Borrowed Baby (3 page)
She was a lot taller than he expected her to be, but then, he had only seen her sitting down. Her honey- blond hair was loose, framing her diamond-shaped face. She looked like the cheerleader type. Not just any cheerleader. Head cheerleader. It wasn't that she looked empty-headed or vain, just perky, incredibly perky, considering the hour. If he hadn't known better, he'd have thought that she was lifted directly from a soft drink commercial and deposited in front of him.
He found himself uncomfortable around her and wasn't certain if it was because he had to ask a favor of a stranger or because she was decidedly under- dressed for the occasion and he was having a very basic, very male reaction to her.
Startled though she was to see him, Liz was aware that the policeman was giving her the once-over. She wondered if she passed. She couldn't tell. He had a wide, rugged face that gave absolutely no clues as to what was going on behind those large brown eyes.
What on earth was he doing here?
Casie yelped as Griff shifted her seat.
"Arresting them a little young, aren't you?"
Griff cleared his throat. Though he tried to hide it, his discomfort was evident. He raised the infant seat and infant slightly in the air. "This is my niece."
Liz inclined her head. That still didn't explain what he was doing here. He certainly hadn't brought the child over for show-and-tell. If she was any judge, he looked as if he didn't even like holding the little girl.
"Hello, Niece." Liz assessed the awkward way he was holding the baby, almost at arm's length—and he had long arms. "You're holding her as if you expect her to explode at any second."
He didn't think he liked her attitude. "Do you always answer the door at six-thirty half naked?"
Maybe he came here to pick a fight. "I don't usually answer the door at six-thirty at all." A breeze threatened to separate her from all attempts at modesty. Her hand darted down to the hem of the jersey. "Get in here. It's downright chilly outside."
She took hold of his arm, intending to draw him in. It was a purely reflexive move. He didn't budge. His arm felt hard, unyielding beneath her hand. Liz looked at him curiously, mild amusement highlighting the corners of her mouth. "Does this come under the heading of assaulting an officer?"
Only then did he take a step inside her house. "I, um, have a problem."
"Yes," she agreed, closing the door, "you definitely do." Taking pity on him, Liz took the disgruntled baby out of his hands. She could feel the dampness even with the baby strapped into the seat. "She's wet," Liz accused.
Griff nodded. "That's part of the problem."
"Why didn't you change her?"
"I, um—" In response, he held out the purse Sally had left behind. "I think there are things you need in here."
"Another man afraid of diapers. C'mon, follow me." She led him to the family room.
They stepped across a maze comprised of toys and games. She set Casie down on the sofa and unstrapped her. Pushing the baby seat aside, she reached her hand up toward Griff without looking. "Diaper, please."
Griff felt as if he were involved in some kind of ritualistic surgery. "Here." He gave her what he assumed was a diaper. It was square and covered in white plastic and didn't look a thing like cloth.
Deftly, Liz began to change the baby. She noticed with amusement that the policeman averted his eyes as she did so. The man was definitely one for the books.
"There, nice and dry. At least for the moment." She sat the infant up and smoothed down the frilly pink dress. "She certainly is a cutie. Does she have a name?"
"Who?"
Liz looked over her shoulder at the policeman. She was five foot seven and she still felt dwarfed by him. Liz rose to her feet, taking the baby into her arms. "Your niece."
"Oh." He paused before he answered. "Casie."
She noticed the hesitation. "You two aren't very close, are you? "
"No." He saw no reason to explain any more than he had to.
"So, Officer, now that I've changed your niece, what is it that I can do for you?"
Casie reached out to grab hold of the badge on his shirt. Liz watched in fascination as he took a step back. No, not close at all, she judged. What was he doing with the baby, then? It didn't make any sense.
He hated asking anyone for anything. Always had. He prided himself on being able to manage no matter what the situation. This, though, was different. Silently he cursed the guitar player for ever having wandered into his sister's life. "Sally, my sister, had to leave suddenly and I have to go to work, so..."
Explanations didn't come easily to. him, Liz thought. "You'd like me to watch the baby?" she prompted. She had a spot in her heart for strays and lost puppies. Disgruntled and somber looking, the man qualified for the label.
He was relieved now that the words were out. "Yes. I'll pay you, of course."
Liz picked up a rattle and offered it to Casie. Casie eyed his badge one last time, then took the rattle. "That's usually the way it's done."
"Excuse me?"
Liz shook her head. Something wasn't quite right here. "I get the feeling that we're not quite in the same conversation. I'm usually reimbursed for watching children." She saw no lights going on as he took in this information. "You did come to me because I run a day care, didn't you?"
"Daycare?"
For such a good-looking man, he certainly was slow-witted. A pity. "Day care," she repeated. "As in all those children you saw me with yesterday."
"They weren't yours?"
Liz stared at him incredulously. Casie gave up the rattle and began to chew on the front of Liz's jersey. "You thought they were all mine?"
"Well, yes." He saw the laughter in her eyes and felt instantly foolish. How was he to know that they weren't hers?
Liz laughed. "No wonder you looked at me so oddly yesterday."
Griff looked at his wristwatch. He should have been on his way already. "Um, it's getting late."
"Fine." She nodded as she pulled a corner of her jersey back from Casie. A big wet pattern was beginning to form across the front of her chest. It felt cold.
"We'll settle up when you come back tonight. Just leave me your name and a number where I can reach you."
He stopped, one foot already across the threshold. "Why?"
With her free hand, Liz picked up a large sketch pad and crayon from the coffee table. "In case of an emergency. Here."
He took the crayon from her and stared at it, puzzled. "What kind of an emergency?"
Liz shrugged. "You're a policeman. You should know better than me."
None of this was making any sense to him. The whole world had turned upside down in less than twenty-four hours. Maybe he could still locate his sister. With luck, she couldn't have gotten very far. Better yet, maybe he could locate that guitar player of hers. He wondered just how far the definition of justifiable homicide could be stretched in this case.
Griff began to write out his name and then stopped as the ludicrousness of the situation hit him. He held up his writing instrument.
"This is a yellow crayon."
"Yes, I know."
"You can hardly see the letters on the paper."
"That's all right, I can read it."
He frowned. Maybe he shouldn't be leaving his niece with this woman. The elevator was obviously not reaching the top floor. "Don't you have a pen?"
"Sure." Liz looked around, trying to remember where she had last seen one. "Somewhere. Want to wait?"
"No."
She gave him a broad smile. "Then you're stuck with a yellow crayon, I'm afraid."
With an impatient sigh, Griff hastily scribbled down the information she requested and then thrust the piece of drawing paper back into her hand. Without so much as a word to either of them, he beat a hasty retreat out the front door.
Liz looked down at the name. "Officer Griffin Foster," she read aloud, then looked at the closed door. She let the paper drop to the table and then turned her attention to the baby in her arms. The little girl made some sort of indiscernible noise by way of conversation.
"Yes, I know," Liz agreed.
She shifted Casie to her hip and then headed to her bedroom to get dressed. The other children would be arriving soon.
"I'm sorry to be the one to have to tell you this, Casie, but I'm afraid you have a very strange uncle."
Chapter Three
Liz looked at her watch. Six o'clock. She and Casie had now been together for almost twelve hours. All in all, it hadn't been a very trying experience. Casie had been the highlight of the day. The boys had all been excited about this newest member of their crowd. A little girl was a novelty at the day care and even Peter, who was eighteen months old, seemed to respond to the fact that something was different. As far as Liz could see, Casie seemed to have a very sweet disposition.
Not a thing like her uncle.
The children had all gone home now, disappearing from her life for all intents and purposes until seven- thirty Monday morning. All except this one, Liz thought as she stood over Casie who was sleeping on her bed. She had barricaded the bed with a semicircle of chairs to keep Casie from rolling off. Leaning over, Liz tucked a light blanket around her. Casie went on sleeping.
Liz slipped out of the room and closed the door behind her.
Okay, so where was he? Granted, they hadn't established a specific pick-up time, but she had just naturally assumed that it would be this week, and more exactly, somewhere under twelve-and-a-half hours.
Liz stooped down to collect the pieces of a large puzzle that had not only been scattered, but chewed on. Did policemen abandon children? she wondered. Maybe, but she had a feeling that this one didn't. He wasn't in danger of winning away the title of Mr. Congeniality from anyone, but she'd bet that he was a straight arrow. Maybe too straight, she thought, remembering his unsmiling countenance. She mechanically placed the puzzle back into the large game box in the corner of the room, wondering if he ever loosened up a little.
Well, that wasn't her problem. Her problem was a certain small sleeping beauty who wasn't going to sleep indefinitely.
She decided to give him a little more time. Maybe there was a crime wave in progress and he was too busy to call. She grinned to herself as she straightened the coffee table where Nathan and Bruce had battled it out on opposite sides of "the castle." Crime wave. That would be a novelty. Nothing more serious ever happened in Bedford than a break-and-enter by bored, thrill-seeking teenagers.
She gave Griff until she finished straightening out the family room. The crayons were all back in their boxes, the toys stashed away in the toy box and the blank sheets of drawing paper were all stacked up, ready for a fresh set of eager hands on Monday. The room hadn't looked this neat in a long, long time.
Enough was enough.
She dug into the back pocket of her jeans and took out the carefully folded sheet with Griff's name and telephone number on it. What Officer Foster needed, she thought, was a gentle reminder. She had a life to get on with, too.
"Police station," a mildly irritated voice informed her. "Officer C.W. Linquist speaking."
"Is Officer Foster there, please?"
The pause on the other end of the line lasted so long Liz thought that the man hadn't heard her. She was about to repeat Griff's name when the other party came to life.
"Griff Foster?"
"Yes," she said a bit uncertainly. Was this some bizarre hoax? The man was a policeman, wasn't he? After all, he had stopped her yesterday. But if something wasn't wrong, why did the officer on the other end of the line sound so surprised?
"You want Officer Griffin Foster?"
"Yes." This time, her answer was a little more emphatic as well as impatient. She thought she heard a grin in the man's voice. "Is he there?"
"No, he's not. Are you registering a complaint?''
Liz thought she heard Casie begin to whimper. "Only that he's not there." She heard the man on the other end chuckle.
"You mean he has a date?"
"No, he has a niece. And he was supposed to have picked her up—earlier," Liz finally said for lack of a specific time to refer to. "Could you tell me where I could reach him?"
"Is this on the level? You want Griff Foster. Tall, dark brown hair, mustache—"
Yes, yes, Liz wanted to cry. "Speaks Only when spoken to," she filled in.
"Yeah, that's Griff all right." There was noise in the background and he stopped to answer a question. "Sorry, things are a little hectic around here."
Welcome to the club, she thought. "So I gather," Liz said tightly. "Just where is the good officer now?"
"Home, I guess, where he is every night after work—or so he says."
Liz wasn't sure what the other man was implying and she didn't think she wanted to know. "Well, I need to reach him. He forgot a certain little bundle here, apparently."
"The sly dog."
"Does the sly dog have a phone number you could give me?"
"It's highly irregular," C.W. began.
Liz thought of herself as an infinitely patient person, but she had just about reached the end. "So is child abandonment."
"Just a minute," he said, and then recited the number. "But don't tell him you got it from me."
"The subject will never come up," she promised, then pressed the receiver button down, disconnecting them. She dialed the number C.W. had given her and after three rings heard a deep male voice respond.
Griff had hurried into the living room to pick up the phone. His keys were still in the door. Maybe it was Sally calling. "Yes?"
"Well, hello to you, too, Officer Foster. This is your conscience speaking."
"What?"
Obviously not up to jokes. She might have guessed. "You forgot to pick up something on your way home. Small, pink, wiggles and wets. Sound familiar?"
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