by Lisa Regan
Josie was glad the woman was chatty, and she wouldn’t have to work too hard to bring up the subject she was really aiming for. “Oh no,” Josie answered. “I mean, maybe one day. The world is a scary place these days. The thought of bringing a child into this chaos…” She trailed off, and the woman picked up the thread immediately.
“Oh, every parent feels like that, dear. When my daughter was born, I was terrified. It seemed like the world was worse than it ever was. Then, a few years later, my son was born, and it seemed even worse. But life goes on, and you manage.”
“Thanks,” Josie said. A large printer across the room whirred noisily as it spat out several sheets of paper. The librarian bustled over to it and picked them up. Josie thanked her again before she was called away by another patron. Settling back at her computer station, Josie pulled up the newspaper database again and searched the words baby and adopted for the years 1982 and 1983.
The shadow at the back of her mind had fallen away as she spoke with the librarian, revealing what had been bothering her. When Shannon Payne talked about her twins, she talked about the day they were born. When the manager at the Eudora told Josie about his drug-addicted son, he used the same language: the day his son was born. When the librarian talked about her own children, she too used the word born.
But when Josie and her team interviewed Sophia Bowen, she had said that she stopped working in the summer of 1983 “when we brought our eldest son home.” Something about the phrasing had stuck in the back of Josie’s mind, needling her, begging to be examined further. Maybe she was reaching. She was no longer chief and didn’t have a police department to run to keep herself busy. Maybe she was just making things up to keep herself distracted from the fact that her life had fallen apart, and neither she nor the Denton PD were any closer to finding Lila Jensen. Perhaps Sophia Bowen had merely been referring to the day they’d brought their eldest son home from the hospital.
It was a long shot. She knew that. Adoptions weren’t the sort of thing that ended up in newspapers—not in the ’80s, and not now. But if a prominent judge and his young bride adopted a baby, there was the tiniest possibility it would have been newsworthy on a slow day.
With time on her hands and a research database at her fingertips, Josie had nothing to lose.
Most of the results were articles having to do with changes to the adoption laws in the state, lawsuits, and adopted children searching for their birth parents. Her heart leapt as she found what she was looking for in an issue of the Bellewood Record from December of 1987—the same year as the fire that took the Paynes’ daughter and their home. It was just a small piece buried on page eight of the paper next to the announcements of the schedules of various church services over the holidays.
Five Years Later, Alcott County’s Manger Baby Plays Joseph in Live Nativity.
* * *
When he was only a few days old, little Andrew Bowen was the unwilling star of the Maplewood Baptist Church’s outdoor nativity. Just before Christmas of 1982, someone left him swaddled in white cotton towels in the manger of the church’s nativity scene. Residents of Alcott County were shocked by the discovery. The Manger Baby, as he became known after he was discovered, had been left in the freezing cold during an evening church service. Members of the congregation heard his cries as they left the service and called the police. Although the baby’s parents were never found, he found a family with local judge Malcolm Bowen and his wife, Sophia.
The Manger Baby’s case came across the judge’s docket after he was placed in the foster care system. “As soon as I saw him, I fell in love,” Judge Bowen recalls. “My wife and I were already trying for children, and I came home after seeing that baby for the first time and said, ‘Sophia, what do you think about adoption?’ Of course, she was on board immediately.”
The Bowens were able to bring the Manger Baby home in the summer of 1983, when he was six months old. “It was the happiest day of my life,” Sophia Bowen exclaimed. “I became a mother.”
Five years later, young Andrew Bowen is thriving in his new home—he even has a little brother—and this year he will star as Joseph in the live nativity at the very same rural church where he was abandoned as an infant.
“We’ve made our peace with what Andrew’s biological parents did to him. We’ve forgiven them, and we hope when Andrew grows up, he will too. We don’t know what type of desperate situation the mother was in that she would give up such a precious little baby. What I know is that God gave us a gift,” Sophia Bowen said. “Andrew made us parents for the first time. There is no greater gift than that.”
Just in time for Christmas.
* * *
Knowing what she knew about Malcolm Bowen and Belinda Rose, the cheery, saccharine tone of the article made Josie’s stomach turn. She thought of the photos of Andrew Bowen she’d seen in Sophia’s home, and of the times she’d met him in his capacity as a criminal attorney in Denton. He was the spitting image of Malcolm Bowen, except blond. Was it possible that Malcolm Bowen had arranged to adopt his own son? Had Belinda left the baby in the manger?
Josie thought of the locket Belinda had returned with after she disappeared to give birth to her baby. It was one thing for her to go off and have the baby and then abandon him somewhere, but she had been gone for months, not days. Belinda Rose had had a plan. She had had somewhere to go. She had had help. Malcolm Bowen would have had enough power and influence to make sure that his own son ended up with him and Sophia.
On her phone, Josie googled Andrew Bowen’s office number and called it. His secretary told her that he was in court. She left her cell phone number and asked that he call her when he was out. She was still reeling from her discovery about the Bowens when her phone rang in her hand. She recognized the number immediately and answered.
“Chief Quinn?”
“Mrs. Payne?” Josie said. “Shannon Payne?”
Chapter Sixty-Six
Josie caught several glares from nearby library users and lowered her voice, pressing the phone to her ear, gathering up her printouts, and heading outside. “Thank you for calling me back, Mrs. Payne,” she said.
A cool wind whipped up the steps of the library, so Josie moved behind one of the columns and out of the stream of people going in and out of the building.
Shannon Payne said, “I’m returning your call about my daughter. I talked to one of your detectives earlier. Is everything okay?” Josie heard her breath catch in her throat. “I guess it’s not, or you wouldn’t be calling—the chief of police. My God—”
“Mrs. Payne,” Josie interjected before she became hysterical, “I’m sorry. I don’t have any news. I was just calling to follow up and make sure that you, your husband, and your son are safe. I assure you that my team is doing everything they can to find Trinity.”
She hated lying to Shannon, especially while she was under such stress and worried about her child, but trying to explain the current situation would take too long. Plus, Josie knew that it was true that Denton PD would do everything in their power to find Trinity—Gretchen and Noah were already several steps ahead of her if they’d already contacted the Paynes.
“Oh, thank you,” Shannon said. “I certainly appreciate that. We’re fine. I mean, we’re not fine. We’re worried about my daughter, but we’re all accounted for and safe.”
“Excellent,” Josie said. “I just had a couple more questions, if you don’t mind. Does Trinity have a boyfriend?”
Shannon laughed. “Oh no. She doesn’t have time for that.”
“Thought so,” Josie said. “How about close friends? Anyone she would perhaps go and stay with if she needed to get away?”
Shannon was silent for a moment. Then she said, “I hate to say this, but Trinity doesn’t really have time for friends either. That sounds terrible, but you have to understand, she’s very career-driven.”
Josie couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, I know, Mrs. Payne.”
Shannon laughed as well, albeit a little n
ervously. “I guess you would. She’s worked with you on a couple of cases, hasn’t she?”
“Yes, she’s been an invaluable resource.”
“I gave Detective Palmer the names of all the people I could think of that she’s friendly with in New York,” Shannon said. “But really, if she needed to get away for a while, she’d come here.”
“I understand,” Josie said, throat tightening. If Trinity didn’t have any friends, lovers, or other close associates she might run to in her time of need, then the likelihood that Lila was holding her against her will increased exponentially. Josie continued, “If you have any questions or you need anything at all, you can call Lieutenant Fraley or Detective Palmer. Of course, you’re welcome to contact me as well, but they’ll be actively working the case.”
“Well, there was just one more thing,” said Shannon. “Since I’ve got you on the phone.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
“Well, I don’t know that it has anything to do with Trinity, but it’s been bothering me.” She stopped. For a moment, Josie thought the call had dropped. Then she added, “It’s silly. I don’t even know why I’m bringing it up.”
“Go on,” Josie said. “I’m listening.”
A sigh. “Well, WYEP is running a story about a woman the Denton PD is trying to locate. They keep showing her picture and saying she is a person of interest in a number of local crimes. It’s quite an old photo, though.”
“Yes,” Josie said, wondering where this was going. “Her name was Lila Jensen, but she used the alias Belinda Rose for many years.”
“I knew her as Belinda.”
Josie’s heartbeat skipped twice. “What?”
“My husband thinks I’m crazy,” she said, laughing nervously.
“That’s men for you,” Josie replied. “Go on.”
“She used to work for the cleaning service that came out to our house. In the mid to late ’80s.”
“Handy Helpers?” Josie asked before remembering that Handy Helpers had closed in 1984 after the death of its owner.
“Oh, no. I think they were called AB Clean. There were a few girls who used to come out, and she was one of them. After she started, things began disappearing from our home. Mostly my jewelry. I reported her to her boss, and he fired her. Not even a week later, our home burned to the ground. My girls were home with the nanny. They were only a few weeks old. Only Trinity survived.”
“I’m aware of the fire,” Josie said. “Did the authorities ever check her alibi?”
“They did look into it, they claimed, and said she had an alibi for the day of the fire, but I’ve always thought…” She trailed off.
Josie filled in the end of her sentence: “You think Belinda had something to do with the fire?”
A heavy sigh. “I don’t know. I’ve never even been able to say it out loud until very recently. Like I said, the police told us that she was nowhere near Callowhill when the fire started. But it always bothered me. She was… there was something about her, something… dark. That sounds terrible. Really, I should just shut up. None of this has anything to do with my daughter. I’m probably just trying to distract myself—bringing up this old stuff so I don’t have to think about where my daughter might be or what’s happening to her.” Josie heard her sob, then suck in several deep breaths. Then she added, “I don’t know if I’m even making sense.”
Josie leaned against the column and closed her eyes, the phone still pressed to her ear. “You’re making perfect sense.”
Shannon took in several more breaths. “Anyway, I just saw her picture on the television, and it gave me a shock. It brought back all the memories from the fire. It just hit too close to home. Losing a child, and now with Trinity missing…”
It was too strange, too coincidental. Belinda getting fired from cleaning the Paynes’ house and then the fire soon after. All of it taking place the year Josie was born.
“I understand,” Josie said. “I do. Listen, if you don’t mind my asking, where were the girls when the fire started?”
“They were sleeping in their playpen in the family room. The nanny—before she died—said they were both asleep, and she’d just nipped to the bathroom for a moment. When she came out, the downstairs was filled with smoke. She said she could hardly see. She ran to the family room to get the girls, but only Trinity was still in the playpen. She scooped Trinity up and ran her outside. One of our neighbors had come out by then. The nanny handed Trinity to her and went back in. When the fire department arrived, they found her searching the house and made her come out. The police were always very suspicious of her. They never believed her story that only one of the girls was in the playpen. If she hadn’t died, I think they would have tried to pin the whole thing on her. But if she had started the fire, why would she rescue only one of the girls, and then go back into the house? It makes no sense. She was lucky she survived for the few days she did after the fire. The fire department said my daughter was—” Shannon’s words halted, and a high-pitched cry penetrated Josie’s ear. She took several moments to recover herself, and Josie could hear her quiet weeping like a hundred thorns piercing her heart. Clearing her throat, Shannon said, “The fire chief told us that she had been… incinerated in the fire. She was so tiny. We didn’t even have any remains to bury.”
Josie tried to speak—to say she was sorry, to utter some words of comfort or empathy. She wasn’t a mother, but it had taken her only moments to bond with little baby Harris. Even though she saw him infrequently, she knew that if anything ever happened to him, she would never recover. And Misty would be utterly destroyed. Normal mothers—good mothers—loved their children. This was a fact Josie had always known intellectually, but never experienced.
“I’m sorry,” Shannon said. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. It’s ridiculous. Like I said, I’m just deflecting or whatever psychologists call it so I don’t have to think about the fact that my Trinity is missing.”
“I’ll find her,” Josie said, her voice returning. This she could do. “I promise you, I’m going to find her.”
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Lisette was in her usual spot in the cafeteria, sitting at a table working on a crossword puzzle as other residents drifted in and out. A pair of glasses sat low on the bridge of her nose, and her gray curls fell around her face as her head bent to the page in front of her. She looked up when Josie appeared beside her. “Sweetheart, how lovely to see you. In the middle of the day too.” She craned her neck to look behind Josie. “Work again?”
Josie shook her head. Lisette must have seen from her expression that something was very wrong. Abandoning her puzzle, she stood and grasped both sides of her walker, pushing past Josie. “Come then, we’ll talk in my room.”
Lisette sat in her recliner while Josie perched across from her on the edge of her bed. “What’s going on, Josie?” Lisette asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Gram,” Josie said, “I need to ask you some questions, and I need you to be honest. Promise me. If you do nothing else for me in this life, I need you to answer my questions truthfully.”
Lisette gave a nervous chuckle. “Of course, dear.”
“When I was born, was my dad there at the hospital?”
The faint smile on Lisette’s face tightened into something strained. “No, he wasn’t. Your mother—well they’d been living together, and they got into some big fight. Your mother left. She was gone for months. Eli thought it was over. He never expected to see her again, honestly. He was about to move out of the trailer, had met another girl and gone on a few dates with her. Then one day he came home, and there was your mother sitting on his couch with you in the crook of her arm.”
A band of pain wrapped itself around Josie’s skull. Throbbing began in her temples. “She just showed up with a baby one day?”
“Not just a baby. You.”
“Dad didn’t question the paternity?”
“Of course not,” Lisette scoffed. “What kind of man would do that? Belinda s
aid that she found out she was a few months along after she left him, and that she wasn’t going to even tell him about you, but that once you came the guilt was too much, so she came back. She gave him the option—to be involved, or not. Naturally, your father wanted to be involved. He loved you the very instant he saw you.”
Josie knew that there weren’t DNA tests back in 1987—not the kind that were readily available to anyone in the public. These days, you could order a paternity kit online, swab your cheek, and mail it to a lab. But in the late ’80s, if you had suspicions, you’d have no way of proving whether or not a child was your own.
“Did she say what hospital I was born in?”
“Oh, she had a home birth. Actually, she hadn’t even sent away for your birth certificate until after she brought you home to your father.”
“How old?” Josie asked. “How old was I?”
“Three months. She brought you home sometime in December; it was the most wonderful Christmas present we’d ever received!”
Under normal circumstances, Josie would smile, basking in the love her grandmother had for her. But at the moment, every muscle in her face felt frozen. The suspicion that had started growing during her conversation with Shannon Payne was still shrouded in her mind. To tear away the veil would mean shattering everything she knew to be true. Not to mention the absurdity of what she now suspected about the Payne fire and her own origins. She couldn’t bring herself to think it, let alone say it aloud.
“Josie, why are you asking me these questions? What’s wrong?”
Josie’s voice trembled. “Did you know right away that I was someone else’s child?”
Lisette went very still, holding her posture like a granite statue. “What are you talking about?”
“I don’t look like Dad,” Josie said. “And I don’t look like you.”
“You got your mother’s looks,” Lisette said.
