Lost But Not Forgotten (8 page)

Once, Mitch might have bought into that philosophy. Not now. After he’d fed Trooper and seen to the horses in the barn, a long empty evening stretched ahead of him. That was followed by a hard time falling asleep. Dreams just didn’t cut a man’s loneliness, even if these nights Gilly Stevens invaded most of his.

A
NXIOUS TO BEGIN
his eagerly awaited night out, Mitch sped through the tasks of mucking out stalls and spreading fresh hay. He showered, shaved and put on slacks and a sport shirt rather than jeans. Ready to walk out the door, he recalled that he hadn’t discussed what to wear with Gillian. According to an article in a men’s magazine someone had brought him at the hospital, first dates went better if the woman showed up dressier than the man. The author warned that, the other way around, women tended to feel awkward and embarrassed. Mitch didn’t know how seriously to take this, but why risk it?

Back to his bedroom. He rummaged through his closet, hoping to find a pair of laundry-pressed jeans. Ah, good, one pair left. The shirt he had on looked dorky with jeans. He pawed through drawers until he found a navy-blue T-shirt Regan had washed before he moved home. He’d fussed at her for doing his wash. Now, seeing how full his hamper had gotten, Mitch was grateful for Regan’s insistence.

And it was a good thing he’d gone back to change clothes, even though Trooper yipped and loped back and forth to the door as if to question his master’s sanity. Mitch had nearly forgotten to call his neighbor, Dave D’Angelo, to ask if Dave would check on Pretty Baby a couple of times over the course of the evening. Her due date was still two weeks away. Since this was her first
foal, Mitch would feel more comfortable knowing she was looked after.

“Hi, Dave. Mitch. I’m going out for a while tonight. Could I impose on you to keep an eye on my pregnant mare while I’m gone?” He listened a moment. “You will? Thanks, Dave. You can reach me at Ethan’s if Pretty Baby goes into labor. Oh, and I’m taking Trooper with me.”

The men exchanged a few more comments, and then Mitch heard a woman’s voice in the background. “Tell Barb I heard that,” he said. “It’s sort of a date. I mean, there’ll be an unmarried woman there.” Mitch listened again. “No way. Dave, tell Barb I’ll know who to blame if Father Costanza calls to ask when I’m posting banns. This is a
first
date, for crying out loud. Not even a real date. Yeah, I’ll let Barb know if it gets serious. Bye. Thanks again. What? No. Those two incidents seemed to be the extent of it. No more strange happenings. The last creep scared my horses. Didn’t destroy anything, though. You bet, phone our vet if you think Pretty Baby’s in distress. Don’t wait.”

After hanging up, Mitch turned on a light in the living room. He paused at the fireplace, as had become habit, and ran a finger lightly over the lettering on Katie’s urn. Stupid, he told himself. Except it made him feel that, somehow or other, he
would
connect with her family. Although he didn’t seem to be making any headway, he admitted as he also touched Gran Valetti’s rosary beads.

She’d left the world before her time, too. Mitch had fallen away from her church and her beliefs after the day he’d come home from elementary school and found her bludgeoned to death in the kitchen. A robbery, the police declared. All that was missing from the house was a fifty-dollar emergency fund she’d kept in a cookie jar. The
person responsible was never brought to justice. The incident changed Mitch’s life. In spite of his parents’ objections to his being a cop, Gran’s death led him to police work. He made one concession to her faith: for every rotten crook and killer he’d jailed, Mitch lit a candle at church and gave a donation in Gran’s name.

As he looped her rosary around the pewter urn, he whispered an old prayer she’d taught him. It ended with, “May the Saints protect you wherever you are.” Though he felt foolish, he asked Gran to watch out for baby Katie.

Backing away from the fireplace, he called Trooper. The pup responded with a bark and bounced toward him.

E
VEN FACTORING IN
all the delays, Mitch still arrived at Ethan’s twenty minutes early. Looking harried, Regan Knight answered his knock. She held a crying child under one arm. A cheese grater dangled from the opposite hand. Two more babies crawled down the hall behind her, while a third scooted on his butt, propelled by a hand and a foot.

Mitch had Trooper on a leash, but it tangled around his ankles when the babies and the puppy tried to connect.

“Mitch, thank heavens you’re early. I was so afraid you were—what’s her name?” Regan looked blank.

“Gillian? Gilly. Oof.” Mitch momentarily lost his wind as Regan shoved the wriggling, crying ten-month-old girl at him. Trooper threatened to knock him off his feet now that juggling a child placed him farther off balance.

“Yeah, that’s the name Ethan gave me. Gillian Stevens. It has a nice ring,” Regan said. “I don’t know why it’s so hard to remember. Would you change Cara while
I finish grating cheese to go over the green corn tamales? Don’t ask me why I suddenly felt domestic and decided to concoct tamales from scratch.”

“Where’s Ethan? Loafing again?”

Regan shook her head. “He’s out on a call. He took Taz. Last month a little girl his sister Elizabeth had in foster care was returned to her natural parents. Ethan got a call from a neighbor who claims they’re abusing Brittany again. He’s gone to get a court order to pick her up. I haven’t seen her case file. Based on what Ethan and Lizzie have told me about her situation, I think we have grounds to remove her permanently this time. The good news is Lizzie would love to adopt Brittany.”

“Like you and Ethan are doing with these guys?” Mitch said, bending to tweak Rick’s nose before he un-hooked Trooper’s leash. “Can I put Trooper in the backyard? He’s only paper trained.” Mitch wrinkled his nose. “Not well-trained at that.”

“I’ll let him out through the kitchen.” Regan called to the dog, maneuvering carefully through three of the four quadruplets.

Mitch, having spent a long time in this house recovering, didn’t have to ask where the nursery was.

“Hey, when did you put the kids in separate rooms?” he asked when he returned to the large, welcoming kitchen, toting a much happier Cara. Already the aroma of the corn tamales filled the air and whetted his appetite. Mitch grabbed a squeaky toy from the floor and examined it to make sure it belonged to the babies and not Taz before he put it in the drooling child’s hand. Cara, the smallest of the quads, was the one most damaged by Tony DeSalvo. No longer in casts, she wore Velcro braces now to help with damaged nerves that restricted
the movement of one arm and a leg. And her development was slower than that of her siblings.

“We rearranged the cribs last weekend. Mark and Rick are light sleepers. Angela and Cara still wake up several times a night. Moving the boys means they aren’t bothered when the girls fuss. Put Cara in her walker, Mitch. The doctor said it’ll strengthen her muscles. I’ll pour you a glass of vino. Then I want to hear all about this new woman in your life before she arrives.” Regan had things in the kitchen under better control. She seemed ready to devote time to grilling Mitch.

He set the child in her walker and hoisted her sister, tickling Angela to make her giggle. “What has Ethan told you about Gilly?” He placed Angela on the floor again.

“Not much.” Regan pulled the cork and poured a robust red wine into two glasses.

“You can’t lie worth a damn. I know she rubs Ethan the wrong way.”

Regan tasted from her glass before handing Mitch his. “Don’t swear around the kids. And I should’ve asked if you’d rather have a beer.”

“Isn’t wine more civilized? I want to make a good impression on Gillian. I wonder where she is,” he muttered, stepping around Regan to peer out the window that faced the street.

“Goodness, Mitch. It’s not quite six. She isn’t late.”

“I know, but…”

“If she worked today, she could be running late. I’ve never seen you so antsy, Mitch. Why don’t we talk about something else? Then maybe you’ll quit clock watching.”

Mitch watched Angela crawl over to the boys, who played with a small wagon filled with blocks. As if he
hadn’t heard Regan, he turned away and pressed his nose to the window again.

She sighed. “Ethan said you were unofficially investigating an unusual case that sort of appeared on your doorstep. How’s that going?”

“Slow. Yesterday I fired up my computer and downloaded an investigative program that allows me to run a state-by-state check by date of birth. I started with Arizona, since it’s where the suitcase was found. I discovered there were a lot of babies born that day. So far, I haven’t found any named Katie, Kathryn or Kathleen who died the same day they came into the world.”

Regan raised an eyebrow. “Ethan thinks you’re wasting your time. I’m inclined to think it’s worth the effort. I hope you succeed. It’s an intriguing puzzle.”

“It’s more, Regan. Don’t freak out when I say this, but I feel like…like the baby’s…well, not her guardian, exactly. Maybe…emissary.”

“After all the years I’ve worked in social services—plus all the case studies I’ve read—I’ve come across far stranger stories.”

“Hey, Gilly’s here.” Mitch started to turn from the window, then cupped his hand against the glass again to screen out the kitchen light. “What’s she doing? She’s not getting out. I’d better go see. Maybe she’s not sure she’s at the right house.”

Regan joined him at the window. “You said she was bringing dessert. She’s probably getting it out of the back seat. Nope. Looks to me like she’s drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. Hmm. I’d say she’s having second thoughts about coming in. Why? She’s parked right behind your pickup. She obviously knows you’re here.”

“If she’s seen me driving anything, it’s probably the Vette.” Mitch thrust his half-drunk glass of wine into
Regan’s free hand. “Anyway, she’s kind of shy. Don’t overwhelm her, all right? And whatever you do, don’t psychoanalyze her.” Once he’d delivered that lecture, Mitch hobbled down the hall, leaving a speechless Regan behind.

Afraid Gillian would take off before he could reach her and persuade her to stay, Mitch walked so fast a pain struck deep in his side. It stole his breath; when he pulled open Gilly’s car door, he couldn’t speak, wasn’t able to allay the fear that caused her to jerk away and cry out.

For a long moment, Mitch stood, breathing hard, blinking at Gillian, who cowered against the passenger side of her car.

“What’s wrong?” Razor instincts—honed to a fine edge through his years as a cop—kicked in, restoring Mitch’s ability to breathe. “Were you involved in a fender bender or something?”

“No.” Gillian’s fingers flexed around her seat belt, already stretched to its limits. “You scared the daylights out of me, yanking my door open without saying a word. Why did you pounce on me like that?”

“Why are you sitting in your car instead of coming to the door?”

Guilt flooded her face.

“Aha! You considered standing me up, didn’t you?”

After a shake of her head, she said, “I gave my word.”

Mitch didn’t look convinced. “I watched for you out the window. I know how long you sat here after driving up.”

“I, ah, was bolstering my courage to meet your friends. I’m not good in crowds.”

“There’s only going to be four of us. Hardly a crowd.”

“Oh, so one of the Knights parks in the street?”

“I told Regan you wouldn’t know my pickup. I use it mostly to haul hay and stuff. Tonight, I brought kibble for Trooper and I didn’t want him getting into it.”

“Oh. Well, I still need to work up nerve to get cozy with your friends.”

Mitch’s eyes darkened sympathetically as he leaned inside and took her hand. “This is supposed to be a fun evening, Gilly. Not a supreme ordeal.”

“I know.” She slid out, clutching her small handbag. “Flo said the same thing. By the way, Bert helped me make dessert. Strawberry flan. It’s a work of art. Don’t ask me where he got fresh strawberries this late in the year. We ought to take it out of the trunk and put it into a refrigerator.”

“Give me your keys. I’ll carry the container.”

She extracted a single key from her jeans pocket and handed it over. That was when Mitch noticed how the soft blue denim of her jeans outlined her long legs. He’d never seen her in anything but one of Flo’s uniforms. Mitch had known she was slim, of course. He hadn’t known she was so much leg. Damn, he’d always been attracted to leggy women.

“Do I have strawberry juice on my clothes?” Gillian tugged at the front of her bright-red T-shirt, trying to identify where she might have a spot.

“You’re fine. Great, in fact. I’m glad you didn’t dress up. I meant to tell you gatherings in Desert City are generally casual.”

“Good. Most of the clothing I have with me is knock-around stuff.”

Mitch’s head was in the trunk, muffling his reply. “Wow. This is enough to feed half the neighborhood. I hope Regan has room in her fridge. Follow me,” he
added, awkwardly closing the trunk with an elbow. “Regan’s waiting on the porch.”

Gillian fell in behind him. She craned her neck to try to see something of the woman married to Mitch’s best buddy. Gillian had meant to ask Flo for more information, but the café was extra busy and she didn’t get a chance. All she knew was that Regan Knight had met and married Ethan in a whirlwind courtship. Oh, and her career was in social work.

Around Mitch’s bobbing broad shoulders, Gillian glimpsed sleek blond hair, gold earrings and black linen slacks topped by a white silk blouse.

Her steps slowed. Worrying about how her oldest jeans would stack up against linen and silk, Gillian ran right into Mitch, who she didn’t realize had stopped.

Reaching behind him, he clasped her hand and tugged her against his side, where she could see and be seen by Regan Knight.

Gillian opened her mouth to respond to her hostess’s greeting. The words stuck in her throat. She grabbed Mitch’s arm to keep from fainting. Her ears buzzed and stars danced before her eyes. Her attention froze on a child clasped in Regan Knight’s arms. A girl in ruffled pink rompers—very near the age her own baby would have been. Gillian had systematically avoided all children in the ten months since she’d lost her own. Why, oh why, hadn’t she asked if the Knights had a family?

“Gilly! Gilly?” Mitch’s voice bombarded her from afar. Her name swam at her through waves of nausea.

Regan descended the steps. “She looks ill. Mitch, take the dessert into the house before you drop it all over the sidewalk. Look after the kids, please.”