by Meg Benjamin
“Mrs. M. gives me tuna.” Daisy looked doleful. “I don’t like tuna.”
“No tuna here. It’s chicken.” Jess was beginning to feel slightly desperate. “Maybe you can’t handle that spoon by yourself. Would you like me to help you?”
“I can do it myself!” Daisy gave her an outraged look, then jammed a spoonful of soup in her mouth. After a moment’s pause to evaluate it, she swallowed and dipped her spoon again.
Jess grabbed a bite of her own soup, then gave Jack another spoonful of his turkey.
“I’m gonna marry Jack,” Daisy announced.
Jess raised an eyebrow at her as she managed another bite of soup. “Are you?”
Daisy nodded. “When I’m five. He’s too little now.”
“Yes.” Jess wiped Jack’s mouth quickly. “Very high maintenance.”
Daisy’s brow furrowed. “What’s high main’nance?”
“A lot of work,” Jess explained. “He can’t take care of himself very well yet.”
“I take care of myself.”
“Yes,” Jess agreed quickly. “You’re a big girl. He’s a baby.”
Daisy shrugged. “He’ll be old when I’m five.”
Jess felt a sudden twinge. Don’t grow up Jack, not yet, not yet. “He’ll be older, anyway.”
The next crisis came after lunch, but Jess was ready for this one.
“I don’t take naps,” Daisy snapped, pushing her lower lip forward again. “I’m too big.”
Jess shook her head. “That’s too bad. I was going to give you the bower. I guess I’ll have to give it to Jack instead.”
Daisy narrowed her eyes. “What’s a bow-wow?”
Jess pointed toward the window alcove she’d equipped with a stack of lace-covered pillows and a woven throw from the guest cabin. “Over there. It even has a drawbridge you can pull up.” The baby fence she used to keep Jack away from the window leaned against the wall next to the pillows.
Daisy stared at the alcove, blinking, then turned back to Jess. “I’ll try. Can I take those?” She pointed at the stack of Jack’s picture books.
Jess nodded. “Sure. But I need to get Jack ready for his nap. It would go faster if I had some help. Do you think you’d be able to do that?”
Daisy’s eyes narrowed in disdain. “Course I can. He’s a baby.”
“Yes, he is,” Jess agreed, settling into the rocking chair in Jack’s room. “Why don’t you pick out a book for us to read while I give him the rest of his lunch?” She pushed her T-shirt up and began unfastening the nursing bra.
Daisy stared at her wide-eyed.
Well, crap. “I’m going to nurse Jack, Daisy. Do you know what that means?”
Daisy shook her head, totally silent for the first time all day.
“It means he’s still getting part of his food from me. That’s what mothers do for babies until they’re older.” She angled Jack’s head into the crook of her elbow as he fastened enthusiastically onto her nipple.
Daisy was still staring. “Did my mama do that for me?”
“Probably,” Jess hedged. “It’s good for babies. Did you find a book?”
Daisy nodded, handing Jess a large picture book she’d pulled from the stack.
“Okay.” Jess extended the arm not holding Jack and helped Daisy clamber into her lap. “You’ll need to turn the pages, but you can do that, can’t you?”
“I can do that.” Daisy nodded. “I’m a big girl. And Jack’s a baby.”
“I know.” Jess sighed. “Believe me, I know.”
The call came in late afternoon. Lydia was unsurprised. Roy Westerman was a weasel, but he was her weasel. She knew he’d find someone, particularly since he’d have a commission on whatever his contractor was paid.
She clicked the connect button on the cell phone she’d purchased just for this particular caller, then flicked the lock on her office door. It wouldn’t do to have someone wander in during this call. Particularly Preston. “Yes?”
“Mrs. Moreland?”
The voice sounded oddly distorted. It took her a moment to realize the contractor was using some voice-disguising device. She was momentarily annoyed but decided to ignore it. “This is Lydia Moreland. To whom am I speaking?”
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. The thin, metallic voice sounded faintly amused. “If you need a name, you can call me Smith. Or Jones. Or anything else you choose. Any name I gave you would be a convenience, nothing more, Mrs. Moreland.”
Lydia’s jaw tightened. “Very well, Smythe. I assume you’ve spoken with Roy Westerman.”
“I have. I’ve also studied the documents he sent me—the results of your lawyer’s ‘search’.” Smythe’s tone was definitely contemptuous.
“Inadequate, I know.” Lydia settled into the leather chair behind her desk. “That’s why I asked Westerman to find someone like you.”
“Yes,” Smythe murmured. “Keeping things legal does tend to slow a search down. Particularly when the searchee doesn’t want to be found.”
Once again there was a touch of amusement in the odd electronic voice that Lydia found annoying. “Then I assume you can find her more quickly.”
“Certainly,” he purred. “Provided I’m adequately paid for it. The question is, what do you want me to do once I’ve found her?”
“Do?” She frowned. Was he really that dense? “Notify me, of course.”
“Really? And what will you do after that?” Again the note of amusement, mixed this time with a hint of sarcasm.
“That is none of your concern,” she snapped.
“Perhaps not. On the other hand, you might want to think about what you want to do once you’ve located your daughter-in-law. I’d hate to see my efforts go for nothing.” He sounded bored now.
Lydia bit back her immediate retort. She wanted results. Up until now, she hadn’t gotten them. “What are you proposing, Smythe?”
Again, a faint pause. “Is it your daughter-in-law you really want, Mrs. Moreland?”
She stopped to think. “No. I don’t particularly want to see her again. But she has my grandson.”
“Yes. But in fact it’s the child you’re interested in finding, isn’t it? Not the mother.”
“Not the mother,” she echoed.
“So if you could have the child without the mother, wouldn’t that make more sense, Mrs. Moreland?” The electronic voice hummed in her ear, rather like a finely tuned machine.
She ran her tongue across her lips. “Is that a possibility, Smythe?”
“Oh, it’s more than a possibility, Mrs. Moreland,” he murmured. “In fact, I’d say it’s the best solution to your problem, all around.”
“But…” She paused to gather her thoughts. “You’d bring the child to me directly? Unharmed?”
“If that’s what you want.” His voice was brisk. “Of course, it would require more compensation. My expenses would be greater.”
“Of course.” She took a deep breath, considering. “Keep it as a possibility. For now, just find the woman and my grandson. Once that’s done, we’ll proceed from there.”
“All right, Mrs. Moreland. I’ll be in touch.” The click of the disconnect sounded remarkably loud against her ear.
Lydia sat staring at the cell phone in her hand as if she could see “Smythe’s” face through the screen. She wondered idly how far she was prepared to go, but the thought really was idle. In fact, she knew precisely how far she’d take this.
And Smythe would get her there.
Lars arrived at Jessamyn Carroll’s front door promptly at five. He’d been tempted to come early, but he wanted to give her the full day so that she’d know exactly what she was up against. Mrs. Melendez had frequently looked like she’d spent the day chasing a herd of cats when he’d appeared on her doorstep.
Jessamyn Carroll didn’t look appreciably different from the way she’d looked at eight-thirty that morning. Her feathery golden hair framed her face, looking as if she’d run her fingers through
it just before answering the door. Her eyes were the color of a stormy sea.
For just a moment, he wondered what she’d look like with makeup, in a dress. Then he ruthlessly pushed that thought into the farthest corner of his mind.
“Oh, hello.” She pushed the hair away from her eyes, bouncing her son on her hip. “Is it five already? I guess we lost track.”
“Daddy!” Daisy yelled, cannon-balling into his knees.
Lars gathered her up and gave her a hug. “Hi, Dais. Did you have a good time?”
Daisy wriggled out of his arms, grabbing his hand on the way down. “C’mon, Daddy, come see the bow-wow.”
“The bow-wow?” He turned back toward Ms. Carroll as Daisy towed him through the living room like a determined tugboat.
“Bower,” she explained, as if he should know exactly what that meant.
Daisy stopped in front of a deep window alcove full of pillows. It was covered in a velvet throw with an angel pattern, probably from Margaret Hastings’ angel shop downtown. “My bow-wow.” She pointed at a pile of pillows and picture books. “I sleep in there.”
“Daisy takes her nap in the bower.” Ms. Carroll shifted her son to her other hip as she gestured at a mesh baby gate. “We raise the drawbridge.”
The baby, Jack, looked up at him, grinning a guileless baby grin. Lars managed not to blink at his mother again. He figured it was best to just go with it. “I guess that keeps her in.”
Daisy gave him a look of pure outrage. “No, Daddy. It keeps everybody out. Just me inside.”
“Daisy decides when it comes down,” Ms. Carroll added. “And then she joins us.”
He nodded. Better than razor wire.
“And we read stories,” Daisy continued. “And I saw Mrs. Carroll’s booby!”
There was a beat of absolute silence in the room except for Jack’s coos. Ms. Carroll’s face turned a very attractive shade of pink, Lars noted. Much better than blusher.
“Okay. Well, time to go home, Dais,” he muttered. “Go get your coat.”
He watched Daisy bounce off down the hall, black curls flying. No wonder Jack had been entranced.
Behind him, Ms. Carroll cleared her throat. “I’m still nursing Jack. That’s what Daisy meant.”
Lars turned back toward her. Her cheeks were still faintly pink, but her forehead was creased. She looked worried. It took him a moment to understand what she was worried about, and then he felt incongruously like laughing. “Right. Look, don’t worry, Ms. Carroll, I figured it was something like that. Daisy is a genius at saying things I really wish she wouldn’t.”
She took a quick breath, then gave him a faint smile. “Maybe you should call me Jess.”
He thought of telling her no, telling her they should keep their interactions strictly business. But instead he found himself saying, “Call me Lars.”
“Okay, Lars.” Her smile widened slightly, just enough to delve those dimples in her cheeks.
Daisy galloped back into the room, trailing her coat behind her. Jack chuckled with delight. “Can we go to the bar with Uncle Pete and Uncle Cal?” Daisy pleaded.
He took a deep breath. “You can’t go into bars, Dais. I told you that.”
“But Uncle Pete and Uncle Cal can. And Auntie Docia and Aunt Janie. Why can’t I?”
He held the jacket for her, deftly inserting one of her arms in a sleeve. “Your uncles and aunts are all big people. When you’re big you can go to a bar.” He closed his eyes briefly. “Or not. That is, you might not want to. That is…”
He glanced up at Jess. Her lips were pressed tight, as if she was trying very hard not to grin. Jack waved his arms desperately at Daisy, whimpering.
“Time to go now, Dais,” Lars repeated, herding her gently toward the door.
“Okay. Bye, Jack. Bye, Mrs. Carroll. See you tomorrow.” Daisy sailed through the door, giving Lars just enough time to aim a distracted grin in Jess’s general direction as he trotted after her.
He grabbed Daisy’s hand before she got too far in front of him. “Slow down, Dais.”
She looked up at him with huge brown eyes, the color of blackstrap molasses. Toleffson eyes. His eyes. Lars felt another of those quick shots to the gut he’d felt ever since he’d picked Daisy up the first time, staring down at the smallish bundle in the receiving blanket the nurse had handed him.
“Daddy,” she murmured sweetly, “did Mama feed me with her boobies?”
Lars sighed. “Come on, Daisy, let’s head home.”
Chapter Four
By the end of the week, when Lars joined his family for their usual Friday night potluck supper, he had decided Jess Carroll was probably a witch. He figured nothing less than magic could explain her ability to manage Daisy, Jack and the Lone Oak Bed and Breakfast without losing her mind. Managing Daisy alone was making major inroads into his own sanity.
Now he sat in Cal’s oversize rocker and watched his brothers and sisters-in-law try to deal with Daisy, two dogs and a cat while they put food on the table. They didn’t seem overly harassed, but then they didn’t have to deal with all four on a daily basis.
Cal’s Chihuahua had established an uneasy alliance with Pete’s greyhound. Both of them were thoroughly cowed by Docia’s demonic black cat. So was Lars, truth be told. Daisy, of course, wasn’t cowed by anybody.
Friday dinners rotated from one Toleffson house to another. Cal and Docia lived in a terrific renovated barn he’d found and rented after moving to Konigsburg three years ago. Docia’s parents had given it to them as a wedding present. Pete and Janie lived in a former bed and breakfast they’d reconverted into a single-family home. It had a great yard, a strange mauve paint job, and serpentine halls that led to more bedrooms than any sane family could use.
Lars studied Cal’s living room, with its warm wooden walls and its vaulted ceiling high overhead, and wondered when he’d have time to find a real home for himself and his daughter. Right now they were renting a pleasantly bland house next door to Pete and Janie on a pleasantly bland residential street with lots of pleasantly bland elderly retirees. They all thought Daisy was adorable from a distance. He had a feeling she’d lose a lot of her appeal if she got much closer. He sighed. One more thing to put on the to-do list for when he had the time and the energy. To say nothing of the money.
Once upon a time he’d been as lively as his brothers. These days, he felt lucky if he could drag himself out of bed in time to fix Daisy a decent breakfast.
His brothers were both working in the kitchen, along with his sisters-in-law and Allie Maldonado. The barn consisted of one large room downstairs with a couple of bedrooms in the loft upstairs. The downstairs room had areas for cooking, eating and slacking off, as Lars was currently doing. He watched Cal toss a colossal amount of pasta with some kind of green sauce that Lars devoutly hoped was pesto rather than strained spinach. Since Cal was the only vegetarian in the family, he always made sure at least one entrée was meat-free and usually delicious.
Pete was taking care of the carnivores, slicing a large ham on the cutting board while his wife, Janie, tossed salad on the counter beside him. His greyhound occasionally cast a few hopeful looks his way, but Pete had so far ignored her.
Docia was in charge of dishing up the bread and the bowl of scalloped potatoes that Lars had brought, while Allie, praise be, took care of dessert. Beside him, Wonder took care of nothing much beyond his beer.
“We should help,” Lars ventured.
Wonder shook his head. “Don’t even try. You’d just become collateral damage. This dinner is a well-oiled machine, and you and I would constitute grit in the cogs.”
Allie raised her head, scowling at Wonder. “Not to mention you’re far more comfortable sitting on your ass.”
Lars blinked. Allie and Wonder usually had a playful banter thing going, but that last statement hadn’t sounded particularly playful. Beside him, Wonder’s mouth tightened slightly.
“Far more comfortable,” he agreed.
Allie tu
rned abruptly and walked back toward the kitchen area. Wonder’s gaze after her was bleak.
“Trouble in paradise?” Lars asked. He waited for Wonder to reply something witty, sardonic, Wonderish.
Wonder sat staring after the woman Lars happened to know he loved to distraction. “Trouble in paradise.” He sighed, then swallowed a large gulp of his Spaten.
Lars took a swallow of his own Lone Star. “What did you do?”
“Why do you assume I did anything?” Wonder snapped. “Maybe she did something this time.”
Lars raised his eyebrows.
“Okay, okay,” Wonder muttered. “I asked her to marry me.”
“And she’s mad about that? What did you say?”
“I said, ‘I think maybe it’s time we should probably get married.’” Wonder slid further into his seat. “I think it was the maybe that set her off.”
Lars shook his head. “Couldn’t you have worked a possibly into that? Did she say no?”
“She said I was a moron. I’m not sure if that’s no or yes.”
Lars took another swallow of Lone Star. “I think you’d better come up with something pretty spectacular to apologize.”
“I’m working on it.” Wonder watched Allie as she sailed by again, paying him no attention whatsoever.
Dinner was the usual buffet of chaos. Lars sat at the table with his own plate and Daisy’s side by side, not that Daisy was sitting there herself. She bounced between her aunts and uncles, grazing from the various plates before finally settling into Docia’s lap with a piece of bread and butter.
Lars sighed. His daughter was turning into a feral child before his eyes. “Daisy, at least use a fork.”
Daisy mostly ignored him. “Aunt Docia,” she piped, “is my hair pretty?”
Docia glanced down at her absently. “Sure, Dais, your hair’s gorgeous.”
“Jack thinks so.” Daisy nodded in satisfaction. “He touches it. I’m gonna marry him.”
Docia’s look this time was pure shock. She raised wide eyes to Lars. “What? Who’s this?”
“Jack is nine months old,” Lars explained. “The marriage won’t be for a while yet. He’s Jess’s son.”
