The Baby Thief (21 page)

Sarah re-read the letter. She didn’t believe it. As much as she loved Darcie, she didn’t believe everything she said. Some of the stories she told were too wild!

She eased back on the bed and closed her eyes. God was surely testing her faith today. First the nightmare, now the letter from Darcie. The poor girl must really be lonely to make up something so ridiculous just to get her to visit. All at once, Sarah realized what God wanted her to do. He wanted her to stay with Darcie while she had her baby. Then she could see for herself if she was ready to have a child of her own.

Sarah began to pack a bag. She would leave right away, before she changed her mind. She would tell Delilah, but no one else. Sarah had never hitchhiked before, but Darcie had made it sound easy. Especially for pretty young girls. If men were as eager to stop as Darcie said, she would be in Eugene before dark.

The first cramp hit her before she finished packing. A second and third cramp had her doubled over with pain in the hallway outside the schoolroom where she hoped to find Delilah. They were not like any menstrual cramps she’d ever had. The intensity of the fourth cramp made her vomit. Sarah lay on the floor, inches from her own mess and prayed for someone to find her. The pain was paralyzing. She couldn’t move or call for help.

The next cramp was so bad she blacked out.

* * *

Rachel was taking a sample of Jenna’s urine, as the Reverend had instructed, when she heard Marilynn and Ellie yelling and running down the clinic stairs. She dropped the catheter bag and rushed from the labor room into the main surgery area to see what the commotion was about.

They were carrying Sarah, dragging her really, one under each armpit. The girl was unconscious but vomited as soon as Marilynn and Ellie heaved her up on one of the examining tables.

Rachel quickly twisted Sarah’s head to one side so she wouldn’t gag. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Ellie said, gulping for air. “I was delivering mail and found her like this in the hall.”

A wave of fear washed over Rachel. She’d assisted in dozens of egg retrievals, embryo transfers, and live births, including a few that required C-sections. But her only training had come from Reverend Carmichael, and it didn’t include emergency experience. She felt inadequate to handle anything that didn’t involve the uterus, except for simple things like stitches and sprains. She could tell by the color and feel of Sarah’s skin that something was seriously wrong.

Rachel forced herself to go through the motions, first examining Sarah’s body for external damage. When she found none, she checked blood pressure and heart rate, both of which were abnormally high. Sarah’s condition seemed very similar to Jenna’s attack the night before. What was going on? And why now? The Reverend hadn’t even been gone twenty-four hours and this was her second emergency.

“Where’s Tamara? Does she know what’s happened?” Rachel didn’t expect Sarah’s mother to be much help, but she had an obligation to keep her informed.

“I sent Ruth to look for her.” Ellie’s tone was neutral, but her expression was critical. Tamara’s weakness, combined with her beauty, made her unpopular with many of the women.

Rachel checked Sarah’s blood pressure again: 152/98. It was going up. Rachel wanted to cry. She couldn’t let anything happen to sweet little Sarah. “I’m taking her to the hospital.” She hadn’t realized she’d made a decision.

“I’ll go with you.” Ellie, forty and overweight, was still winded from carrying Sarah down to the clinic.

“Wait a minute.” Rachel racked her brain for a way to stabilize Sarah for the trip to the hospital, but she was afraid to make her condition worse. Rachel suspected the hormone injections Sarah had been given were the underlying cause. What about Jenna? Why would heroin withdrawals produce a similar reaction to that of fertility hormones? Confused and frightened, Rachel had no idea what to do.

“All right, let’s go!” She grabbed Sarah by an arm and a leg. The girl’s eyes fluttered, but she didn’t wake up. “Marilynn, help Ellie with her side.”

As they lifted Sarah onto a stretcher, Zeke burst into the clinic. “What the hell is going on now, Rachel?”

“Sarah needs a doctor, and I’m taking her in.” The defiance in her voice surprised her.

“Why is that door open?”

All three women turned and stared through the open door of the labor room where Zeke was pointing. Fury twisted his face.

“I was in there when they brought Sarah–”

Zeke wasn’t listening. He rushed to the door, slammed it, and locked it. “Nobody’s going anywhere! Ellie, Marilynn, get out. I need to talk to Rachel.”

The two women scooted away without looking back. Rachel sucked in a deep breath, prepared to fight for Sarah’s life.

“What’s wrong with you?” Zeke crossed the short distance and grabbed Rachel’s arm in a painful squeeze. “How could you leave that door open? The Reverend is going to be furious.”

“I’m sorry.” Rachel spoke through clenched teeth. “Right now this girl needs a doctor, so get out of my way. The Reverend will be even angrier if Sarah dies. You know how he feels about Sarah.”

Uncertainty flashed in Zeke’s eyes. Rachel moved toward Sarah.

“What if she saw who’s in that room?” Zeke hissed, grabbing Rachel’s arm again.

“She’s unconscious!”

“Her eyes are open.”

“She’s out of it, damn you. And her blood pressure’s escalating. Please let me go. I’m taking her to the hospital.”

Zeke let go, but moved to block the doors leading into the hall. “If Sarah saw something she shouldn’t have and flaps her lips about it, we’re all in big trouble.”

“She didn’t and she won’t. Now help me get her up to the supply truck.”

“Not me. It’s your situation all the way.” Abruptly, Zeke turned and trotted out of the medical unit.

Marilynn and Ellie slipped back down the steps while Rachel dug a blanket out of the supply cabinet. Together they carried Sarah up the steps and out of the compound.

Chapter 21

Friday, Nov. 3, 2:50 p.m.

Eric had been on the phone since he got home, trying to arrange an immediate visit with Ellen Parks (alias Rose Harper) at Women’s Correctional Facility just outside Salem. Even with his newspaper and police connections, it wasn’t happening fast enough. He felt desperate enough to ask for Jackson’s help. Nothing mattered but finding Jenna.

Instead of fading, as he expected, his feelings for her had intensified. The need to find her, to know that she was all right had become a compulsion, an overriding desire that put the rest of his life on hold. He couldn’t write, couldn’t work on the duplex, hadn’t cleaned his kitchen in a week, and barely remembered to eat. It was starting to wear him down.

The phone rang. Startled, Eric almost knocked it off the counter. “Hello.”

“Hi, my name’s Helen. I’m calling about the story in the paper this morning. The woman who might have been kidnapped.”

“Yes?” His first two phone calls that morning had taught him not to get his hopes up.

“I think I saw one of those guys at the Dairy Mart this morning.”

“Which Dairy Mart?”

“The one in Veneta.”

She sounded sane, articulate. Eric was cautiously optimistic.

“What was he driving?”

“I couldn’t say for sure. I was still in the store when he walked out. But a minute later, a van pulled out of the parking lot.”

Eric’s pulse picked up. “Describe him.”

“Late fifties, skinny, gray receding hair. He was wearing dirty jeans and a black jacket and was kind of stoop shouldered.”

Damn! He sounded just like the second man to get out of the gray van, although Eric had seen him only briefly. He still had to rule out the possibility this woman was another nutcase with a vendetta against someone she knew.

“Do you know who the man is?”

“Never saw him before in my life, but I think I’ve seen the van on Lake Drive several times. Do you know where that is?”

“No.”

“It’s off Perkins Road just after it crosses the creek. I’d be happy to show you.”

Eric hesitated. The one message left on his machine while he was out was as nutty as the first two. But this woman sounded sane. Veneta was only a twenty-minute drive from this side of town. “How many times have you seen the van?”

“Three, including today.” Her voice seemed to lose some of its patience.

“When was the first time?”

“Monday, then again later in the week. Wednesday I think. Look, I have to go. I’ve told you everything I can.”

“Wait, Helen. Are you still willing to show me where you’ve seen the van parked?”

“Sure. Meet me at the Dairy Mart at three-thirty. I’ll be wearing a purple jacket. See you then.” She hung up.

Eric forced himself to remain calm even though it felt like he finally had a legitimate lead. The kidnappers could be keeping Jenna hostage in a rural cabin or farmhouse. He refused to think about the reasons or the conditions of Jenna’s existence if that were true.

Eric had time to kill before taking off, so he called the hospital’s public relations department. After being kept on hold for ten minutes, he finally got to launch into his spiel. “Hello, this is Eric Troutman. I’m a journalist working on a story about successful women in the medical profession. I’d like to set up an interview with Dr. Mary Atwood, cardiac surgeon, and Dr. E. Demauer, your director of genetic science.

“Why does your name sound familiar?” The question was suspicious rather than friendly.

“I’m a hospital volunteer, but I don’t think we’ve met. If you’ve lived in Eugene for any length of time you’ve probably seen my byline. I was a reporter for the Willamette News for ten years and still occasionally write for them. I’ve also been published in national magazines.” Eric resisted the urge to mention his Pulitzer.

“Oh yeah, the series on abusive foster homes.”

“Thanks for remembering. Can you help me with those interviews?”

“I’ll do my best. Dr. Atwood will probably be okay with it, but Dr. Demauer is rather reclusive. The publicity would be good for the hospital, though. Maybe I can get Dr. Gybbs to pressure her. What magazine is this for?”

“Working Women.”
Liar!

“You sound like an interesting person.”

Eric suddenly felt like shit. “I’m just trying to make a living. I’ll call back in a day or so and see what you’ve got for me. Thanks again.” He hung up before she could make him feel worse.

He paced around the cluttered living room trying to come up with a way to see Demauer. It couldn’t be that tough. She was just a genetics researcher, not the president. Then it occurred to him to call the elusive Dr. Demauer at home. It took twenty minutes to find the phone book under a pile of newspapers on the kitchen table. He vowed to clean the place that weekend.

Dr. E. Demauer was not listed. He tried finding her online, but only came up with numbers for the clinic and hospital. It was time to see the lady in a purple jacket at a Dairy Mart in Veneta.

Helen was late. Eric had already checked inside the store, then returned to his car to wait. It rained so hard for a few minutes he couldn’t see out the window. He heard a truck pull in and shut off its motor. Then the voices of two men cursing the weather. When the deluge let up a little, Eric trotted back inside the store to make sure he hadn’t missed Helen during the downpour.

Nobody in a purple jacket. Just two guys in jeans and scruffy, down-filled vests. Eric bought a pack of gum and went back out to the Firebird. He noticed a new car parked on the side of the store. The woman in it was watching him. She had a thin face and short dark hair. Her coat was dark, but he couldn’t tell if it was blue or black or purple. Being partially color-blind was convenient when buying clothes or getting dressed because he didn’t worry about making things match, but sometimes it messed things up with other people, who could be real fussy about getting the color right.

Eric trotted over to her Volvo, which was definitely yellow.

“Are you Helen?” he asked as she rolled down her window.

“Who wants to know?”

“I’m Eric Troutman. I’m the one looking for Jenna McClure.”

“Get in the car, it’s starting to rain.”

Eric hesitated.
What the hell, I’ve come this far
. He climbed into her car.

Helen looked him over with a peculiar scrutiny. “Are you wired?”

“What?” At first he thought she was talking about drugs, then he realized she meant a microphone. His heart sank. Another whack job. Eric reached for the door handle.

“Let’s roll.” Helen started the Volvo and shoved it in reverse.

“Wait!” He threw the door open as the car lurched backwards. Helen didn’t slow down. She slammed the car into drive, cranked the wheel, and gunned it. Eric heaved himself out, landing on his chest with such force it knocked the wind out of him. The Volvo screeched out into the street. He curled up in a ball and waited for the pain in his chest to subside.

Two women stepped out of a Honda and stared. Eric forced himself to his feet. It hurt to stand up straight. Hunched over, he stumbled to his car and flopped in. The women continued to stare, walking slowly into the store, but looking back over their shoulders. Eric didn’t care. All women were crazy. At least today they were. Maybe the moon was having some sort of gravitational effect on female hormone levels or something. Helen needed to be locked up, that was for sure. Eric headed for home and a cold bottle of Miller.

The message light on his answering machine was blinking when he got there, but he ignored it. The only person he wanted to hear from—Jenna—had not likely called his house phone. He was glad he’d kept his landline to give out as a contact number. He would hate for the crazies to have his cell phone number. He flopped in his Lazy Boy and closed his eyes. Taking a short snooze usually helped him relax. But his stomach complained so loudly he grudgingly got up and went to the kitchen. He hadn’t been shopping in a week, so he settled for a couple of PBJs dipped in microwave-warm tomato soup. Comfort food that reminded him of long ago Saturday afternoons when he fixed lunch for the grubbers, while Mom slept off another all-nighter.