No Time Like the Present

by Ellison Blackburn

  “Well, what the … but then, …”

  “Right. I’m as flummoxed as you are.”

  “And you’re sure she was pregnant?”

  “I only saw her the once, but she was sure at the time. Kate Foster asked me to counsel her.”

  “And did you speak with her—when you saw her at the Days’?” I ask, without turning to look at him, fixing my gaze on Archer instead.

  “No. Jed and I stepped into the nursery for just a few minutes so he could show off his daughter. The girl was napping in a rocking chair, cradling Avis. They resemble one another, I thought.”

  “But if she is Avis’s real mother, why is she playing nursemaid?” Archer voices, walking over to the board to jot down ‘Hannah Fremont (Celeste Morris)’ under Avis’s name. Striding back, he ticks off the questions one by one. “What is she doing at the Days’? Why did Dr. Varga deny involvement? What the hell does this have to do with Reggie Marsh, Olive Marsh, and Hester Robinson? And—”

  “And it can’t be just a coincidence that the Lynch baby is named Hannah.”

  “I wouldn’t think so either,” Vale agrees.

  “Let’s see if we can’t work this through.” Archer rises from his perch on the edge of his desk and draws our attention to the board. “Dr. Varga finds a mother willing to adopt out her baby.”

  “Well, I don’t know that—”

  “Va—Henry, you have to stay objective,” Archer says sternly. “I know you see it as your duty to avenge Ennis, but Varga still hasn’t done anything illegal. I’ll repeat, he’s done nothing illegal. So, we have to keep following this train until it leads us the whole way down the track.”

  From the corner of my eye, I see Vale nod and assume a resigned posture. He leans back against the oak rails of his chair, spreads his legs out a little more, and folds his arms across his chest.

  “Already that doesn’t work. If we infer that the Days are somehow Miss Fremont’s long-lost relatives, then why would the Days persist with this miracle-birth story?”

  “Just because Varga said that to Lily Grace does not mean there’s an ounce of truth in it,” Vale offers.

  “True.”

  “Still, I’ll have the sergeants look into any familial connections. And I think it’s time we questioned Constantine Varga about the Lynchs. Tanner’s latest chat with Olive Marsh and Hester Robinson would seem to indicate that they have not hired an inquiry agent.”

  “Begs the question, what kind of parents would wait patiently for an entire week for their kidnapped baby to be returned to them?” I ask.

  “Ah, there’s Theo. Maybe we’ll learn a little more here shortly,” Archer says nudging his chin toward the sergeant’s approaching figure.

  “This is interesting, sirs. I found absolutely no social connection between the Days and the Lynchs. Not only do they not attend the same functions now, they never have. Apart from a random common name or two that appears at the different events, they don’t even travel the same social circles. The Days are pious, the Lynchs are political. The Days are private people, the Lynchs very public. And I’ve been looking since last week, every social calendar going back several years, not just the last year.”

  “It is rather more interesting that you would say such non-news is interesting, Theo.” I slant a grin at the sergeant.

  “Ah, but I did uncover something else, sirs,” he says proudly. “Seven months ago, Mr. Mitchell’s sister, a lady never before mentioned, anywhere that I found, came to live with him and his wife—Mary Hannah Lynch.”

  “Wow, this woman might have more identities than Shirley Mason.”

  “Who?”

  “Sybil,” Vale answers frankly.

  “Shirley Mason Sybil? Never heard of her.”

  “Never mind that, Theo. I do believe you’ve practically cracked the case.”

  “Oh?”

  “First track down Adams.”

  “Yes, sir. He’s having a smoke just across the way.”

  “Tanner doesn’t smoke.”

  “It’s new, Doc. Well, almost. He smoked when he was a boy but stopped b’cause even cigarettes cost money.”

  “Aw, that’s too bad. I wish I’d known. I would have opened Reggie Marsh up just for Sergeant Adams’s benefit. But alas, the teaching hospital retrieved his rotten body on Friday, and by that I mean it was wasting away even before he died. I guess the lesson will have to wait for another time.”

  “S’pose so, Doc. And we all know how much Sergeant Adams likes your art lessons, in particular,” Theo says, grinning toothsomely.

  I laugh. “You tell Tanner, one of my new goals in life is to save his.”

  I see Theo’s shoulders shaking as he walks away.

  “You’re the same,” Vale says, a smile in his voice.

  I swivel around to look at him. What am I supposed to say to that?

  The scent of rolling tobacco preceding him, a few seconds later, Tanner asks, “You wanted to see me, sir?” from the doorway.

  “So, Tanner, about your report. The one you wrote up after you interviewed Olive Marsh the first time.”

  The sergeant straightens warily. “Yes, chief?”

  Archer recites from memory, “‘According to Hester Robinson, who was present for the event, on Sunday, April 5, at 4:40 a.m. an infant girl was born at the Lynch residence.’”

  “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “Then in your second report you transcribed: ‘Hester Robinson confirmed Constantine Varga was the physician in attendance at the time of baby Hannah’s birth. No midwife was present.’”

  Looking uncertain, the sergeant glances at me and then Vale before turning back to his chief. “Yes.”

  “Did Mrs. Marsh or Miss Robinson ever directly say that the baby was born to Mrs. Lynch and that Dr. Varga was Mrs. Lynch’s doctor?”

  “Well, sir,” Tanner begins thoughtfully, folding his hands behind his back. “Mrs. Marsh was not at the Lynchs’ on Sunday …”

  “Just answer the questions, Adams, and answer them as if you have a brain under that skull,” Archer says somewhat harshly, looking even broader about the shoulders if that is possible.

  “Uh, I wrote—”

  “For Christ’s sake. Did I ask what you wrote, man? No, I didn’t. So, what did the women say exactly?” he asks again.

  I squint at my brother, and he meets my eyes steadily as if to say, “I know what I’m doing,” and I remember what he said about the particular approach he takes with Sergeant Adams.

  After a long pause, Tanner lifts his chin. “You know what? No, no they didn’t as a matter of fact,” he says. “Yeah, Mrs. Marsh said baby Hannah was born at the Lynchs’, not that she was born to Mrs. Lynch. And at first, Hester Robinson said the doctor would come see Miss Lynch. I took it as a slip of the tongue. It was always ‘the Lynchs’ after that.”

  “Good work, Tanner. But see to it that your future reports are more accurate, hm?” Archer says, relaxing his shoulders a smidgen.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Your bud probably hasn’t had to chance to bring you up to speed on his findings, Tanner, but he’ll have to catch you up some other time. Now, Theo, I have an inkling that Mr. Mitchell’s estranged sister has gone missing again—since last Sunday, the same time as baby Hannah went missing. And the Days’ little miracle, Avis, has a new wet nurse. So, Dent, quietly, I need you to confirm the timing of these movements. Go.”

  Theo passes parting nods around the room and stalks off.

  “Tanner, you pay Dr. Varga another visit. This time, make him tell you about Miss Lynch.”

  “Yep.” Tanner says brief goodbyes and set off on his task too.

  “Henry. You know, I’ve decided ‘Henry’ doesn’t suit you. It will have to be Ennis or Vale. Take your pick. No one is going to give a shit if you start saying you’re Henry Vale Flynn Ennis, do you think? It’s hard enough keeping Reid and River straight.”

  “That’s fine. Whatever works. What were you going to say?”

&nb
sp; “About Jed Day. You and I need to break the news to him that Avis isn’t his, and he won’t be able to keep her for much longer.”

  “That won’t be an easy conversation, Archer. He adores Avis.” He turns to me and says, “Jed and Birdie were very attached to one another. His loss is still so fresh, but the grief is eased a little because of Avis. He may fall apart without her.”

  “It’s not up to us to choose, Vale,” I say.

  “No, I suppose not. Okay, Archer, I’m with you, of course.”

  “It sounds as though you’re near to closing the case?” I ask.

  “I have a pretty good idea how it went. But I won’t be able to close it until the loose ends have been gathered and tied up.”

  “How?”

  “By way of his wife, I picture Reggie Marsh getting wind of Miss Hannah Lynch’s arrival at her brother’s house. The Marshes and Robinson then concoct a plan to blackmail the Lynchs. But then the plan fails to hold water when Marsh kicked the bucket.”

  “Oh, that’s good, Archer, holding water, kicking the bucket. Only, I wonder how they convinced Hannah Lynch to betray her brother and how Olive Marsh could have guessed that it would have worked out at the Days.”

  “Didn’t I mention? Jed said the only other person aware of his wife’s prior condition—besides Constantine Varga—was their housekeeper, a Mrs. Beechworth. Mrs. Beechworth’s sister was Birdie’s midwife during the ordeal that commanded the hysterectomy afterward. And apparently, Olive Marsh’s friend at the Days’ is the housekeeper,” Archer explains.

  “Granted, not quite the piece of work as Reggie Marsh was, but his wife is diabolical in her own way. When I saw her the day she came into my morgue, I admit to feeling sorry for her. And at the same time, glad she was rid of him. I also recall thinking how similar she and her husband looked, not in particular physical features, but the way habitual expressions can alter a person’s appearance over time. She had me fooled.”

  “I thought the same. Worn, skeletal, and mean under it all. I pitied her too.”

  “What of Constantine Varga?” Vale asks.

  “He reunited Mary and Mitchell Lynch and found a baby a safe home, end of story. Whether the relationship between brother and sister works out in the end is not his problem or ours.”

  “I’ll bet Mary’s risqué occupation is what drove a wedge between them in the first place. No love lost there. It was probably not difficult to convince her that the scheme could benefit them all,” I suggest. “Or Marsh and Robinson could have been blackmailing her too, threatening to reveal the sordid details of her past.”

  “That’s plausible. What puzzles me is why they would think the Lynchs would give into a blackmail scheme for a baby that isn’t theirs. Why not kidnap the sister and work the bad publicity angle?” Archer asks.

  “A long lost prostitute sister turning up at the mayor-wanna-be’s doorstep would be even less of an incentive to pay the ransom,” Vales says, and both me and Archer nod. “They were probably glad to see the back of her, and that’s why they didn’t tell the police.”

  “Mm. That’s what Hester Robinson was talking about when she said the situation was confused after Reggie Marsh’s death. Both mother and daughter were conveniently out of the picture, and both weren’t meant to be.”

  “What will happen to Olive Marsh and Hester Robinson?” Vale asks.

  “This whole time we’ve been working on the assumption the Lynchs were blackmailed when we don’t know that they ever were. Then the kidnapping seems not to be kidnapping after all too. We’ll have to question Celeste Morris, the Lynchs, and Dr. Varga first, but the courts will decide their punishment if it turns out the way we’ve surmised,” Archer says. He gets up to flip the chalkboard to the blank side and then returns to his chair, leaning back with his head cradled in his hands.

  “Blackmail is not a hangable offense, long-term imprisonment being the usual sentence. And that is if the culprit has succeeded. I wouldn’t be surprised if Marsh and Robinson were transported to detainment jails anyway, where they’ll do a few years of labor while considering their moral misconduct. Miss Lynch will have to face the court as well. Her intent will be questioned.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  WHILE ARCHER DOES the tying up of various loose ends, I make my excuses and aim for the refuge of my dead room. Then I’ll venture out and maybe run into Eddy. But to my dismay, other footfalls trail mine. “Please leave me alone,” I say aloud in barely a whisper. I halt in the middle of the lab and stare down at my feet, listening, waiting, not registering the stark, cold quiet. When the doors finally catch and click closed, I let out my breath only to find I’m anything but relieved. In the anteroom, I crouch down to rub at the smudge on my shoe with my thumb. It’s stubborn, and I rummage around for a rag.

  I’m vigorously buffing out the mark when, from behind me, he says quietly, “River, can we talk?”

  I glance up and cast a stunned look at the cinder blocks of the opposite wall as if it will say, “Just kidding.” Damn. I’m not sure I like this new and improved ultra-silent mechanism on my lab doors. As I insert an arm into my jacket with slow deliberation, I reply, “I was on my way out,” my back still to him.

  “What will it take? Tell me, and I’ll do it.”

  “I didn’t give you a definite answer before, did I?” I say, turning around but keeping my chin tucked into my chest. I concentrate on fastening the tortoiseshell buttons of my coat, but my fingers seem to be made of dough. “Hm, uh …” I straighten my collar and peer down one sleeve for the hem of my undercoat, tugging gently when I find it and then I do the same with the other sleeve. “I don’t want to dwell on the past any more than you do. …”

  Finally, I look up at him, and he takes a step closer. Not giving me time to react, he cups the side of my face, his thumb caressing the scar above my eyebrow. “How I’ve wanted to touch you,” he says, and every nerve in my body screams at me to put my hands on his shoulders, rise to my toes, and just kiss him. It will solve everything, dissolve every tension. “Even as ridiculous as you look, you do something to me, River.” He smiles in the irresistible way he does. “You pull me to you. I know you feel the strings too.” My reflection in his fathoms-deep eyes reveals a tiny, awkward thing—a chimera, not me at all. I want so badly to let that creature drown. But then he adds, “I don’t think that will ever change.”

  In a flash of a moment, I realize something elemental about me has changed for him, and I hear myself saying, “You said I was the same.” Indecisively, I fall silent after that.

  His expression is still, like a held breath, like my heart. “But we’re not, is what you’re saying?” he says. “I waited too long.”

  “Yes,” I say.

  He winces and nods. “River, I haven’t kept away; not really. I couldn’t.”

  “But you did.” After a second, I say, “Archer told me why, and I don’t blame you.” He nods again, his eyes softening. I tilt my head, and continue gently, “But that’s not what I meant … You were referring to my personality when you said I was the same earlier. And yet, you look at me and see a stranger.”

  “What are you talking about, River?”

  “Colin Mayhew was wrong, Vale; we weren’t good for you after all. And I’m not sure you don’t resent us.”

  He glances away for a split second, looks back at me with uncertainty, then shakes his head. “River, no. Don’t think that. It’s not true.” But his haunted aspect tells me all I need to know right now. I hate that his thoughts can move into the shadows so easily still.

  I squeeze his hand. “Yes, and me especially, for being who I am,” I press. “And I won’t own any part in that man or his in me. It’s not that I can’t acknowledge the connection, Vale, I simply won’t. But, unfortunately, I think that’s what you want from me, what I believe you need from me. You want someone to blame, and I won’t do for that. I won’t let you. I’m just a little stubborn, I’m told.”

  He brings my hand up to his lips
and kisses it so tenderly my knees buckle a little. I could easily topple into his arms. But small lines of deep pain wrinkle around his eyes. “You’re incredible,” he says. “The last thing I want to do is carry my problems over here and impose them on you. But I can’t seem to control myself from thinking things I shouldn’t be thinking. I wish I … I wish it could be different.”

  “Me too. But I’m relieved and so glad you’re okay. I know you feel terrible about it, and maybe someday you’ll be able to tell me for yourself what kept you away all this time. When you’ve dealt with the guilt.”

  “Wow, River, you sure have honed your ERR abilities,” he says in awe.

  I nod, but Vale and I have always been connected on a deeper level somehow. “What I said before must have hurt. And I’m sorry, but that’s how I felt. How I feel. So, right now, I-I just … I don’t know what more to say except what I have.” We release each other’s hands, and I put mine in my pockets.

  “I’ll let you go then,” he says. His eyes widen and just as quickly become hooded, his lips pressing into a line. “I didn’t—”

  “It’s all right, Vale,” I interrupt. I’m not sure either of us knows what our exchange really means in the long run, but as a sort of temporary closure, it will have to do. “I’m leaving now. I’ll see you around.” I step backward toward my escape, spin on my heels, make short work of the deadbolt, and rush out. Once safely outside, I lean back against the closed door, my chest heaving. I steady my breath and squeeze my eyelids together to ward off the prickling moisture behind my lashes. I then pull my lapels up around my chin and walk sightlessly around the building toward the street.