Baby Please Don't Go: A Novel

by Frank Freudberg

  Mrs. Mannheim scowled. “This has something to do with Witt, doesn’t it?” She looked Lock up and down.

  “Witt is Wittley Mannheim? Your husband?”

  She nodded.

  “Right now, we don’t know the situation. That’s why I’m here,” Lock said.

  Mrs. Mannheim took a step toward Lock. “Get out. Get out of my house right this instant. You have no right to be here. I swear I’ll call the police.”

  “If I don’t call them first.”

  Mrs. Mannheim folded her arms and sighed. “There’s no reason for you to be here. My kids are fine.”

  “There’s nothing to get upset about,” Lock said. “I have a few standard questions. I just need to make certain the children are okay.”

  “I told you they’re fine.”

  “And as soon as I’m sure of that, I’ll go. I’m sure you have a lot to do today, and so do I.” Lock looked at the table and the chairs around it.

  “Okay, yes. Please sit down. I’m sorry, I know you’re just doing your job.”

  She paused, and Lock knew she had missed his name. The rich ones usually did at first.

  “Lock Gilkenney.”

  Mrs. Mannheim nodded. “Candice, is there any coffee for Mr. Gilkenney?”

  “I just washed the carafe,” Candice said. She didn’t offer to make more.

  “Never mind,” Mrs. Mannheim said. Candice lingered at the sink, wiping a dishcloth back and forth on the countertop.

  Lock slid a chair out from under the kitchen table, sat down, and opened the file folder clamped to the clipboard. He removed a few sheets of paper and scanned each one quickly. She sat down across from him and folded her hands, resting them on the table.

  “Okay, Mrs. Mannheim—”

  “It’s Natalie.”

  “Natalie, then. We received a report about your children,” Lock said, eyes still on the forms. “Two young females, names and ages unknown. Someone says there may be a problem.”

  “Who says that? What kind of problem?”

  Lock read, “Not getting prescribed medication, car seats aren’t used. Inadequately dressed for cold weather conditions.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Natalie said, unfolding her hands and pointing at the paperwork. “How could someone say my kids aren’t getting their medicine but not even know their names?”

  “Good question. Who do you think called this in?”

  “Wild guess? My husband. Or his lawyer.”

  Lock leaned back to take a pen from his pants pocket and made a note. “You and your husband are having problems?”

  “Something like that. Witt’s ringing up lots of hours with a divorce lawyer. And reporting me to the authorities is part of some game they’re playing.”

  Lock rocked back on his chair and stretched toward a photograph on the nearby refrigerator. He tugged it out from under a magnet and examined it.

  “You have two children. There are three in this photo.”

  “The big one is their cousin from Seattle,” said Natalie. “The two younger ones are mine.”

  Lock consulted his papers and made more notes. He looked back at the photograph and studied the faces and body language of the girls. Nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary.

  “Names and ages, please?”

  “Dahlia. She’s two years old. And Edwina, she’s four, going on fifteen. Do I have to answer your questions?”

  “No. I can fax them to the Red Cedar Woods police and they can stop by to discuss it. It’s up to you.”

  “I wouldn’t have to answer them, either, would I?”

  “Eventually you would, but that’s not really the issue here. Mrs. Mannheim, I’m not here to cause you trouble. I’m here to make sure your children are okay. It’s an inconvenience, and a little scary, I know. But if you’ll answer my questions, I’ll be out of your hair quicker.”

  “Go ahead,” she said. “I wouldn’t want you to write down that I’m being uncooperative.”

  “Thank you.”

  “The older one’s name—Edwina—that was Witt’s idea,” Natalie said. “J. Wittley Mannheim, Jr.,” she said in a voice like an MC at a charity award ball. “Why I went along with the name Edwina, I can’t tell you—and now she’s stuck with it. Edwina. Any day now, they’ll start calling her ‘Eddie’ for short. Anyway, letting him name her Edwina is your proof that I really am an irresponsible mother.” She pressed her wrists together and held them out across the table toward Lock. “Handcuff me and take me away from here. Please.”

  “I don’t have handcuffs.”

  “I bet you do,” she said. Lock met her mocking eyes for a second and crooked an eyebrow. He glanced away. She didn’t. He caught himself starting to smile.

  Natalie looked toward Candice. “Candice, can you water the ivy in the living room and check the wash?”

  Candice headed out of the kitchen, but Lock stopped her. “Hold up, Candice.”

  She didn’t hear him.

  “Candice!” Natalie said, raising her voice loud enough to be heard over the music.

  Candice stopped and turned around.

  He raised his voice too. “Please take the earbuds out.” He waited for her to do it and said, “You see the Mannheims all the time. What’s your opinion of how the kids are doing?”

  “I’m not here all the time. I’m just the nanny,” she said with a smirk.

  “Answer the man’s question, Candice.”

  Candice shrugged. “The kids are fine. I make sure of it, and so does Natalie.”

  “What about Mr. Mannheim?”

  “He’s an asshole. Always yelling, always so negative, and ten times worse when he’s drinking.”

  Natalie frowned at Candice’s choice of words, but Lock didn’t think she disagreed with her.

  “Have you ever seen him be inappropriate with the kids?” Lock asked.

  “No.”

  “Do you think someone saw you with the children—at a playground or store or somewhere—and called in a complaint about you?”

  “I take care of Dahlia and Edwina great. Only a liar would say anything bad.”

  “It’s true,” Natalie said.

  Lock made another note. He said, “What’s your last name, and how long have you worked for the Mannheims?”

  “Candice. Taylor. T–A–Y–L–O–R. And I’ve worked here almost a year.”

  “Thanks for your help,” Lock said.

  Natalie said, “Can you get my blue dress out of the dryer? It’s going to wrinkle.”

  Candice made a face. “You’re going to wear that blue-and-beige thing? Why?”

  “Now, please,” Natalie said. After Candice left, she turned to Lock and shrugged. “She’s sassy as hell, but the kids love her.”

  Lock asked, “Where are the children now?”

  “Locked in the basement,” she said.

  Lock laughed, surprised. “Well then, I think we’re done here. Thanks for your time.”

  She smiled at him and said, “They’re at Red Cedar Woods Children’s Academy,” she said. “The driver drops them here around three thirty.” She glanced at the clock on the oven. “They’ll be here any minute now.”

  “If they’re in school, why do you have a nanny?” he asked.

  “She’s mostly for nights and weekends,” Natalie said. “And she does some of the cleaning, too. Plus, she’s the only one with the key to the basement.”

  Lock laughed again. She stood and said, “Sorry, I need to put something else on. I’m freezing in here. I was taking care of my flowers when you showed up, and it’s almost eighty in the solarium.”

  Lock watched her walk out of the room, and he thought she knew he was watching her. He smiled and shook his head. She wasn’t as bad as he had first thought. Bored, disappointed in her marriage, maybe, but
not a bad person. He hoped that whatever he discovered during his investigation wouldn’t ruin that perception.

  She returned soon wearing yoga pants and a sweatshirt and went to the refrigerator. “Water?” she asked.

  “No thanks. You keep flowers?” Lock said.

  “Blue orchids,” she said, and then, “Actually, there’s no such thing as a blue orchid. It’s a lie. Orchids are found in nature in every color except blue and black. The blue ones you see in a garden center or grocery store, they’re dyed. Future blooms will be white. My orchids are a shade of purple as close to a blue as you can get. That’s why I’m going to win the prize at the Philadelphia Flower Show in March.”

  He watched her pour a glass of water from a pitcher, and in the reflection on the sliding glass door, she caught his eye.

  “Are you sure you’re from Brandywine County?” she asked. “You dress better than I’d expect. Are you sure you’re not a private investigator for my husband?”

  “Practically certain.”

  She sat down again, and he handed her his business card. Their fingers touched for a moment. She rubbed her thumb over the gold-embossed official county shield on Lock’s card.

  “That complaint you have?” she said. “Probably Humphries’s idea. Humphries is Witt’s lawyer. It’s based on nothing.”

  “Filing a false report to a government authority is serious business.”

  “I’m sure it is. I hope my husband gets in trouble. In August, we went to a marriage counselor,” she said. “Witt has a thing for girls half his age. Every one of them looks identical. They usually look something like me, only younger. I just had my thirty-fifth birthday. There was this one he flirted with for hours over the counter at a mall jewelry store. He leaves Edwina in charge of her little sister on a bench in the mall. A four-year-old watching a baby not even two years old. In a mall. Someone called security, and security called the police. They couldn’t find Witt for twenty minutes.”

  Lock made a note.

  “Which mall?”

  “Concord. Witt told the police he had his eye on the kids the whole time. He said it wouldn’t happen again. The marriage counselor told him if that kind of thing gets to court, the judge would see that the more reliable parent gets primary custody. Witt laughed at the counselor and told her that his lawyer said it would take more than that.”

  “He’s probably right.”

  “Witt does the math fast,” she said. “He’d have to pay child support. Ten or fifteen thousand a month, I guess. You’re here because Humphries is trying to build a case against me so Witt gets sole custody and doesn’t have to pay.”

  “Ten or fifteen thousand?”

  She shrugged. “He’s not stupid. He’s good at making money.”

  Lock made another note. “You understand that I need to see your children and I need to talk to Mr. Mannheim.” He put his notes into the envelope. “I’ll tell you, though, that based on what you’ve told me and my observations here this afternoon, I don’t get the sense that your kids are in imminent danger, so...” He opened his calendar. “How’s tomorrow night? I’ll come back and see the children and Mr. Mannheim. Tuesday. Seven thirty?” he said.

  “Sorry. Yoga practice with the instructor at his studio. No last-minute cancels, or I’m out one hundred and twenty-five dollars.”

  “This is important,” he said.

  “I know,” she said. “I really do. It’s fine. I’ll talk to him. I’ve never canceled before, so maybe he’ll make an exception.”

  Lock looked at his calendar again. “How about the night after, then? Wednesday. Seven thirty. Do you need to call your husband to make sure he’ll be available?”

  “He’ll be here, believe me. Too much of a control freak to miss this.”

  There was a knock at the door. Candice came in from another room and walked past Lock and Natalie. She opened the door. The driver and two young children came into the kitchen.

  “They’re home,” the driver said. “And look what little Edwina has to show you.”

  Candice took the younger child into her arms and left the room. Lock watched them leave. He had wanted to get a good look at both kids.

  Edwina dropped her coat onto the tile floor, ran to her mother, crawled into her lap, and waved a brightly painted papier-mâché object in her face. The coat told Lock that at least today the kids weren’t underdressed. And the way Edwina had run to her mother was at least some evidence of a loving relationship. That made him feel a kind of relief, and he knew he was allowing himself to take her side before he knew enough.

  Natalie took the papier-mâché from her daughter’s hand and examined it. “This is wonderful, honey. What is it?”

  “You know, silly,” the child said. “It’s White-Mane.”

  Natalie looked at Lock. “That’s her pony.”

  Lock put his pen down and turned in his seat to Edwina. He looked at the child’s creation and smiled. “Is your real pony in your bedroom?”

  “No!” Edwina said, laughing.

  “White-Mane is out in the barn. He’s real,” said Natalie.

  “If your pony’s mane is white,” Lock said, “why did you paint it blue? Is that your favorite color?”

  Then Edwina pushed herself back further into her mother’s lap and buried her head into Natalie’s chest. Lock looked for bruises, but Edwina was wearing leggings and a sweater. Her behavior showed none of the telltale signs of abuse, no extreme shyness or clinging or crying without apparent cause.

  “That’s Mr. Lock, honey. He’s our friend. You can answer him.”

  “No.”

  “That’s okay,” Natalie said.

  “See you in the morning,” the driver said.

  ‘Thank you, Jackson,” Natalie said. “We won’t forget your coffee tomorrow morning. Sorry about that.”

  “That’s okay, ma’am,” he said, closing the door behind him.

  Edwina wriggled the papier-mâché pony free from her mother’s grasp and slid off her lap. She approached Lock and held the little pony out to him.

  “Do you want to keep this forever?” she said. “It’s White-Mane.”

  “Could I really? I would keep him forever, and I would feed him and brush him every day.”

  Edwina laughed again. “Okay,” she said.

  Lock took it and set it on the table and admired it. “What should I feed him?”

  “Apples and oats. He even eats apples with brown spots on them. He doesn’t care.”

  “That’s good, because I don’t eat the ones with brown spots,” Lock said. “Thank you so much, Edwina.”

  “Okay, honey,” Natalie said. “Go see what Candice and Dahlia are up to.”

  Edwina gave her and Lock another look before walking toward the other room.

  “Say goodbye to Mr. Lock,” Natalie said.

  “Can he stay and eat dinner with us?” Edwina said.

  “Not tonight, honey, maybe some other night.”

  Edwina pouted.

  Lock said, “Thank you so much for White-Mane, Edwina.”

  The child skipped out of the room, and Natalie stood up. “So? Did I pass?”

  “She seems fine, Mrs. Mannheim,” he said, writing on a form. “She looks fine.”

  “My name is Natalie. Please don’t call me Mrs. Mannheim. It reminds me of Mr. Mannheim.”

  “Natalie. Got it.” Lock continued to write.

  “Anything else, then?”

  He looked up and they locked eyes for a moment.

  “Uh, yes, a couple of things. Any chance you could call the nanny to bring the little one—”

  “Dahlia.”

  “Any chance you could bring Dahlia back? I’d like to meet her.”

  Natalie nodded and called, “Candice? Can you come in here with Dahlia?”

  Candice appea
red instantly, holding Dahlia in her arms.

  “Were you standing in the hallway listening to us?” Natalie asked.

  “Not at all. I don’t eavesdrop.”

  “Not much,” Natalie said. “Give me Dahlia.”

  Candice handed Dahlia over, and Natalie gave the child a hug and set her down on the floor. She immediately crawled to Lock and pulled herself up into a standing position, using Lock’s pant leg as a grip.

  “May I pick her up?” he asked Natalie.

  “Of course,” she said. “You’re very good with kids.”

  Lock smiled and said, “Best part of the job.” He picked her up and sat her on his knee. He looked her over. She seemed normal in weight and height, her color was good, and there was no bruising he could see. Dahlia extended both of her arms toward Natalie and whimpered. Lock immediately handed her over, though he wished he could hold her for a little longer. He loved the contradictory lightness and solidity of little children and their moment-to-moment way of navigating each day. They met the world with no preconceptions. A child was an empty cup to pour the whole universe into. All they needed was to be nurtured and loved, and they became people. Lock had always thought that was a kind of magic, the way you could just put a seed into dirt and something wholly different grew from it.

  He smiled at Natalie, and he knew from the look on her face that his smile must have reflected some sadness. He could tell she wanted to ask him a question, but he shook his head. He lived with his losses, and he thought he wouldn’t mind telling her about them, but not now. This was work, not friendship.

  The baby struggled to stand up in her mother’s lap. Natalie helped her. Dahlia threw her arms around Natalie’s neck and craned around to see Lock. He forced a smile.

  “And what do you think of her? Starved and beaten?”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea to say things like that in front of her,” Lock said.

  “You think she understands?”

  “Yes, I do. And no, I don’t see any sign of anything wrong. She seems happy and healthy.”

  “I’m glad you think so. You know, you love your kids so much, it’s scary to think someone is saying you don’t. That you might lose them because of it.”