The Water Baby

by Roz Denny Fox

  The nurse nodded and beckoned to Daisy.

  “Look, it’s my boat.” Daisy planted her feet. “I’m the only witness to the first incident,” she told the policeman. “And this child is the one survivor from the yacht. I’d say we have a vested interest in what goes on here.” She met his eyes. He glanced over at the older officer, still standing next to Temple’s bed.

  Before any decision was made about her staying, however, Daniel Coletti burst through the double doors at the far end of the corridor. He shook off the nurse who tried to stop him and thundered like a wild man to the doorway of Temple’s room, where Daisy and his brother stood talking with the police.

  “I just pulled in to dump my load and heard about the shooting,” Daniel said as he grabbed Sal’s arm. “I warned you to stay away from the Row! Do you think next time you might listen to me, little brother? And you,” he said, jabbing a finger at the man lying on the hospital bed. “I told Daisy and Sal you were trouble with a capital T. This is all your fault, Wyatt. If you weren’t already hurt, I’d work you over myself.”

  “Who the hell are you?” Al stepped forward, brandishing his clipboard. His disapproving gaze rested on Daniel’s stubbled chin and swinging gold earring.

  Becca woke up, looked around and started to scream.

  “This place is a damned zoo,” declared Vic, the veteran officer. “All we want to do is find out how this man got shot.” He indicated Temple with a jerk of his thumb, only to discover the patient climbing out of bed. “Where in blazes do you think you’re going?”

  “To the police station,” said Temple through gritted teeth. “Sal will drive me there. Daisy is going to take Rebecca home. And Daniel’s going somewhere to chill out with a beer.” Reeling, he steadied himself on the metal footboard.

  For a full minute, no one moved, including the child who’d succeeded in getting a stranglehold on Daisy’s neck. That is, no one moved until the nurse bore down on their cubicle with a rickety wheelchair. Motioning Temple into the chair, she issued virtually the same orders he’d given, only with more authority. “Mr. Wyatt,” she said disdainfully as she handed him his insurance card and his bill, “you are free to leave us. The doctor says go home and rest.” She shoved him into the chair and wheeled him toward the door, raising her voice. “Please take the rest of this motley crew with you. Any sign of infection in those wounds, go see your family doctor. Otherwise, the venal sutures will dissolve on their own. Oh, and next time you get shot, try to do it among better-smelling companions.” She all but dumped him at the curb, sniffed at his followers, then swished back inside.

  Temple was first to laugh, even though it hurt his arm.

  Daisy was next to join in. “Brother,” she gasped, bouncing Becca on her hip, “I guess she wouldn’t like it if you paid your bill with fifty pounds of shrimp, would she?”

  “Stop.” Temple laughed harder. “The doctor looked like he smelled something bad the whole time he worked on me. Now I know why I got such quick service. It had nothing to do with the seriousness of my condition.”

  The cops grinned, too. “Then I guess you won’t be offended if we do let you ride to the station with your friend here,” said one, pointing to Sal.

  “I’ll run home and get Temple some fresh clothes,” Daisy offered. “Then I’ll stop at Daniel’s and pick up stuff for Sal. You have a shower at the precinct, I presume.”

  Both policemen nodded. Daisy put Becca down, then hand in hand they dashed to her car before either Temple or Sal had time to object. She let Daniel’s grumbling go in one ear and out the other.

  She completed the circuit in record time, even though at the Colettis’, she got a ten-minute lecture from Daniel about not getting involved. He had to tend bar within the hour, or he’d “by damn go in her place,” he said.

  Later, when Daisy parked outside the police station, she handed Becca the bag with the men’s clothes to carry. The girl hummed as she skipped up the steps. It amazed Daisy how normal she seemed. In fact, she appeared better adjusted in most settings these past couple of days. Was that significant? Was she slowly awakening from whatever terrors held her captive? Granted, she had cried at the hospital today. But she’d been asleep; when she awakened, there’d been a lot of strange faces to deal with. And she calmed down quickly. Not like the way she’d acted even just a week ago.

  Certain that each of these new achievements built toward ultimate success, Daisy walked into the station with a lighter heart. “We’re here to bring Temple Wyatt and Sal Coletti some clean clothes,” she told the sergeant at the desk.

  “Thank goodness!” he exclaimed. “Captain Riggs has called down here twice to see if you’d arrived. Said he has all the windows in his office open and it still smells like a cannery. You want to give me the bag?”

  “No,” Daisy returned, sweetly but firmly. “They’re expecting me, too. Could you direct me?”

  At first he seemed taken aback. Then he did as she asked without calling ahead, for which Daisy was grateful. If they were overtaxing Temple, she intended to see that he left and got his prescribed rest.

  Temple glanced up to check out the sudden low rumble of voices, and saw Daisy and Rebecca enter the room. Heads swiveled as Daisy ambled toward him through two rows of desks, and Temple realized she’d abandoned the frayed jeans she’d worn earlier. Her short red skirt brushed her tanned legs. A red-checked sleeveless jacket, a vest really, skimmed her slender waist. Most of the men in the room followed her progress.

  Temple quashed a smile. As usual she was oblivious to the stir she created. And as usual, her springy curls escaped their ribbon clip. These past couple of days in the sun had highlighted the gold in her hair. Temple saw envy flash across the pale faces of the women officers, who were tied to uniforms and desks.

  Daisy stopped several feet away from where Temple sat in a straight-backed metal chair, working with the composite artist who faced him. She bent to whisper in Rebecca’s ear. A moment later, the child sidled shyly toward him and held out the large grocery bag she carried. Temple’s heart went into a tailspin. Speechless, he reached out with his good arm to accept the bag. Tears sprang to his eyes, impairing his vision.

  Father and daughter stared at one another for a poignant stretch of time. He, with misty eyes and a joyous smile. She, without expression of any kind. Still, Temple considered this small achievement a major breakthrough. Rebecca had approached him with minimal urging from Daisy. The child hadn’t screamed in terror, hadn’t run the other way. Hallelujah!

  “Well, hello, sweetheart,” the artist said, turning with a broad smile when he looked up from his work and noticed the child. “Aren’t you Miss Cutie Pie? Where did you come from, darlin’?” Swiveling, the artist got his first glimpse of Daisy. He let out a long low whistle that sent Rebecca scrambling back to hide behind Daisy’s legs.

  “The little one is my daughter,” Temple murmured in a voice that betrayed his emotion. “Remember the child who was thrown from the yacht?”

  “Oh, yeah. Say, man, I’m real sorry. I didn’t mean to scare her.” The artist set his pencil aside and picked up the bag that Rebecca had dropped. He passed it to Temple. “At least now you and Coletti can go shower and rejoin the human race. I’ll be happy to keep these two nice ladies entertained while you’re gone.” His dark eyes made another clean sweep of Daisy.

  She ignored the artist’s brash flirting as she threaded her fingers through Becca’s curls. She could see that the picture on his board was only half-finished. For that reason, she would have offered to leave and come back later—if Temple had moved less stiffly. Or if she hadn’t seen that his face was pale with repressed pain. As it was, she decided to try her hand at shaking him loose now.

  “We came to give you a lift home,” she said lightly.

  “I can’t leave yet, Daisy. We’re finally making headway. No need for you to hang around, though. I don’t want you involved. I’ll take a cab to a hotel when I’m done. If and when I think it’s safe, I’ll send
somebody to pick up more of my clothes.”

  He might as well have not spoken. “I don’t think that’s what the doctor had in mind when he wrote orders stating you should go home and rest,” Daisy said in mild rebuke. “Those guys in the speedboat have been skulking around Rum Row for over a month. I doubt they’re going to run off tonight. Their kind never does. And you’re not going to any old hotel. Who’ll look after you?”

  Temple shifted. With some difficulty, he finally stood. Whatever he’d been about to say was interrupted by the police chief, who stuck his head into the room. “That the woman who brought you fresh clothes? What are you standing around jawing for? Hit the showers. And take Coletti.”

  Looking sheepish, Sal stepped out around the tall rawboned chief of police. He took care not to let so much as their shirtsleeves touch. “Hey, Daisy.” Sal lifted a hand in greeting. “Why didn’t you holler? It’s gettin’ kinda rank in here.”

  Shrugging, Daisy turned back to Temple. “Can you shower without getting your bandage wet? I don’t suppose they have any Saran Wrap to put around that arm.”

  The artist chuckled. “Nurse or sister?” he asked of Temple. “Or both rolled into one?” His tone teased, thinly disguising his interest. “Or…”

  “Neither,” Temple growled. “She’s a friend.” But his liquid gaze caressed her in a manner that spoke of a lot more than friendship.

  “Yeah. Sure.” The young artist’s brow arched.

  “Do I have T-bone written on me someplace?” Daisy demanded, settling her hands on her hips. “You’re acting like a couple of dogs scrabbling over a bone.”

  Sal, who’d just reached them, gave her the once-over and frowned. “It’s that outfit. It’s a wonder the smoke alarms didn’t go off when you walked in. Why don’t you run on home? We don’t wanna give Galveston’s finest heart attacks, do we?”

  By now smoke was all but coming out Daisy’s ears. “I believe I’m capable of deciding when to leave,” she said in her iciest voice. “I had planned to run down the street and pick up hamburgers for everyone.”

  “Sounds good to me,” the artist said, digging in his pocket for a five-dollar bill. “If there’s anything I like, it’s a lady who knows her own mind.”

  Neither Temple nor Sal acted too pleased. But Daisy wouldn’t be swayed. She began taking food orders. So they gave theirs before going to the locker room.

  There were a few times after the hamburgers had been consumed that Daisy regretted her decision to stay. The chairs allotted to visitors were hard, and she’d forgotten to grab the book, The Water Babies, that she’d been reading to Rebecca. Fortunately the hamburger place gave out balloons and toys with their kiddie meals, and Daisy played chase-the-balloon in the hallway until she was worn out. As they played, Becca said four words— “Give it to me.” Daisy wanted to tell Temple at once. Except that he was looking more fatigued by the minute, so she thought it best to let him finish the composite.

  At last she heard someone say the pictures of the two suspects were completed. She stood, determined to see that the police, who seemed to have limitless energy, didn’t claim any more of Temple’s flagging supply.

  “All done?” she asked cheerfully, coming up behind the artist.

  He turned, a smile on his face. “Yes, ma’am. Mr. Wyatt’s satisfied we’ve got a good likeness of two of the men. We’re faxing copies to the Rio police and Mr. DeVaca’s hotel. To see if we can come up with any names.”

  “Tonight?” Daisy sounded aghast.

  Temple shifted the sling supporting his injured arm. Daisy could tell it hurt like hell, but he said stoically, “I swear this is the very last thing I’m going to do tonight, Daisy. If we can get a positive ID out of Domingo’s staff, it’s bound to have a favorable impact on their APB.”

  She threw up her hands. “It’s rubbing off. Less than a day, and you’re beginning to talk like a cop.”

  The artist laughed, then stood and stretched. “Thanks to TV, we cops have no mystique left.”

  Daisy found herself laughing with him. “Okay. I give up. Scram, you two. Send that to South America on your handy-dandy info highway. Becca—Rebecca—and I will wait in the car. Come on, my water baby,” she said, grasping Becca’s hand.

  “Don’t go outside alone.” Temple grabbed her arm, which in turn hurt his own, and it showed in his grimace.

  Daisy turned. “Et tu, Brute?”

  “These are hardened criminals, Daisy,” Temple explained, lips pinched. “Not Sunday-school teachers. They’ve hung around just waiting for the Lazy Daisy to show up again. Last week they stalked a boat a lot like her. We got lucky today. Now we have their backs to the wall, and they’ll get braver.”

  Daisy’s brow wrinkled. “In what way? Surely they could have found me anytime.”

  An officer seated a few feet away spoke up. “They could have. But they’d be doubling their risk pulling something in town. They knew from news stories that you were out of commission, which meant they could afford to sit and wait. Today they thought you’d gone back to work. But since you leased the boat, all they’ve done is increase the number of witnesses. Not a good position for scum like that. The chief wants a man on your house tonight, and one on Coletti’s.”

  The fine hair on Daisy’s neck rose. Her grip tightened on Becca’s hand. Plain as day, the girl said, “Ouch!”

  Both Daisy and Temple exhibited shock, then delight. “There’s more,” she told him excitedly. “Earlier she asked me for the balloon. I think she’s slowly coming around, Temple. Will having a policeman watching the house stifle her progress?”

  He raked a hand raggedly through his sun-streaked hair. “I don’t know. Maybe I’d better go to your house, after all.”

  Sal swaggered up in the middle of their conversation. “You got Daisy into this mess, dude. Why don’t you take the kid and go back to California where you belong?”

  Temple flinched, but Daisy bristled. “Sal Coletti, what’s gotten into you? You know perfectly well that I’m to blame, if blame’s the word. No one made me shrimp in Rum Row. I’m sorry I let you lease my boat and get involved. I guess the best any of us can do now is see this through. Go ahead, Temple, send your fax. Then let’s all go home and cool off.”

  Sal’s angry glare blazed between Daisy and the man she’d chosen to defend. He stuffed both hands in the pockets of his cutoffs and jingled his loose change. “It’s pretty plain where your allegiance lies, Daisy-girl. If you come to your senses, you know where to find Dan’l and me. Not even you are worth getting shot at. As of now, I’m going back to pulling nets for my brother.”

  She gaped, hurt, as he walked away. Finally the sandyhaired officer who had delivered the warning a moment ago called to Sal and took off after him. “Wait, Mr. Coletti. I’ll tag along, since I’m staking out your place.”

  Sal snarled a blistering epitaph.

  Temple brushed a finger over Daisy’s rigid jaw. “I’m sorry,” he whispered softly. “Maybe when Sal calms down…”

  She shrugged. “It’s his choice. I didn’t twist his arm i the first place. Besides, I’d never forgive myself if anything worse happened on my boat.”

  “Last night you said I’d be held accountable if something went wrong. I will be,” he vowed. “Tomorrow we’ll get someone to assess the damage. I don’t expect you to believe me, Daisy, but I never dreamed in a million years that anything would happen.”

  “I do believe you.” She reached up and cupped his face, using her thumbs to lightly smooth away the tense lines bracketing his lips. Pain lines, she thought. “Go do your faxing. Becca and I will wait right here.” She raised up on her toes and kissed his cheek.

  His good hand automatically flew to his face.

  The artist ripped the two sketches off his pad and handed them to Temple. “Lucky dog,” he muttered. “I should’ve known you two are an item.” He clapped Temple on his uninjured arm. “Take care of her, buddy. I hope you don’t need my professional services again.” He turned off his de
sk lamp, smiled at Daisy and left.

  She stared after him, openmouthed. “No,” she protested feebly, “we’re not an item.” But Temple strode off and left her talking to herself.

  “I hear you,” said a young policewoman from a nearby desk. “I don’t believe you, but I hear you.” She slanted Daisy a knowing grin, hefted her handbag and sauntered off in the direction of the outer door.

  “Well, Becca,” Daisy murmured as she sat down and pulled the tired child onto her lap, “am I that transparent?” The girl tucked her head against Daisy’s shoulder and trustingly closed her eyes.

  A good hour later, just when Daisy had begun to yawn, Temple returned. “Did you get an ID?” she asked after gently waking Becca so they could follow the police officer who’d been assigned to watch her house.

  “On one of them,” Temple told her. “Halsey Shaw, alias Harold Shaw and Hal Shoemaker, not to mention a few more. According to DeVaca’s night manager, he has references on file—probably forged. Domingo fired Shaw about eight months ago for tapping the till. The manager also said they’d had some guests’ jewelry disappear.”

  “Doesn’t look good for Mr. Shaw,” Daisy mused as she unlocked the car. “Do the employees know Mr. DeVaca is presumed dead?” she asked when they were under way.

  “Yes.” He closed his eyes, rather than watch her negotiate traffic. “The manager mentioned things are messy. It seems Domingo has two children and three exwives ready to fight over his estate.”

  “Ouch,” Daisy said as she pulled up in front of her house.

  Becca awoke and sat up. She held out the finger Daisy had squeezed earlier and in all seriousness repeated, “Ouch.”

  Daisy and Temple fell together laughing. “Invite our watchdog in for coffee, why don’t you,” she suggested, “while I scoot this little miss to bed. Unless you’re too tired to stay up for coffee,” she added, suddenly solicitous of Temple’s condition.