17
“Can I help you, miss?” A woman with coarse gray hair and granny glasses perched on the end of her nose sat on a stool behind the counter. She pulled up a long strand of pale pink yarn from a full skein and continued to knit.
Thinking she’d get better cooperation if she bought something, Jennie said, “I’d like to get a drink.”
“Help yourself. Everything’s on the counter.” The woman pointed toward the drink machine and kept working.
“Thanks.”
Jennie filled her cup with ice and added some Coke.
“You live around here?” the woman asked.
“No, I go to school at Trinity High. We’re temporarily in a warehouse on Delta Street. I’m Jennie McGrady.”
“Nice to meet you, Jennie. I’m Gladys Swenson.” She tipped her head down and eyed Jennie with a curious gaze. “Jennie … of course. Thought you looked familiar. Saw you on TV last night.” She nodded approval.
“Oh. Then you know I sometimes do a little detective work.”
“Detective work, huh? You want to question me about something? You maybe trying to find the hoodlums responsible for all the graffiti?” She made a clucking sound. “Terrible the way kids around here think they have to vandalize every building with a blank wall.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s not why I’m here.” Jennie cleared her throat and dug into her backpack for her wallet, then set the clipping on the counter. After paying the woman, she showed her the old newspaper article. “I’m trying to find the store in this photo, and from the description in the paper, it looks like this one.”
The woman set her knitting on her lap, adjusted her glasses, and glanced at the picture. “This is the store all right. I’ll never forget that night. Police swarming all over the place looking for evidence and wanting to know if I knew anything about the baby. ‘’Course not,’ I said. ‘If I’d known about it, do you think I’d have left the poor thing in the trash?’”
Jennie took a sip of her Coke to hide her excitement. “The baby who was found that night is a good friend of mine. Her name is Annie Phillips. She’s sixteen now.”
“I heard she was adopted by a nice young doctor and his wife.”
“Yes. Annie wants to find her birth mother. She asked me to help her. So that’s why I’m here.”
“Now, why would she want to find a mother that didn’t want her? Probably still doesn’t or she’d have made contact herself.”
“I agree completely, but Annie’s so upset. I think she just needs to know.”
“Oh, sweetie, it was a long time ago. Trail’s as cold as the Yukon in December.”
“I know, but I have to try. Do you remember anything about that night?”
“Like it was yesterday.”
“I suppose the police asked you if you’d seen anyone near the store that night close to when the phone call was made.”
“Yep. I’ll tell you the same thing I told them. I saw a woman in that phone booth right over there on the corner.” She pointed to the phone in question.
From her perch near the door, Gladys had a good view of it.
“Billy and me both saw her. Billy—he’s my husband—died last year. Billy said at the time it seemed strange to see a woman alone that time of night. He said he was going out to check on her, but by the time he got his coat on she was gone.”
“Did you see a car?”
“Nope. She just disappeared into the night.”
“Do you remember what she looked like?”
“Couldn’t see her face because it was all in shadows. All we had were the streetlights. She didn’t close the door on the booth. Apparently didn’t want the light coming on. Still, I could see her fairly well. She was about my height—five four maybe. Wearing a white scarf over her head. She kept her back to the store the whole time she was in there, which wasn’t more than a couple minutes. Had on one of those camel wool overcoats and white shoes. You know, I never did believe she was that baby’s mother.”
“Really?”
“This woman was a mite too spry for someone who’d just given birth. But who was I to say? Police figured it must have been the mother who called. I wasn’t about to argue with them. Maybe the woman who used the pay phone didn’t have anything to do with the baby. Might have been a coincidence.”
“You really think she just happened to be there at the same time?” Jennie asked.
“No. I don’t believe much in coincidences. The woman in that phone booth right out there—not a hundred feet from the trash where that baby was—called at the same time as 9-1-1 got the call about the baby. No, I didn’t think it was a coincidence, but the police never asked me what I thought. They just wanted the facts.”
Jennie tucked the clipping back in the envelope and stuffed it into her bag. “You mentioned she was too spry to be the baby’s mother. What do you mean?”
Gladys gave Jennie a knowing smile. “You ever watch a woman walk right after she’s given birth? Now, I know historically we’ve been told that some women used to just squat and deliver right out in the fields and go back to work like nothing happened. Having had six children, I find that hard to believe.” She shook her head. “Trust me, a woman who has just had a baby wouldn’t have been moving that fast.”
“Maybe Annie’s mother didn’t throw her away. Maybe it was a friend or something.”
“That would have been my guess. Still, it’s hard for me to imagine anyone with a heart black enough to get rid of a baby like that.”
“Maybe someone took the baby away from the mother,” Jennie murmured to herself more than to Gladys.
“Honey, if someone had taken that sweet child from her mother, I can guarantee she wouldn’t have ended up in the trash. That baby would most likely have been sold on the black market.”
“Black market?” Jennie pulled a napkin from the container on the counter and wrapped it around her drink to absorb the moisture forming on the outside of her cup.
“Baby stealing. Done all the time. Someone takes a baby and sells it to people who are willing to bypass the regular channels and not ask questions.”
Jennie shuddered. “That’s awful. But I see what you mean. If a person was going to take Annie, they wouldn’t just throw her away. They’d sell her. So if this woman wasn’t Annie’s mother, who was she?”
“The police never could figure that one out.”
“The paper said she called in to say she’d heard the baby crying.”
“Humph. I don’t believe that for a minute. Think about it. If you walked by a trash bin and heard a baby crying, what would you do?”
“Investigate.”
“Exactly. I’d have picked that baby up and gone into the nearest shelter.”
“Which would be this store,” Jennie finished.
“Right. You wouldn’t be thinking of anything except saving that baby’s life and getting her to safety as quickly as possible.”
“Unless you were guilty of something—or maybe didn’t want anyone connecting you with the baby.”
Gladys sighed. “Don’t think I haven’t wracked my brain over this, honey, because I have. Nothing about it makes any sense whatsoever.”
“Do you think the woman lived around here to have disappeared so quickly?”
“Maybe—hard to say. I didn’t see or hear a car, but then, she might have parked a ways away so no one would be able to identify it. Police talked to all the residents but didn’t come up with anything.”
“I suppose a lot has changed around here since then. I was thinking about walking around the area to get a feel for it. See if anything—you know—strikes a chord.”
“I suspect most of the people have moved out of the apartments. Except for being more run down, it’s the same now as it was then. Same offices, same apartments. Only thing different is that the family planning c
linic down the street was blown up a few days ago by some nasty anti-abortion protesters. All you’ll see there is a pile of rubble. Don’t know when the city plans to clean it up. Maybe they won’t. Maybe someone could build something new—anything would be better for business than that eyesore. Not another abortion clinic. I don’t much like living near a place like that. No telling what those protesters will do.”
Jennie nodded. “On both sides.”
“Hmm. You talking about that serial killer who’s been gunning down the pro-lifers?”
“Yeah.”
“Humph. Sad state of affairs when you can’t even speak your mind on this issue or that. Intolerance, that’s what it is.”
“They caught one of the killers last night.” Jennie told her about the killer calling her father to say he hadn’t broken into Debra Noble’s place or killed the last woman.
“The last one—that would have been Noreen Smith.”
Jennie’s eyebrows shot up. “You knew her?”
“Not well. Years ago she used to come into the store nearly every day to get a soft drink and a snack. She worked at that clinic around the corner.” Gladys put a hand to her lips. “Glory be—I don’t know why I didn’t think about it before. Noreen stopped coming into the store ’bout the same time that baby was found.”
“You think there might be a connection?”
“I couldn’t say. It does seem an odd coincidence, though, doesn’t it?”
Jennie sipped on her drink, a frown etching her forehead. “The white shoes … were they like nursing shoes?”
“I suppose they could’ve been. Didn’t get a real good look at them.”
“Could Noreen have been the woman you saw making the call?”
“I suppose it’s possible, but it doesn’t seem likely. The clinic wasn’t open at night. Besides, they don’t need to use our trash bin. They have their own way of disposing of the remains.”
Jennie grimaced at the horrible thought. “I’ve heard that sometimes aborted babies live. Maybe Annie was aborted and lived.” Jennie’s mind raced with possibilities. The one foremost in her mind was Debra Noble’s aborted baby. “Maybe Noreen Smith was assisting in a late-term abortion and saw the baby was alive. Rather than let it die, she put it in the trash bin and called the police.”
Gladys shook her head. “That doesn’t seem likely. Being a nurse, she’d probably take the baby to the hospital. I think that’s what Noreen would have done. She was a nice lady.”
“Gladys, I don’t remember reading anything in the articles about those white shoes. That’s a pretty important clue. Did you include those in your description of the caller?”
She narrowed her eyes and peered over the rims of her glasses. “I’m sure I did. I must have. ’Course, it could have slipped my mind—or I might not have thought about it until later—things like that happen. I remember being scared at the time. Worried the police might think Billy or I had something to do with it.”
She took her glasses off. “I guess you’d have to get a look at the police files to know for sure.”
“That’s a good idea.” Jennie doubted the police knew about the white shoes. If they had, wouldn’t they have put two and two together and considered the fact that the baby might have come from the clinic? True, Annie had been found at night, but suppose the abortion had been performed after hours for some reason?
Of course, maybe the police had considered that possibility. Maybe they’d looked into the matter and hit a dead end.
Jennie felt like she had picked up a puzzle piece that didn’t belong and no amount of maneuvering was going to make it fit. Even if Noreen Smith had been the woman making the call, Jennie had no business thinking the baby might have been Debra’s. “Well, I should go. I really appreciate your help.”
“No problem. Come back and talk to me anytime.” As Jennie opened the door, Gladys said, “If you find out anything, you be sure to let me know.”
“I will.”
Jennie drove slowly around the block, past rows of apartments that looked like they should have been torn down years ago. Turning the corner, the apartment complex continued. These looked better—as though someone had come in and remodeled them. At the next corner, Jennie hung another left. A tall chain link fence stood around the remains of a bombed-out building. Oddly enough, the sign identifying it sat out front. Marsh Street Clinic. It sat at the opposite corner from Mrs. Swenson’s store. The alley behind it gave people going to the store from the clinic a straight shot. Noreen Smith had walked from here to the store lots of times, but she stopped coming after the baby was found. Now Noreen Smith was dead. Debra Noble had had an abortion sixteen years ago. Her house had been broken into last night. Annie had been placed in a trash bin after her birth.
The information Jennie had gathered jumbled around in her brain. Had Noreen Smith been the one Gladys saw that night? Had she been the woman who called 9-1-1? Had she merely heard the baby cry and reported it—or had she put the baby there? If so, why? Why throw a baby away when people would pay huge sums of money to buy her?
Jennie tried to imagine the scenario, but there were too many holes. Too many unanswered questions. She needed to talk to Debra to find out more details about the abortion. Where she’d had it and when, how far along she was, and the name of the attending physician.
A car honked behind her, and Jennie realized she’d stopped in the middle of the street. She pulled off to the side to let the car pass, then moved on herself. She’d finish her turn around the block, then go to the pool. Coach Dayton would not appreciate her being late again.
She approached the store from the side. As she’d noted earlier, the dumpster was along the side wall near the alley. A gravel parking area lay between the sidewalk and the side of the building. Jennie pulled to a stop at the curb and walked across the parking lot. Stopping in front of the trash bin, she imagined herself carrying a small bundle. According to the newspaper articles, the bin had been nearly full.
What could have motivated a person to place a baby in a smelly garbage heap? Had the person thought the baby dead? Then why alert the authorities? Jennie shook her head to clear her mind. She started to walk away when she heard a scraping sound coming from inside the dumpster. Jennie swallowed hard and walked back to it. She took a deep breath and grasped the handle, laying back the fold-in-half lid, then peered inside.
Tears stung her eyes. A sob stuck in her throat, and all she could manage was a whimper. “Oh, Annie.”
18
Annie looked up at Jennie from the bottom of the smelly, empty dumpster. She sat all curled up with her arms wrapped tightly around her legs. Her blue eyes were full of so much pain, Jennie had to look away.
“What are you doing here?”
Annie wiped the tears from her cheeks with a torn sleeve, leaving a wide black smudge. “I … I had to know what it was like. I went to see Gloria at school today. She said it might help me if I imagined myself as a tiny baby being put here by someone who cared about me. Someone who cared enough to call the police.”
“She told you to come here?” Gloria was a counselor for the church and school. Jennie had seen her a few times herself.
“No. She had me do that in her office.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I’m not sure. Gloria said I should imagine angels watching over me—protecting me and making sure someone came to save me. She said if I could see God holding me and loving me through it all, it would help me heal.”
“Has it?”
“I’m not sure.” Annie stood up, and Jennie helped her climb out. With her torn and dirty white blouse, mussed hair, and smudged face, she looked like a street urchin from Oliver Twist.
“Come on,” Jennie said. “I’ll give you a ride home.”
“No. I … I can’t go home like this. They’d want to know where I’ve been and I …” She cl
osed her eyes. “I don’t know what to tell them.”
The truth might be good. Jennie didn’t voice her opinion. It wasn’t her place to tell Annie what to do. After all, maybe Annie’s parents weren’t as easy to talk to as hers were. And Jennie couldn’t help but wonder if she might feel the same way if she were in Annie’s situation. She settled an arm around Annie’s slumped shoulders. “You can clean up at my place. I’m sure I have something that’ll fit you.”
Annie thanked her, and after waiting for Jennie to unlock the passenger side door, she slid onto the black vinyl seat. The car would definitely need cleaning now. Jennie rolled down the window. “No offense, Annie, but you smell pretty ripe. How long have you been in there, anyway?”
She shrugged. “A couple of hours.”
After a long silence she spoke again. “Jennie, you’ll probably think I’m stupid for saying this, but … I don’t think my mother put me in there.”
“Why?”
“Because …” She sighed. “I don’t know. The papers said the police think she did it. But sitting in there like that, I had a lot of time to think. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but there’s something—maybe it’s God—telling me she didn’t do it. I don’t expect anyone to understand …”
“I think I do—at least a little,” Jennie said. Though Jennie hadn’t been adopted or abandoned in a trash bin, she knew what it was like to believe in something with your whole heart—even when all the evidence said otherwise.
“What do you mean?”
Jennie took a deep breath. “Well, it wasn’t what you’re going through, but in a way it’s similar. Five and a half years ago a couple federal agents came to our door and said my father had been in a plane crash. They figured the plane had gone down in Puget Sound. Neither the plane nor the body was ever recovered.”
“But your dad is alive.”
Abandoned Page 12
