Hadcho picked up the narrative. “So Wesley is arguing with Bernice, the girlfriend is downstairs listening in, and all of a sudden she hears this weird sloshing noise and a clatter. She goes running upstairs only to find Wesley covered in paint. Bernice dumped the full gallon on him.”
“Can you imagine how much of a mess that made?” Hadcho laughed.
Detweiler held up a couple of eggs. “Kiki?”
She nodded and pointed to her plate. “Thanks. But now she’s dead. Were there any signs she had a baby with her? In the parking lot?”
“You better hope there weren’t any. Because if the crime scene investigators find diapers or whatever, that means someone grabbed the kid in the bitter cold of the night.” Hadcho sighed. “So far, we haven’t heard that they found any such items. But it’s early. If Robbie was here, we would have known what they found immediately. But Prescott? He likes to sit on information. He’s too busy giving press briefings to do his job.”
“What about the journaling we found? The information on Jana Higgins? Any luck with that?” I wondered.
“Nope. Not yet,” Hadcho said. “Last night Detweiler and I tried and tried to convince Prescott that we needed the Gossages to do a public appeal. Something to bring the man in those photos out of the shadows. When he realizes this Jana woman is wandering around with a kidnapped child, he’ll want no part of her little scheme.”
“We did our best to get Prescott to say yes last night, but he’s made up his mind that a missing child might reflect badly on the department. Hadcho and I pointed out that the baby is already missing, and that a dead child would be a much, much worse outcome, but Prescott refused to budge.” Detweiler slid the scrambled eggs onto Kiki’s plate.
“Of course, he can’t stop the Gossages if they decide to hold a press conference without him,” Kiki said.
“I didn’t hear that,” Detweiler answered her. “You didn’t either, did you, Hadcho?”
“Hear what?”
Kiki stared at her eggs as though she couldn’t quite figure out what they were. Finally, she looked up at her husband. “Whether they find anything or not, mark my words: Bernice Stottlemeyer was behind all this.”
“Why?” Hadcho crooked an eyebrow. “What makes you so sure?”
“It’s too coincidental.” Kiki sputtered and added, “Just follow the timeline. Bernice desperately wants a baby so she and Wesley contact Bonnie’s firm. The album I made for them doesn’t get them over the hurdle. The birth mother hates Bernice on sight and won’t consider the Stottlemeyers as adoptive parents. That’s so upsetting to Bernice that she has to blame someone, and so she takes after me. In retaliation, Bernice trashes my store while making hateful remarks about my pregnancy. Bonnie is pregnant, too, so it’s logical that she wouldn’t have escaped Bernice’s wrath. That brings us to the here and now when Bonnie has her baby and is visited by a mystery woman who drugs her and takes her child. Furthermore we know someone was watching Bonnie, because they offered her a Vanilla Coke, her favorite beverage. This wasn’t a random kidnapping. It was planned. Who else could have planned it but Bernice?”
“What’s the connection rather than the timing?” asked Hadcho.
“There’s the fact that the Stottlemeyers were told by a partner at Bonnie’s firm that she’d be the perfect lawyer to help them adopt,” Kiki said. “Bernice was sure they’d be wonderful birth parents. How many other couples are wandering around town feeling confident like that only to have their bubble burst?”
Detweiler rinsed out the skillet. With practiced motions, he grabbed a piece of toast before it popped up, slathered it with Brummel and Brown, and plated it for Kiki.
She was on a roll. “There’s also the way Bernice went all weird and talked a lot about how I didn’t deserve to have a child. She must have felt the same about Bonnie being pregnant. Stands to reason. She obviously thought this was a cosmic mistake of epic proportions. To hear Bernice tell it, she and Wesley had everything to offer a child. According to her, they’d be perfect parents, and it was simply bad luck that they’d been cheated out of having one.” Kiki chewed on one edge of her toast thoughtfully.
“Was Bernice in the front seat or in the back of her car? Did she have an infant seat inside?” I asked.
“We don’t know,” Hadcho said and cleared his throat. “That’s another problem. See, Robbie had a great relationship with all the local police chiefs but Gallaway? Not so much. Mrs. Stottlemeyer’s murder occurred in Bridgeton where the long term lot is. And the police chief for that municipality there won’t invite us to help out because he can’t stand Prescott Gallaway. Of course, we could get involved if we could absolutely link Bernice Stottlemeyer to the kidnapping, but right now we don’t have any hard evidence.”
“We could go in if here’s a Major Case Squad put together,” Detweiler said. “But Prescott Gallaway isn’t interested in that. He doesn’t want to fail. That’s his top priority. In his mind, that means we won’t do more than we absolutely have to, since anything we’re involved in could produce a negative result.”
“So you can’t find out more about Bernice. That’s what you’re saying—and we don’t have a way of following any investigation into her death. I’m telling that I’m positive she’s involved, and you’re telling me you can’t find out whether she was or wasn’t. That’s the size of it, right?” Kiki crossed her arms over her chest and challenged her husband with her aggressive posture.
“Right,” said Detweiler. But that one word meant a lot more than, “You’re correct.” It carried the weight of a struggle between them, a quarrel so deep and profound their entire relationship hung in the balance.
CHAPTER 18
After the men left, Brawny brought the older kids downstairs.
“We’ll take them to school,” Kiki said. “Cara and I are headed that way.”
“But I’m already…” Brawny’s voice tailed off. The expression on Kiki’s face put an abrupt end to her complaint.
Five minutes later, we were crammed into Kiki’s old red BMW convertible. Although I wondered why we weren’t taking the heavier Trailblazer, I figured Kiki knew what she was doing. She’d left Ty with the nanny, so after reflection, it made sense that Brawny would have the car with a better heating system. I shivered as the warm air blowing on me quickly dissipated, leaking through the fabric roof of the Beemer.
In the back seats, which were really little more than jump seats, Anya and Erik sat stone-faced, barely awake, and miserable in the cold. Or so that’s how I perceived it. Perhaps they had picked up on Kiki’s unhappiness. Prior to this, both kids had seen two soul mates—Kiki and Detweiler—cruising happily through life, depending on each other, and in sync.
Now there was a barrier, as mean and as forbidding as an iceberg, and just as difficult to scale. What had happened? How long had it been this way? And what could be done to change things?
I hopped out as we dropped Erik off. I got back in the car and Kiki swung around the corner to where the older kids were heading for classes. Once again, I climbed out. With a hand on the car door, Anya leaned her head inside, while I waited by the curb. “I don’t know what’s bugging you, and I don’t care, but I hope you get your act together, Mom. I’m tired of this attitude.”
Before Kiki could respond, her daughter flounced off. Her backpack formed a shield between the blond-haired girl and her mother.
Embarrassed by what I’d seen and heard, I said nothing, climbed back in, and snapped my seatbelt. Carefully keeping my eyes straight ahead, I fought the urge to blurt out, “What is going on?” Instead, I stayed silent. It was a trick I’d learned from Honora, the older woman who came to work for me. “You don’t always need to rush into the fray,” she’d explained. “Most of us cannot handle ambiguity. By dwelling in the discomfort, you force the other person to make a move. It’s a powerful tool.”
The next half mile rolled by in silence. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Kiki open her mouth to speak, pause, and open
up again. But she didn’t say a word. Not until we got to Highway 40.
There instead of going east for three exits, she got off at the second exit, which I realized was the route to the hospital. That made sense. Kiki had decided to suggest to Bonnie that she and Jeremy make a public appeal.
I considered repeating my question, “What’s going on?” But I decided to keep my mouth shut. Kiki had heard me. She was taking her time answering because she was thinking. Thinking hard.
“This should be the happiest time in my life,” Kiki said at long last. “And it isn’t. Anya needs to be disciplined for talking to me that way. I can’t allow it. On the other hand, how can I punish her for being truthful? Hurt feelings aside, she told me the honest truth. But how do I fix things? How do I get my life back in order?”
Taking the exit for the hospital, Kiki’s mouth quivered. A tear leaked out of the corner of her eye, but she determinedly kept both hands on the steering wheel.
“Care to tell me about it?”
“Later. First, I want to talk to Bonnie.”
CHAPTER 19
The corridors echoed with the sound of our footsteps. Blessedly, the hospital seemed quiet. Since the street crews in St. Louis had gotten the chance to clear the roads, fewer car accidents left carnage in their wake. Nor were there the typical number of emergencies caused by men shoveling snow and having heart attacks, a regular occurrence after bad weather. No, for the most part, the foot traffic in the halls of Southeast was down to a quiet hum.
Stopping by the nurse’s station, we learned that Bonnie was running a low grade fever. “She’s listless and depressed. Of course, she has reason to be, but we’re concerned nonetheless. This isn’t good,” said the nurse on duty.
We found Bonnie lying on her side, facing the window, but she wasn’t asleep. Her fingers clutched and twisted the thin cotton blanket as she cried softly.
“Bonnie? Should we leave? It’s Cara and me.” Kiki put one hand on our friend’s shoulder. Bonnie reached up and grabbed Kiki’s glove, pinning her fingers down fiercely to her chest as she made an appeal: “Stay. I need to talk to you, to somebody who’ll listen. I heard about Bernice. Kiki, what am I going to do? I’m sure she had my baby. Okay, Jana was involved, but Bernice was out to get me.”
“We’re here and we’re with you,” Kiki said. “We’re on your side. We’re going to do everything we can to help. Let’s get you sitting up so we can talk.”
I shut the door to the hallway, while Kiki helped Bonnie roll onto her back. Our friend had regular features, brown eyes and highlighted hair cut in an easy-care crop that she swept back from her forehead when in court. But the woman in the hospital bed didn’t look a bit like our old friend. The lively brown eyes stared out with a dull, senseless look. Deep creases of worry marred her forehead, and her lips were chapped to the point of being bloody. Not to put too fine of a point on it, we were sitting here with the shell left behind by a competent woman who had withdrawn so completely, there was only a trace of her original self left behind.
I understood completely. If something had happened to Tommy, I would have been nuts with grief, too, but I hope I would have been able to put up a fight for my lost child. Bonnie did not look like she could cope, much less battle for her baby. The woman in the bed did not seem like the fierce courtroom advocate who’d become a bit of a legend. Other lawyers had nicknamed her Bonnie the Barracuda. “She bites you hard and won’t let go.” In her world, she was feared and fearless. Successful, too. In fact, our pal could have risen to the top of the heap at any law firm in the country. Hers included, except….except that she turned down several promotions because she wanted to raise a family.
A family with a missing child.
I pulled over a chair. Kiki crawled up next to Bonnie and wrapped her arms around our pal’s neck. “Before you say anything, I have a suggestion.”
“What?” Bonnie lifted hopeful eyes to Kiki.
“You didn’t hear this from me, but there are those who think you and Jeremy should be holding a press conference. A public appeal asking that anyone with knowledge of your baby contact the authorities. See, the person who has your son is pretending to be the birth mother. She wants to show the baby off. When she does, her family is bound to have questions.”
“I see.” Bonnie’s face lit up with the faint light of hope. “But we were told it could be dangerous. Jeremy specifically asked if we should do this. We know that a report was made to the National Center for Missing Kids. I thought that was all we needed to do. Or should do.”
“I looked this up,” I said. “Most of the babies recovered are the direct result of a public appeal. The media coverage works, but only if the abductor is not portrayed as a hardened criminal. If it’s handled in a non-threatening way, people come forward.”
“You have to get people thinking,” Kiki said. “Get the wheels turning. They’re bound to have questions. You need to remind them how the pieces don’t fit. Tell them if there’s a peculiar circumstance, they need to speak up. Sure, she might be acting like a loving mother, but that’s because she’s convinced herself she is.”
“There’ve been cases when babies were returned as long as two weeks after they were taken,” I said. “See? There’s a lot to feel hopeful about. This woman never intended to hurt your baby. She’s misguided, that’s all.”
“We’ll do it. I’ll talk to Jeremy as soon as he gets here. He’s been spending the evenings with the kids. His parents didn’t realize what a handful two boys can be.” A sly look came over her. “Thanks for telling me what to do. I’m not thinking straight. This fever is messing with my head. I won’t tell Jeremy that you suggested this. I’ll say an advocate dropped by to talk with me.”
Holding out my little finger, I said, “I solemnly promise to keep any and all conversations in this room a secret.”
“Me, too,” Kiki echoed.
“Et moi aussi,” giggled Bonnie. “Finally got to use my high school French!”
We must have made a funny picture. A pale woman in a thin cotton gown and two women bundled up in winter coats all locked pinky fingers in solemn sequence. Since we were all in our mid-thirties, we were well past the age when most people would consider a pinky-swearing ceremony as a genuine commitment.
But to us it was exactly that.
“Better yet,” Bonnie said as she pointed to my purse, “pay me a dollar. You, too, Kiki. That’ll make you my clients. Those two bucks put me on retainer.”
We laughed as we dug around for two dollar bills. Kiki produced a small notebook filled with Zentangle® designs she was working to master. Ripping out one page she wrote up an employment contract that confirmed Bonnie as our legal counsel. I even flagged down a nurse in the hall to get her to witness our solemn pact.
Oddly enough, as silly as it might have seemed, the formal document heralded a change in Bonnie’s demeanor. The frightened mother stepped aside as the prudent professional took charge.
“There’s a lot I shouldn’t tell you, but I will,” she said, after signaling me to close her door again. “You’ve reminded me that I’m not helpless. Even if it seems that way. How many times have I told my clients if you lie down in the grass, you’re begging to be run over by a lawnmower? More than I can count. Here’s the scoop: I know in my heart of hearts that Bernice Stottlemeyer is involved in this. She stalked me. She threatened me and Jeremy. When she realized I was pregnant, she went ballistic, calling the firm and screaming over the phone. Showing up at our front door and pounding on it. She swore it was my fault—mine and yours—that she didn’t have a baby. According to Bernice, Wesley wanted a divorce because she couldn’t produce a child.”
“Huh,” Kiki snorted. “I can think of better reasons for him to want to leave her. Hello Angry Bird!”
Bonnie nodded and pulled the covers up under her arms. Whereas before she hadn’t noticed the messy sheets, now she tidied up the bed. Smoothing the top sheet, adjusting her gown. “I hear you. You need to realize I h
ad very little choice in the matter. The senior partners put pressure on me. We handle Bernice’s parents’ foundation, the Livesay Charitable Trust. We also handle Wesley’s family’s business, and on and on. Besides all that, Jeremy is doing his best to get started as a registered rep, a stock broker, and he worried that if we made Bernice or Jeremy’s family into enemies, he’d never get any clients.”
“But you said Jana brought you the Vanilla Coke.” I was trying to figure out the connection between the women.
“Right. She has to be involved. Otherwise, where is my baby? I can imagine Bernice talking Jana into this. I can also guess that things went wrong. Kiki and I are living proof that Bernice was her own worst enemy.”
Kiki took Bonnie’s hand. “But whatever went wrong, your baby has to be safe. They didn’t find your child with Bernice. In fact, as far as we know, they didn’t find any signs of a baby in her car. So by process of elimination, Jana has your son.”
“That’s what I’m thinking. See, I could hold it together as long as I could console myself with the thought that Bernice wouldn’t hurt him. She’d show him off to Wesley. Wesley would realize she had taken my kid—and this nightmare would be over. Jeremy called Wesley first thing when this happened, and he was horrified. He’s as nice as Bernice is evil. He promised both of us that if he heard anything, even a whisper, he’d contact the authorities. I trusted him! He’s not a bad man. But he’s assured us he knows nothing. And I believe him. He has no reason to lie.”
She paused, choking a little, so I grabbed the pitcher and handed her a glass of water. After a sip, she said, “He couldn’t believe it.”
“I can,” Kiki said. “I can believe anything of Bernice Stottlemeyer.”
Glue, Baby, Gone Page 14
