Cinnamon Girl

by S. J. MacIver

  "Yes," she admitted with a sigh. "There are a lot of things that don't add up, especially if this turns out to be the Hankins' baby, but we don't have much more to go on."

  "If you take Dale Hermann out of the mix, it's easier to imagine other scenarios."

  "Like what?"

  Thinking back, he tapped the edge of his desk with a pen. "Like a case that happened in Minneapolis a couple of years back. A woman was desperate to have a baby, had endured several miscarriages, and ultimately resorted to faking a pregnancy. When her supposed due date came, she followed a heavily pregnant stranger home from the store, killed her and took the baby."

  Lacy nodded and blew out a sigh. "I remember that story. It was horrible."

  "I agree, and there are more like it across the nation. Some involve the black market in babies, so actually, suspects in the Hankins case can really be quite large."

  "I know." Lacy sat back in her chair. "I just wish this was over."

  "Me, too," Mike said, his words heavy with meaning. Then he went back to something Lacy had said earlier. "You mentioned the baby is sick. Do you have any idea what's wrong with him?"

  "The hospital issued a statement saying that the baby appeared to be suffering from milk allergies. If that's the case, he'll be just fine after they put him on a new diet and he picks up a little more weight."

  Mike took that in and then asked, "Any idea when they'll have a DNA match?"

  "They're rushing it through, so we should have some news by Friday, latest."

  "Keep me posted, if you don't mind." He gestured toward the papers scattered across his desk. "In the meantime, I've got a few mysteries to solve myself. Oddly enough, one of them seems to be connected to the Hankins clan."

  "Oh?" Lacy leaned forward and glanced at the papers, but couldn't make sense of them. "What are you working on?"

  "I represent the insurance company that covered Carole Hankins' home. Like the murder case involving her successor, something about the fire doesn't add up."

  Lacy thought back to the article she'd written on the subject and the subsequent follow-up. "I don't know what you mean. The case was definitely written up as arson, so there's no surprise there. It's just a matter of the police catching up with the vandals, isn't it?"

  "Vandals," Mike repeated, his brow rumpled. "How many reports of vandals throwing firebombs into stranger's homes have you seen, say over the last two years?"

  Lacy didn't have to think about it for long. "None."

  "Right, and do you know why?"

  She shook her head.

  "Because tossing a Molotov cocktail into someone's home and intentionally setting fire to it is a very, and I mean, very personal crime."

  Lacy shrugged. "So? That just means whoever threw the firebomb had it in for Carole or Jeremy."

  "I'd tend to go along with that, but when I asked Jeremy if he was having trouble with anyone at school or in the neighborhood, he was quite positive that nobody he knew would do such a thing. I believe you got pretty much the same answer from his mother."

  "I did," she said thoughtfully. "I hadn't considered the arson as being personal when I asked her, but Carole was adamant in her belief that a stranger had set fire to her home as a prank."

  "A prank? Odd, don't you think?"

  Lacy looked into his dark eyes, fighting the tendency to get lost in them, and then took a deep breath. "Odd for sure," she said at last. "So what are you suggesting? That Carole burned down her own house?"

  Mike turned his palms up. "In this line of work, I've seen stranger things."

  "But why? Why on earth would she destroy such a beautiful home?"

  Mike drew his brows together and simply stared at her. It didn't take Lacy but a moment to comprehend what his expression conveyed.

  "Because of her ex-husband?" She sat straight up. "Because she wanted to move back in with Jerry? I have a hard time believing any woman could burn up that beautiful home just because she wants her husband back."

  "Women have been known to do stranger things for love."

  Mike was grinning as he said it, but Lacy knew he wasn't kidding around. She also realized that there was a good possibility he was right.

  "Seriously," she said. "What does your cop gut tell you about the fire?"

  Considering this, Mike waited a long moment before answering. When he did, his words were clipped and measured.

  "I watched Carole out of the corner of my eye when you were interviewing her, and more importantly, when you were not. The woman wasn't in any distress. Quite the contrary, she looked positively excited, the way an arsonist might look as he returns to the scene of the crime."

  "And Jeremy? Wasn't he upset about the fire?"

  Mike thought about that a moment, and then sadly shook his head. "Not really. Not the way I would have expected him to be, anyway."

  "Oh, Mike, this is just terrible if even a little of it is true. Do you honestly believe that Carole is to blame?"

  He didn't even pause to reflect. "I can't prove it yet, but I'd bet my truck—and I love my truck—that Carole Hankins tossed that Molotov cocktail herself."

  Chapter 18

  Lacy could hardly wait for Friday to roll around, and when it did, she was rewarded beyond all measure. DNA testing proved that the abandoned baby was indeed the child of Jerry Hankins. Word had it that before nightfall, he'd be able to collect his son and take him to his rightful home.

  As she had several days before, Lacy immediately drove to Mike's office in order to share the news in person. His truck was not in the parking lot and she could see that his office was dark. Left with no choice, she did the next best thing. Lacy pulled out her cell phone and punched in his number.

  "Lacy," he said after the second ring. "To what do I owe this honor?"

  "The baby is the son of Jerry Hankins," she blurted out. "Isn't that wonderful news?"

  "It is indeed. At least we can close one chapter in this nasty story with a happy ending."

  She nodded her head as if he could see her. "I wish I could be a mouse in Jerry's pocket when he holds the baby for the first time. What do you want to bet he cries?"

  There was a bit of a pause before Mike answered. When he did, his voice was less friendly, more clipped. "Listen, I'm in the middle of a job right now and really need to get back to it. Can we talk later?"

  "Sure. Why don't we just meet at my place around six and we'll order a pizza?"

  Again a pause. Then, "I don't think that's going to work for me tonight. This is a big job. Maybe I'll call you tomorrow."

  Could he have forgotten that tomorrow was Saturday? Lacy frowned. "Why bother to call? You're going to Napoleon with me in the morning, remember?"

  "Ah, change of plans. You'll have to go it alone this week, which I'm sure won't upset your brother in the least."

  Was that what this was all about? The fact that Charles remained a little aloof around Mike? Okay, maybe he was downright sarcastic, but it was only because he was so protective of her. It didn't mean that he actually disliked Mike.

  "I've really got to run now," Mike said, cutting into her thoughts. "Talk to you later."

  And with that, he disconnected the call.

  Troubled, Lacy sank back against the Jeep's bucket seat and finally considered the state of her relationship with Mike. She had to admit that things simply were not going well between them. He'd been distant over the past week, too busy to see her as often as he once had, and even his phone conversations had grown more infrequent. Also, like today, he'd become more abrupt when ending a call.

  Tracing things back to the night of the Hankins fire, Lacy figured it probably had a lot to do with the conversation they'd had by the river, the one in which Mike had declared his love for her and gotten nothing back in return. She could hardly blame him for putting a little more distance between them, for making himself less available.

  A horrible thought suddenly crossed her mind—what if he'd been trying for the last week to disentangle himself fro
m her and her fixation with the past? What if Mike had decided to move on with his own life, one that didn't include her and her noncommittal ways? Was that what she wanted? Intended or not, she'd certainly given him that impression.

  Lacy opened her mouth to draw in a much-needed breath, and instead a sob tore out of her throat. Aware of a sudden pain growing deep inside of her, she clutched her chest and let out a strangled moan. Then she began to cry, great rolling teardrops that stained the sleeves of her lambskin jacket.

  She sat there for several minutes, maybe even an hour, peeling back the layers of pain she'd so carefully wrapped around her heart. At long last she found the core again, knew without a doubt that it was still there, and that it had probably never disappeared. Lacy continued to cry, this time with joy, this time with the knowledge that she could love again. That she did love again.

  But now what? How to tell Mike of this revelation, that she loved him, only him, and wanted him with a near desperation? What to do?

  Lacy glanced at the clock and saw that she'd completely missed her lunch hour and was overdue in the newsroom. She had a couple of stories to finish, not to mention the update on the Hankins baby, and couldn't waste another moment. She worked on the problem of how to present her case to Mike as she drove back to the Herald building. By the time she'd parked and climbed the stairs to the newsroom, she had what she thought was an absolutely brilliant plan.

  Since Mike was working tonight and she was free, she would make a batch of marshmallows using his recipe, with just a couple of deviations. For one thing, Lacy planned to dye the syrup red. For another, when it came time to cut the confection, she would use all her artistic talents to fashion a fluffy heart before cutting the rest into squares. Then she would dust that heart with red sugar sprinkles followed by a bath of powdered sugar, also dyed red.

  When the perfect heart was finished, she would place it in a small gift box and tie it up with a red ribbon. Since Mike was working tonight and Lacy didn't know when he'd be home, she decided to pop by his apartment early in the morning on her way to Napoleon.

  And then she would do what she should have done a week ago. Lacy would finally give her heart to Mike Lindahl.

  * * *

  Early the next morning, her perfect marshmallow heart snug in a velvet lined box beside her, Lacy drove to Mike's apartment building. Excitement built in her as she climbed the stairs to the second story, and by the time she'd reached his door, number two-twenty, she was grinning from ear to ear.

  Lacy rang the doorbell and then knocked for good measure.

  After a couple of moments, the door opened and there stood a woman she'd never seen before. Her black hair was tousled and her blue eyes were smudged with sleep. She wore the upper portion of a pair of men's pajamas, and as far as Lacy could tell, not much else.

  Confused, Lacy glanced at the opened door and double-checked the number. Two-twenty.

  Then she looked back at the dark-haired beauty, who said, "You looking for Mike?"

  Her mouth was opened, but Lacy couldn't seem to form words. She nodded dumbly.

  "He's in the shower," the woman said, looking Lacy up and down. Then she pointed to the box with the red ribbon. "Is that for Mike?"

  Still unable to speak, Lacy nodded again.

  "I'll make sure he gets it."

  With that final statement, she snatched the box out of Lacy's hand and slammed the door in her face.

  Chapter 19

  Lacy had no idea how she made it down the stairs or even found her Jeep in the parking lot. She was numb inside, anesthetized by a kind of mental Novocain bent on shielding her from the pain. It would wear off soon, she knew, and expose the roots of an anguish she'd hoped never to feel again. Then it would plunge her into the depths of despair.

  In the meantime, she drove around aimlessly, trying to believe the best of Mike, intent somehow on imagining the worst. How could this have happened? He'd promised not a week ago to give her a little more time, to let her work out her feelings on her own schedule. Had she waited too long? And just how long had she known how deeply she loved Mike?

  As she considered all this, Lacy realized that last night's inspiration was no true revelation. She'd more than suspected for some time now that she'd fallen in love with Mike. Stubbornly, foolishly, she'd refused to let herself look at those feelings. Was it because she didn't have enough faith in him or in herself? Or was it simply that she didn't have enough faith, period?

  She'd been going to church with Mike regularly, trying to fit in and even getting to where she felt as if she were a part of the congregation. In reality, Lacy had to wonder if all she'd really been was an imposter, a seat-filler bent on showing those she cared about—Brian and Mike for sure—that she was both dutiful and humble.

  These were the thoughts drifting through Lacy's mind when the Novocain began to wear off and the pain set in. With tears rolling down her cheeks, she knew she had to get off the road before she wrecked the Jeep, or worse yet, caused an accident that hurt someone else.

  When she finally pulled to a stop, Lacy looked up and was surprised to see that she was in a parking lot. She recognized it as belonging to what she considered either Brian's church or Mike's church. She'd never thought of the building as her church, and yet here she was.

  Without questioning her motives or what might be driving her, Lacy made her way inside the building through the basement where the kitchen and hall were located, and climbed the stairs to the main floor. Both the upstairs and downstairs were deserted, and yet something drove her onward and upward to the loft. There Lacy found a play area for children, several floodlights pointed at the stage below, and a semi-circle of folding chairs. Toward the back of the balcony sat a long green couch. A coffee table offering a smattering of books was situated in front of the couch.

  Lacy made her way over to the sofa, took a seat, and picked through the books. The first few were children's books, obviously meant for Sunday school, but then she found what she knew she'd been looking for all along. The Holy Bible.

  Making herself more comfortable, she sat back and opened the book. Then she began to read: "In the Beginning..."

  * * *

  A noise, a sound, something woke Lacy from a deep slumber. Startled and disoriented, at first she didn't know where she was or how she'd gotten there. Then it all came back; Mike, the woman, the church, and the bible. She still felt the pain, there was no getting rid of it, but at the same time, found herself curiously refreshed. Happy, even.

  She glanced down at the bible lying on her lap and rubbed her palm across the cover. A sense of peace came over her, a calm she'd never before known. Lacy sat up and looked around the room. The deepening shadows told her that it was late in the afternoon. She'd spent almost the entire day here in church, most of that time reading. She stretched and yawned, and then heard the sound again, the noise that had first awakened her. Somebody was crying.

  After getting to her feet, Lacy made her way to the railing and looked down over balcony. Somebody, a young person she thought, was lying on the alter sobbing into the carpet. As far as she could tell, that person was alone.

  Lacy quietly made her way downstairs and approached the alter. As she drew near, she thought she recognized the young man.

  "Jeremy?" she said quietly. "Is that you?"

  He looked up at her, wiped his eyes, and then let his face fall back into his hands.

  "Oh, Jeremy," she said, kneeling down beside him. "What's wrong? Is there anything I can do to help?"

  He sobbed even louder and shook his head.

  Lacy didn't have much experience with young people, but this boy had already claimed a corner of her heart. She had to do something.

  "You've got to let me help you," she persisted. "Can I phone your mother for you?"

  "No!" He rose and sat down beside her. "Please don't call my mom or my dad. I ran away from home and can't go back yet. I don't know what to do."

  Lacy reached into her bag and offered Je
remy a tissue. As he wiped his eyes and blew his nose, she said, "All right. I won't call them, at least not yet, but you've got to tell me what's wrong. Maybe I can help."

  He hung his head, and then slowly shook it. "You'll put it in the paper if I tell you."

  "Look at me, Jeremy."

  As he raised his eyes to meet hers, Lacy realized that she was still carrying the bible she'd been reading upstairs. She placed her right hand on the cover.

  "See this?" she said. "I swear on the bible that I will not write about anything you tell me inside this church. Do we have a deal?"

  His small face rumpled with worry, he finally gave her a grudging nod.

  "All right then." Lacy inched closer to Jeremy and took one of his hands in hers. "What has you so upset?"

  It took him a minute to gather his courage, and when he started talking, Jeremy's chin was on his chest, but he finally said, "It's my new brother. Dad's youngest son."

  "Oh, goodness, is that what this is all about?" Lacy had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. "You'll get over having to share your parents with a sibling. We all do eventually, even though like you, most of us don't see any reason for our parents to have any children but ourselves."

  Jeremy didn't look the slightest bit placated. In fact, he pressed his lips together and slowly shook his head.

  Lacy gave it another try. "Trust me on this—there's nothing to worry about. Your feelings of jealousy are perfectly normal, and they will fade away in time."

  Jeremy turned sorrowful eyes on her. "I'm not jealous of my brother. It's my mom I'm worried about."

  "Your mom?" Lacy hadn't given the woman a thought, although she did suppose that Carole might not be too thrilled to raise the son of the woman whom she thought had stolen her husband.

  She did her best to ease Jeremy's fears. "Your mom may not be too happy about having to help raise your half-brother, but I'm sure she'll come around after she gets used to having him in her life. Mothers are like that."