All four ovens were going with pies and cobblers while we wolfed down pastrami sandwiches from Billy’s. Zelda peered into the empty takeout bag. "Any more sandwiches?" I shook my head. Zelda chomped on a dill pickle. "You think you can handle a whole month off?"
The timer buzzed, and I pulled the pumpkin pies out of the first oven. Breathing in their spicy scent I said, "God, I love pumpkin pie."
Then the other timers buzzed and Zelda hopped off her stool. She pulled the apple pies out of the second oven and set them on the cooling rack. "You love the smell of any kind of pie." She stared at me, her oven-mitted hand on her hip. "So? What are you going to do for four whole weeks?"
I pulled the apple cobblers out of the next oven — they bubbled and oozed perfectly. "I don’t know — this and that."
Zelda pulled the pumpkin muffins out of the last two ovens and set them on the back counter to cool. "Bullshit, you’ve got something planned. I know that look."
I slid two baking sheets with mini cheesecakes into the oven, adjusted the temperature and set the timer. I looked at her and laughed. "Calm down, I’m not going to start a restaurant while you’re gone, if that’s what you’re worried about."
Zelda slid two baking sheets of apple turnovers into the oven, closed the door and set the timer. She plopped back onto her stool and said, "Admit it, you’re up to something."
I refilled her coffee cup, then refreshed my tea. "Just because you’re always up to something doesn’t mean I am." I shrugged. "I don’t know. I’ll probably just take it easy."
She squinted at me. "You? Take it easy? Since when do you do that? You can barely sit through a movie without shampooing the rug."
As much as I loved Zelda, her ability to read me was really annoying sometimes. I snagged a couple of muffins from the back counter and set them down in front of her. "Like you said, plans are fluid, right? You don’t know if you’ll be home for Christmas and I don’t know what I’ll do for a month with nothing to do." I peeled back the paper on the warm muffin. "Probably bake a lot of cookies. Read those baby books. Plan the nursery. Get plastic surgery…"
She smacked me with an oven mitt. "I’m serious, Scotti, you need to take it easy."
I crossed my eyes at her. "So what’s the deal, are you on Ted’s payroll now?" I threw out my arms. "I don’t know what I’m going to do. Matt wants to learn some baking techniques, maybe we’ll do lessons. It could take a whole month just to do the Christmas shopping for Ted’s family." I blew the hair off my forehead. "I’m an old married pregnant lady now. Whatever I do will probably be boring as hell."
Zelda ate her muffin and made a face at me. "Yeah, right."
I got up and checked the pies on the back counter. "What we should be talking about is the big week and even bigger weekend ahead of us. How about we focus on that?"
Zelda drank her coffee and stared at me. "Fine. But I’m keeping an eye on you."
I rolled my eyes and laughed. "Oh, okay I better behave then."
"You think just because I won’t be here, I can’t watch you?" She smirked. "I’ve got eyes everywhere."
Chapter Twenty-Two
Thanksgiving week started with a bang and just kept banging. No matter what we had to offer, people bought it up and asked for more. From the looks of it, our pies and cobblers would be gracing many a Thanksgiving table. And I have to say, that made me bubble with pride. On Wednesday, we had to wrap it up early because we ran out of just about everything. All we had to offer the guys at the Foothill station house was coffee, cocoa and a limited choice of muffins. They grumbled, but none of them walked away empty-handed.
I’d traded in my jeans and tee shirts for drawstring sweat pants and a baggy sweatshirt. Much better for bending and of course, breathing. Daniels gave me a thorough once over. "Is it me or are you baking a special kind of bun?"
I passed him his coffee and grumped. "Shut up or I won’t give you the last two pieces of pumpkin pie."
Daniels stuck his face in the window. "You saved pie? For me? I’m touched." He snaked his arm through the window. "Gimme."
I held the paper sack out of his reach. "One piece is for Davis. And I’m going to call her later to make sure she got it, too."
Daniels twisted his lips and frowned. "You drive a hard bargain, but I agree to your terms." I passed the bag through the window, and Daniels tucked it under his suit jacket. "So, when is the blessed event?"
I sighed, resigned to the fact that I wasn't going to convince Daniels his observations were wrong. "May. But keep it under your hat."
He sipped his coffee then grinned. "I thought you had that special glow."
I frowned and flapped a hand at him. "Why are you still standing here? I don’t have anything else to give you."
Daniels glanced over his shoulder then muttered, "Got a call from Joe Enders today. Seems he wants my help in getting a couple of cold case files." His little blue eyes studied me. "Said it’s a favor for you."
I twitched and shushed him. "Keep it down, will you? Yeah, it’s for me."
"What’s it about?"
"It’s personal and keep your big yap shut."
Daniels’ cheery expression clouded. "You in some kind of trouble again?"
I clenched my teeth and shook my head. "No. But I’m not going to explain. Help or don’t but shut your damn mouth!"
Daniels studied me for a few seconds. "Okay Scotti my dear, make sure the next time you swing by you have something besides coffee and cocoa, eh?"
I locked the service window, then went around the front and got into the cab with Zelda. She stared out the window as Daniels retreated into the building. "What was that all about with Daniels?"
"The usual banter."
Zelda threw me a sidelong glance. "Something about your nothing special plans for December?"
I pointed to the road and said, "Just drive."
<<>>
On pins and needles I walked into Joe's office, anxious to learn what he'd found out about Rose Hanson. He jumped out of his chair the minute I walked into the room. Hustling me back out the door he said," You ready?"
"Are we going somewhere?"
He led me by the elbow to the Lincoln. "Won’t take long, we’ll be back lickety-split."
He got into the driver’s seat and I buckled my seatbelt. "Where are we going? What’s this about?"
He put the car in gear and backed out of the drive. "When we get there."
We drove in silence as Joe navigated the big Lincoln into Burbank, past the airport and almost to North Hollywood. When he turned into the entrance of a cemetery, my mouth went dry, and I had to gnaw on my fist to keep from heaving. After the nausea passed I said, "Why are we in a cemetery?" Joe patted my hand but said nothing and stared straight ahead. But I knew exactly why we were there — Rose Hanson was dead. "Shit."
Joe took his time driving through the winding roads as though we were on a pleasant afternoon drive. When we came to a grassy area near a big fountain, he rolled the Lincoln to a stop. I got out of the car, queasy and weak-kneed. The flowers were a sweet taunt to my roiling stomach and twittering birds made me want to cover my ears. "No…Joe, I don’t want…"
Quietly he said, "Yeah, you do.
He took my arm and led me to a gravesite under a big pine. The small placard was dusty and unloved. It was among a cluster of many — like labels of people who once lived but weren’t entitled to any space now that they were dead. Rose Marie Hanson 1966 – 1989. No beloved daughter, sister or mother insignia. Just her name and the dates during which she’d been on Earth.
I sunk down into the grass. My mother died when I was four years old. All the years spent fantasizing about finding her and asking her why, were wasted. She was gone before I could even form the thoughts. Anger and disappointment bubbled up inside me and I plucked grass out of the soft ground. "You could’ve just told me. What’s the point of bringing me here?"
Joe struggled to kneel down next to me then put his hand on my shoulder. "Because som
eday, you’ll want to know where she is. Maybe bring her flowers. Have a chat, set a spell."
I pushed his hand away and got to my feet. "Why would I want to do that? She faked my kidnapping to hide her shame." I scowled at the pitiful grave. "And she doesn’t even have the decency to be alive so I can tell her off."
Joe got to his feet and shook his head. "It ain’t that cut and dried. Rose spent the last of her life looking for you." He tilted his head. "That sound like somebody who faked a kidnapping?"
My eyes filled with tears. "Damn it Joe, stop torturing me and tell me what you know."
Joe shrugged. "Okay sunshine, here’s what I know." He sighed. "Right around the time you went missing, a baby was found in St. Daniel’s church on Prescott and Fitzgerald in North Hollywood. Rose didn’t hear about that until months later."
"Why?"
Joe shrugged. "She was in the hospital over the trauma of losing you. I expect her family kept it from her, so she wouldn’t get more riled up." He looked off to a stand of pines in the distance. "I tracked down a few of her neighbors from back then. She was in a bad way." He looked at me. "Lotta sorrow for one young girl isn’t it?" He shrugged. "Doubt she read the papers any either."
The article had said she was hospitalized, but it seemed a convenient excuse. "How long was she in the hospital?"
"Couple months. When she got out, she started looking for you." He shook his head unhappily. "Back then, DNA testing wasn’t common, so her finding you that way was impossible. But she kept after the police to keep your case open, for all the good it did. After she gave up on expecting help from them, she wrote letters to every adoption agency in the state. To every Child Services office she could find."
I rubbed the back of my neck. "But I was here. Why didn’t she find me? There must’ve been some kind of records."
Joe took my hand and patted it. "It was a different time back then, Scotti. If a mother abandoned her baby, she’d do jail time. I expect the police reports of your kidnapping might’ve swayed Child Services to reject her inquiries."
I stamped my foot. "But…"
Joe held up his hand. "I don’t know sunshine. And there probably ain’t no way to find that out. Her letters went unanswered or ignored or something else." He tipped up my chin. "All I know is that she was looking for you. She never gave up."
I knelt down at the grave and traced the letters of her name with my finger. I looked up at him sadly. "You really think Rose was my mother?"
Joe pulled two photographs out of his breast pocket, then tapped them against the palm of his hand. He gave me one of them and said, "Recognize this?"
I leaned back on my haunches and stared. "Where did you get this? God, I couldn’t have been more than three or four."
He tapped the photo with his finger. "You see what you got yourself wrapped up in there?"
It was my yellow blanket. It had little lavender dots all over it. Just like the one taken with Rose’s baby. I reached for the other photo. "And that one?"
Joe held it out of reach and sighed. "Take a deep breath."
He offered the photo, but something in his eyes made me hesitate. "What is it?"
He placed the photo face down in my hand. "Look. When you’re ready."
My pounding heart roared in my ears and I turned over the photo. The old snapshot was faded and yellowed at the edges but the image was clear enough. The clothes and makeup were dated but she had my cheekbones, my chin and the same weird little divet at the end of her nose. And all of those features were framed by a mop of curly blond hair. My eyes met Joe’s. "Is this real?"
Joe’s voice cracked, "You’re the spitting image of your mama, Scotti."
I nodded and studied the photo. Rose looked directly into the camera as though the world rested on her shoulders. In her arms she held a tiny baby, swaddled in a yellow blanket with lavender dots. I hugged the photo to my heart and wept. "Mommy."
Joe patted my back. "There, there, now."
I stared at Rose’s pitiful grave, and my heart ached. "All these years I thought she was a monster who threw me away. I never even gave her a chance."
Joe offered me a hand and helped me to my feet. "Don’t beat yourself up." He gave me a hankie. "Ain’t no way you coulda known."
I wiped my face and blew my nose. "She was so young, how’d she die?" Joe pursed his lips. I clutched his arm. "Was she sick? Was it some terrible disease? Did she suffer?"
Joe put his hand on my shoulder. "Rose was killed during a robbery in a restaurant where she worked."
I stared at him because that one little thing made me feel like I belonged to someone. "She was a waitress?"
"And a cook." Joe smiled sadly. "Apple don’t fall far from the tree."
I dissolved into tears. "I guess not." Joe put his arms around me and let me cry. I didn’t really know who I was crying for — me or my mother. But all that agony I’d kept locked in for so long rushed out of me. Slashing and cutting as it made its escape and finally leaving me empty. And that was that. The search for my mother had barely begun and ended at a sad little gravesite that nobody visited.
We walked back to the Lincoln but Joe didn’t start the car right away. He rested his hands on the steering wheel and tapped his finger against the leather cover. "They never got him." He glanced at me. "The man who killed Rose. Been a cold case for years." He peered through the windshield at a distant copse of pepper trees. "I asked your buddy Daniels to get me the file." He glanced at me. "What do you think about that?"
We locked eyes, and then I nodded slowly. "I think my mother deserves some justice. What do you think?"
Joe patted my hand. "I think we should get her some."
On the drive back, my mind spun with the revelation that I wasn’t an unwanted child. I was taken from a mother who loved me. So much that she searched for me until the day she died. It turned everything I’d ever thought about myself upside down. I didn’t have my mother, not really, but I wasn’t an unmoored ship drifting wherever the water sent me anymore either.
The sun was finger-painting the sky in pinks and purples when we got back to Joe’s. I was so wrapped up in thoughts of Rose, I’d forgotten the time. I had to hurry if I wanted to beat Ted home and avoid interrogation. "I’ll call you tomorrow, and we’ll come up with a plan."
Joe nodded and I turned toward my car. "Hold up, Scotti."
I looked at my watch. "I’m late Joe, and I still have to pick up Boomer."
"Hold your horses, missy." He waddled around the Lincoln. "I wasn’t going say nothing until later because I knew you’d need time to digest things." He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and gave it to me. "Rose’s sister is alive and kicking." He tapped the paper in my hand. "Jennifer Scarpello. Lives up in Burbank, just a stone’s throw from here."
I stared at the piece of paper without opening it. "What did she say?"
Joe put his hand over mine. "I didn’t speak to the lady. She’s your kin. You decide what you want to do."
I hugged him tight and kissed his chubby cheek. "Thank you. My kids have the best granddaddy, ever."
Joe rolled his eyes and smacked my butt. "Oh hush now, smart alecky child. You better get a move on before Ted sends out a search party."
Chapter Twenty-Three
Boomer raced into the house ahead of me, yapping and wagging his stub. He circled the living room twenty times. Stopped and sniffed. Chased his tail. Sniffed. Got bored then ran into the kitchen.
Ted came up the hall from his office — jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled up. He leaned down and kissed me. "You and Zelda get gabbing and forget the time?"
I shrugged. "You know Zelda." I scanned the room for Boomer. "And then crazy-beast is always fun on a car ride."
Ted broke into a grin. "Boomer’s home?"
At the sound of his name Boomer zoomed into the hallway and charged Ted. "Buddy!" He scooped up Boomer with one hand, then got treated to a face slather and a little dog pee on his tie. Ted carried Boomer through the living
room and the dining room to the patio slider. "The first thing you need to learn in your orientation buddy, is the location of the latrine." He opened the slider and set Boomer down on the patio. Boomer yapped, wagged his stub and went off to sniff everything the new yard had to offer.
Ted followed me into the kitchen. Gingerly, he pulled off his tie. I took the tie out of his hand. "Trash or dry cleaners?"
"I never liked that tie anyway."
I dropped the tie in the waste basket. "Trash it is." I jerked my finger toward the front. "All of Boomer’s gear is in the car."
Death of the Family Recipe (A Scotti Fitzgerald Murder Mystery Book 3) Page 14
