Be My Baby (2 page)

“Yes,” she snapped.

“Mrs. Moreland, it’s Charles Hampton.” Hampton always sounded like he was speaking in a hall with an echo, probably a holdover from addressing all those courtrooms.

“Yes, what is it?” She straightened a sheet of paper on her otherwise-immaculate desk.

“I just wanted to give you a progress report on our efforts to locate your…daughter-in-law.”

The pause was small, but enough to bring a wintry smile to Lydia’s lips. “Barrett’s widow. The marriage was legal, Charles. We did have it checked, remember?”

“Of course.” Hampton cleared his throat before continuing. “Yes, well, we’ve confirmed that she left the state, probably six weeks ago.”

“Probably?” She raised an eyebrow. If he were standing in front of her, she’d have narrowed her eyes at him. As it was, she made do with tone of voice.

“The exact date is a little hazy, but yes. The place where she was staying has been vacant for around that length of time.”

Lydia leaned back in her chair, rolling her Montblanc ballpoint between her fingers. “And where is she now?”

“We think Texas. She mentioned Texas to friends. Before…that is, while she was still working.”

Lydia closed her eyes and clenched her jaw. Raising one’s voice was not only unladylike, it also got one nowhere with the Charles Hamptons of the world. And it showed weakness. She settled for letting her tone slide into acid. “Texas is a big place, I understand. Do you have a more exact location than that?”

“Not yet. We’re working on some leads, however.”

“Why is this so difficult, Charles? I assume you’re using private investigators. Surely, locating missing persons is fairly routine.”

“Not if they don’t want to be located. Your daughter-in-law has stopped using her credit cards. She hasn’t called anyone in Belle View since she left, nor has she sent letters. The cell phone number we have for her is no longer active, and we haven’t located a new one. She left no forwarding address with the landlord, and she paid all her bills before leaving. In cash.”

Lydia pinched the bridge of her nose. “I assume she closed out the bank accounts?”

“Yes. Both her checking and savings. And she demanded the entire amount in cash. She refused a cashier’s check.”

“There can’t have been much.” She picked up her pen again. “The house wasn’t hers. And her severance package was supposedly quite small.” In fact, Lydia had made sure that it was quite small.

“Yes, well.” Hampton cleared his throat again. “There was the bequest from Barrett.”

She stared down at the pen between her fingers for a moment, fighting the quick rush of anger.
Never show emotion with an underling.
One of her father’s guiding principles. “I understood that had been blocked.”

“Not all of it.” He sounded uncomfortable. “Your son left her his personal fortune in addition to his share of the corporation. We couldn’t sequester all of his money.”

“Barrett’s personal fortune.” The words had a bitter taste. Her lips twisted. “Not a great deal of that, was there?”

“That lawyer of his managed to find some for her.”

Lydia couldn’t resist. “You’re saying that Barrett’s storefront lawyer was better at his job than you are?”

She fancied she heard a quick intake of breath on the other end of the line. “We did what we could, Mrs. Moreland. We did manage to protect the majority of the money.”

She sighed. Amusing though it was to bait Hampton, it wasn’t accomplishing her purpose. “The woman did some kind of work with computers, as I recall. She’ll have to find a job to support herself and the child. Approach her that way.”

“We’ve thought of that,” he explained. “We have people watching the chat rooms where she was a member, and we’ve posted job listings at the online employment sites. So far she hasn’t shown.”

“There must be something more you can do.”

This time Hampton sounded more annoyed than defensive. “We’re doing all we can, Mrs. Moreland. However, your daughter-in-law hasn’t done anything illegal, and she doesn’t want to be found. That makes it difficult.”

That makes it difficult if you believe she has any rights in the matter.
Lydia rolled her hand into a fist, keeping her voice level. “Very well, Charles. You’ll keep me posted.”

“Of course, Mrs. Moreland.”

Hampton disconnected. She could imagine his relieved expression.

She sat staring at the cell phone in her hand. Barrett’s bitch of a wife hadn’t done anything illegal because the law simply didn’t recognize the facts of this situation. She’d taken a Moreland grandchild, the only grandson, Barrett’s heir, and run away. That might not be illegal, but it was enough to make her a criminal in Lydia’s eyes.

Charles Hampton obviously was not the best person to find Barrett’s slut. In fact, he wouldn’t find her, not using his current methods. He’d give Lydia some claptrap about the woman’s rights and the child’s rights and nothing at all about the real rights, the Moreland rights.

Her rights.

Obviously, she needed to use someone else. Someone who’d know what to do after the woman had been located. Someone who’d make sure that she didn’t keep a Moreland child from being raised as a Moreland. Lydia needed someone who’d make sure things worked the way they were supposed to. She opened a desk drawer and pulled out her black Moreland Enterprises directory. Roy Westerman was still listed under the security division.

Her son Preston had expressed doubts about Roy’s methods in the past, but Lydia had managed to keep him on the payroll. It was always useful to have someone with the right contacts. Roy Westerman might not be able to do what she wanted himself, but he’d know someone else who could.

Her hand tightened on the phone as she punched in Roy’s number, then waited for the connection to go through. Westerman’s “Hello” was suitably brusque.

“Hello, Roy,” she purred, “it’s Lydia Moreland. I’m looking for a contractor. One with some particular skills. Perhaps we could discuss it over lunch.”

Chapter Two

Jess skimmed through the ad again, trying to convince herself that this job was a good idea.
Caregiver for two-year-old, 8-5, in my home or yours. Salary negotiable. References required. Contact L. Toleffson, 210.555.3222

“Short and not particularly sweet,” she muttered. Jack glanced up from his high chair, clearly more interested in the bowl of rice cereal she was cradling in her hand.

“How about it, Jack?” She scooped up a quick spoonful. “Want to share our space with some two-year-old terror?”

Jack blew a bubble of cereal and made a mildly distressed sound.

“I’m not crazy about the negotiable salary part.” She wiped a smear off his cheek and tried inserting another bite. “No way am I haggling over this.”

Jack pushed most of the bite out again with his tongue, then beat his palms against the high chair tray, his expression mildly mutinous, at least for a nine-month-old.

“Come on, kid,” Jess murmured. “Just a couple more bites and we’ll call it breakfast. Mom isn’t providing the whole diet anymore.” She shoveled in another bite, scraping excess from his lower lip. “Just swallow a little more now.”

Some of the cereal made it down his throat, but a significant amount reappeared immediately.

She sighed.
“Okay, you win. But the Mommy lunch counter won’t be open again for another couple of hours.”

Jack grinned at her beatifically while she did her best not to grin back. Wouldn’t that be reinforcing him? Probably. On the other hand, not grinning back at him was well nigh impossible.

“Oh, man, have you ever got my number,” she murmured, removing his bib and wiping cereal off his face with a washcloth.

Jack chuckled at her, clearly delighted to have his fingers wiped.

“Okay, we’ll go talk to this person.” She unhooked the high chair tray and lifted her son into her arms, trying not to get the remains of his cereal on her shirt. “You get a ride in the backpack, after we’ve cleaned you up a little more and I’ve given L. Toleffson a call. If she doesn’t turn tail and run the minute she sees you, we’ll consider her offer, assuming we like her.”

Jack grabbed a handful of her hair in enthusiastic agreement, smearing a bit of leftover rice cereal on her forehead. Jess grimaced, wondering if she had time for a quick shampoo before they went into town.

Lars glanced at his watch. The woman had said she’d be at his office at ten, which had been fine at the time, but then a couple of his clients, owners of a new hotel complex on B Street, had requested a consult. They wanted him there at ten-thirty. If his potential babysitter was late, he’d be late. And it would be his own fault because he should have told the hotel people he couldn’t make it until eleven.

He blew out a quick breath. Except that they were new clients, with a potential for a good commission, and he needed them. The hotel manager had wanted him to drop by at five originally, but he had to get Daisy then, and he had a feeling she wouldn’t be welcome at a business meeting. Particularly not since the manager had already given him a couple of thinly veiled come-ons. Either she’d heard he wasn’t married or didn’t care if he was, but he doubted she knew he was raising a two-year-old daughter. She hadn’t looked much like the nurturing type, considering the four-inch heels and the mid-thigh-length skirt.

The bell on the outer office door jingled, and Lars pushed back from his desk. His receptionist, Mrs. Suarez, was on a coffee break.

He stepped into the waiting room as the woman at the door muttered something. She wore a hooded sweatshirt and jeans, and she seemed oddly hunched. For a moment, he wondered if she was a homeless person who’d wandered in to escape the slight autumn chill outside.

“Can I help you?” he said, a little more briskly than usual.

The woman turned, and he immediately understood both the hunch and the muttering. She held a baby in a backpack in front of her. “Mr. Toleffson?” She straightened slightly. “I’m Jessamyn Carroll. We spoke on the phone.”

“Oh.” Lars did a quick memory search. “I didn’t know you had…that is, did you mention…”

“This is my son, Jack.” Jessamyn Carroll pushed the baby’s hat off and he bounced up, bracing his feet against the backpack frame.

He took a breath. Not necessarily a deal-breaker. “How old?”

“Nine months.”

“Any more at home?” He tried to make the question sound friendly. Multiple children didn’t necessarily mean she wouldn’t be able to take care of Daisy. On the other hand, the more kids around, the more possibilities that Daisy might lead an infant insurrection.

“Nope. Jack’s it.” She watched him carefully, probably waiting for him to tell her she couldn’t have the job because of the baby. Little did she know just how desperate he was.

“Come on in.” He gestured toward the office. “Let’s talk about this sitting down. He looks like a handful.”

“Handful, armful, you name it.” Ms. Carroll grinned as she stepped through the office door.

Lars felt a quick surge of warmth somewhere around his solar plexus. She had a killer smile, complete with dimples. Not, of course, that he was in any position to do anything about it—or wanted to. These days, he only had enough energy for Daisy and the office.

She set the pack down before he could step forward to help her, opening the frame to prop it up, then lifted the baby into her lap and flipped back her hood. Her short feathery hair glowed like old gold in the sunlight streaming through the office window.

The heat in his solar plexus increased. He willed his nether regions to knock it off as he slid into his desk chair. The last thing he wanted to deal with right now was a hard-on. “Okay, Ms. Carroll, I’m looking for someone to take care of my daughter, Daisy. She’s two and a half. Do you have any child care experience?”

“Just Jack.” Ms. Carroll handed the baby a ring of oversized plastic keys. “I’m home with him all day, and I figure I can look after two as easily as one.”

Lars frowned slightly. “Daisy’s very active.”

“So’s Jack. But at least he’s not entirely mobile yet.”

She grinned at him again, the kind of sunshine smile that made the room seem slightly warmer. Parts of the room, anyway. He gritted his teeth, reining himself in. You’d think he’d have learned by now that physical attraction was no indication of character. “Is your husband home during the day?”

Ms. Carroll’s smile dimmed slightly, as if he’d hit a nerve. “I’m a widow.”

Right
. Well, he couldn’t afford to be choosy, and women had babies on their own for all kinds of reasons. “Would you be able to look after her at my house?”

Ms. Carroll’s grin diminished to slightly upturned corners. “No. I’m the manager at the Lone Oak Bed and Breakfast, and I need to be there during the day. But she’d have lots of room to play. There’s a swing set and a small slide in the back yard.”

“You’re managing a bed and breakfast, but you’d have time to look after a two-year-old along with that?”

Ms. Carroll’s grin was gone altogether now. “Look, Mr. Toleffson, managing the B and B means cleaning the house when it’s vacant and putting out the breakfast when we have guests. And checking the online reservation requests. It’s not like running a hotel.”

“And you live there, too?”

She nodded. “There are two cabins. I live in the smaller one.”

He took a deep breath, trying to decide if he really heard alarm bells or if he was being an idiot. He sort of remembered the Lone Oak—a lavish log cabin on Lone Dog Creek, lots of live oaks, some plaster deer lawn ornaments that Daisy always squealed over. The creek was pretty close, and Daisy had a thing about water. On the other hand, at this point, the alternative was Wee Care. “Do you have any references?”

She nodded again. “Mrs. Carmody, the woman who owns the Lone Oak, can vouch for me. She’s out of town right now, but I have her e-mail address. She’s the only one I’ve worked for down here.”

He felt another prickle of doubt. “How long have you been in Konigsburg?”

“Three months.” She stared back at him, her face a polite mask.

More references would be helpful. On the other hand, one local was probably as good as he could get at this point. “Okay, maybe we can give this a try. A month or so, and then we can see how everybody feels about it.”

“Terrific, Mr. Toleffson.” Her voice was dry. “But before we shake on it, maybe you could tell me what the salary is.”

Lars closed his eyes.
Salary
. How could he have forgotten salary? He was an accountant, for the love of heaven. He really was losing his mind. “Yes,” he muttered, “by all means, let’s talk about that.”

Jess put Jack into his jumper seat, listening to him crow as he danced back and forth in the doorway to the living room. She slid into the chair at her computer and fired up the Paloma Gaming site. The e-mail from the site owner said that the win-loss ratings kept going flaky. Jess opened her console window and began checking code. The jumper seat usually kept Jack occupied for twenty minutes or so. With any luck she’d find the bug in less time than that.

The encounter with Lars Toleffson still rankled. Obviously, he was looking for June Cleaver. Obviously, as far as he was concerned, she was closer to Britney Spears. Tough. She’d do a good job with his daughter, no matter what he thought of her.

Toleffson wasn’t exactly what she’d expected. Weren’t accountants supposed to be wimpy? He was at least six four or five, given the way he towered over her five-foot-ten. And his shoulders were broad enough to block the light from the office window when he leaned back. He’d worn a predictable gray business suit, but his dark hair had the kind of curls that never stayed put, inching down slightly over his forehead.

The type of guy who probably made female hearts go pitter-pat, if one were susceptible to that kind of thing. Which Jess definitely was not.

She wondered briefly what had happened to Mrs. Toleffson. Probably a divorce, given the lack of sympathy he’d shown when she’d mentioned Barry. Not that she wanted sympathy. But why didn’t people ask single fathers where their significant other had gone the way they asked single mothers?

Jack gave a shriek of delight and Jess turned to look at him. He danced across the doorway on his tiptoes, bouncing up and down enthusiastically.

She remembered when she’d brought him home from the hospital. Small and wrinkled and rosy. Totally vulnerable. Totally dependent. Hers to protect. And love.

She bit her lip. “Oh, lord, Jack, don’t grow up too fast, okay? Let me savor this just a little.”

Jack grinned up at her and did a baby plié. Jess closed her eyes a moment, willing herself not to tear up, then turned back to the monitor. “Okay, time for Mommy to earn us some bread, kiddo. You just keep working on those dance moves so you’ll be ready for your big break when you decide to keep me in style.”

Assuming I can keep you to myself that long.
Jess shivered, then concentrated on her screen. Maybe Lydia Moreland had just walked across her grave.

Roy Westerman watched the Ice Queen pour another cup of post-lunch coffee. Of course she knew he’d prefer something stronger, but of course she wouldn’t give it to him. Probably didn’t drink with underlings. Either that or she wanted him sharp for this conversation, which was a more unsettling possibility.

Roy wasn’t sure exactly how old Lydia Moreland was. He’d guess she was in her sixties, but the work she’d had done on her face, plus the exercise she put in to keep her figure in check, made it hard to know exactly.

Now she raised her gaze over the rim of her porcelain coffee cup. She reminded him a little of a water moccasin he’d stumbled across once down on the Delaware—that same steady, ice-cold gaze. He’d killed the snake before it struck, but he wouldn’t get that chance if the same situation ever arose with the Ice Queen.

“Well, Roy, it seems we have a bit of a problem on our hands.” Even her voice sounded like it was frosted over.

“What problem is that, Mrs. Moreland?”

The Ice Queen set her cup carefully back on its matching saucer. “Barrett’s wife. She took off with my grandson. Charles Hampton isn’t having any luck in finding her.”

Roy managed to keep his expression bland. “I hadn’t realized Mr. Moreland had married.”
Let alone had a kid. Interesting
.

“He didn’t invite the family to the wedding.”

Right. He could definitely see Barrett Moreland’s point. Having the Ice Queen at your wedding would tend to put a damper on the celebration, particularly if she wasn’t happy about the bride.

“How old is the child?” He pulled out his notebook, ignoring the Ice Queen’s sudden frown. He needed a record of whatever details she deigned to give him.

“Less than a year.” She shrugged. “I can’t tell you exactly. We didn’t know she was pregnant until Preston saw her at the funeral. You did know about Barrett’s death, I assume?”

Roy nodded. “I understood it was heart disease.”

The Ice Queen’s lips narrowed to a grimace. “It was alcoholism. But I suppose that puts a strain on the heart, doesn’t it?”

He nodded again, noncommittally. The kid, Barrett, had always been the old man’s favorite. The Ice Queen preferred the older brother, Preston. If the old man had lived, the kid might have made it, but Roy had a feeling that having the Ice Queen for a mother could have wrecked anybody. Preston didn’t look all that healthy himself these days.

“So the baby was born after Mr. Moreland’s death?”

“Yes.”

The Ice Queen picked up her cup again, then set it down. Nerves? Hard to believe. More probably excess venom.

“We weren’t informed when the child was born. We only found out after the fact.”

Roy cleared his throat, pretending to write a note. The Ice Queen ignored him.

“We offered her support, of course, but she declined our help. And then she disappeared. We don’t know that much about her, and I’m concerned about the child.”

He blinked, making a couple of careful notes for real this time. Unless he missed his guess, most of what she’d just told him was total bullshit. He’d have to get the full facts later from more reliable sources. “Where was she from? Maybe she’s gone back home again.”