Wellington, I can’t—
“Wait. Skip, please tell Gillianne Wilder that my house is open to her, and her staff, and her family. I’m sure her grandfather and family will be heading across the sound as soon as they hear about the fire, if they haven’t left already.”
“Philip, I don’t know what to say,” Skip looked at Gilly and handed her the phone transferring little Robyn into his arms.
“Hello. Mr. Wellington?”
“Yes, my dear. Terrible, terrible fire. I just told Skip that my house is open to you … your staff and family. You told me at my party that you and two members of your staff live on the floor above your shop. You’re homeless, my dear. Please come directly to my house when you’re free to leave the scene.”
Murder by Design Trilogy Page 40