Let's Make a Baby!

by Jacqueline Diamond

  He was much too tempted to kiss away those tears. To yield to his traitorous emotions and forgive everything and let the future take care of itself.

  Such a leap of faith wasn’t in Ryder’s personality. “Go to bed,” he said.

  Ducking her head, she hurried from the room. He sat on the couch, his sunburn smarting unsympathetically. Ryder debated whether to stir himself and go into the bathroom. If only, among the contents of those cluttered drawers, he might find not only lotion for his skin but a balm for his bruised heart.

  Grimly he plopped his feet on the coffee table and decided instead to anesthetize himself with television.

  *

  The next morning, Lisa chose a pair of designer jeans and a blouse instead of the sarong. She’d pushed her luck more than enough. Thank goodness Ryder had stopped. She’d craved him with every cell of her body, and she hadn’t had the strength to halt.

  When she’d had nowhere else to turn, he’d rescued her. He deserved better than to be seduced and abandoned again. She had an obligation to straighten out her life before she could offer him anything. Or ask anything more of him.

  In the meantime, Lisa vowed silently as they drove toward the ocean, she would find Ginger and help Ryder earn his fee. She owed him that. Also, however unlikable the girl might seem, she ran a terrible risk.

  Although it was nearly ten o’clock, the morning fog hadn’t yet burned off, and they found a parking space easily. “I’ll get you settled at the store, and then I’ll check out the food stands,” Ryder said. “Ginger’s got to eat somewhere.”

  Lisa remembered the two boys with the funny names who’d mentioned letting Ginger sleep at their place. In the encounter with the policeman and her impulsive decision to put on a fashion show, she’d forgotten them. As they passed along the beachfront, she described the boys to Ryder. “Greek and Moron. It’s weird that they’d choose those nicknames, don’t you think?”

  “Typical surfers,” said Ryder. “They didn’t happen to mention where their apartment is?”

  Moron had been providing the address when he spotted the police officer, Lisa recalled. “He said the number, 125 1/2, and the street name started with a P, but he didn’t finish it.”

  “The ‘half’ means it’s upstairs,” Ryder said. “The streets run at right angles to the beach, and the numbers begin at one hundred. That narrows it down.”

  “Do you know any names that start with P?” she asked.

  His nose twitched in annoyance. “The streets around here are called after flowers. There’s Pansy, Primrose and Poppy. Any of those sound familiar?”

  “I just remember him saying ‘P.’”

  As they entered the shop, a delivery man scurried up with a pile of cardboard boxes. He got Ryder’s signature and departed at a near run.

  “It’s a good thing we were here to receive them,” she said. “Did Biff mention he was expecting deliveries?”

  “He said it was possible,” Ryder noted. “If he’s not in, they get left next door, so he wasn’t worried.”

  After he left to check the food stands, she opened the first box. It contained goggles, nose clips and ear plugs, of which the store was running short. In another box, she found Hawaiian-print skirts and halter tops. Perhaps some of yesterday’s customers would be interested in these designs.

  Lisa decided to put some of the clothes in the window. Climbing into the narrow display area and dressing the two female mannequins proved a tricky job. It took more than half an hour, and by then the sun was breaking through the clouds.

  Standing outside, Lisa examined her handiwork. The bright-hued skirts and tops added a touch of class, compared to the skimpy bikinis they’d replaced, she decided. About to go inside, she spotted a girl on the sidewalk half a block away.

  Her red hair was the same length and texture as Ginger’s. The man with her fit Ryder’s description of the creep in the alley—average height, medium coloring, wearing cheap but not shabby clothing. Early thirties, Lisa guessed, and noted a snake tattooed on his neck.

  He kept edging toward Ginger, then backing away in a kind of dance, like a cat playing with a mouse. When Ginger shifted position, and Lisa saw that he was holding out a sack of fast food, as if it were a lure.

  Ginger’s fingers closed around the neck of the bag. The man caught her wrist, his eyelids flickering. Lisa had never felt such a powerful sense of fear. Not for herself, but for this girl blindly submitting to the grip of pure evil.

  “Ginger!” Lisa started forward, heedless of the heads that turned to watch. “Hey, wait up!”

  The man glared at Lisa with such loathing that she wouldn’t have been surprised to see venom shoot from his mouth. Mercifully, he released Ginger’s arm and headed off. Unwilling to be identified, which added to her sense of him as a crook.

  The girl swiveled. Her reaction to Lisa was only marginally friendlier than the man’s. “What do you want?”

  “Who is that guy?” Lisa asked as she jogged up.

  “What do you care?”

  She indicated the sack. “If you’re hungry, I’d be happy to buy you something.”

  “I’ve already got food, as you can see.” Ginger glanced toward where the man had disappeared. “You sure have a terrific effect on people. Do they always run in the opposite direction?”

  “Only if they have something to hide,” Lisa said. “Why don’t you come to the store and I’ll make coffee.”

  The redhead wavered, then scanned the beach. “There’s some of my friends.” She emphasized the last word. “You know what those are. People I actually like.” She was aiming toward two wet-suited guys. Greek and Moron, Lisa was relieved to see.

  As she returned to the store, she was still trembling at the girl’s close call. Yet Ginger didn’t have a clue. She appeared to think any adult except the man with the snake tattoo was her enemy.

  Lisa recalled a quote from Ginger’s father about his daughter trusting anyone except the one person who cared about her. The kid was running true to form.

  Her agitation eased once inside the store. For now, the man had departed. But he had approached Ginger at least twice. He was almost certain to return, because by now he must suspect that, if no one interfered, she’d go with him.

  It seemed like ages before Ryder returned. His expression darkened as Lisa described what she’d seen. “I’ve got to call her father.” He took out his cell. “As soon as I see Officer Valencia, I’ll inform him about this, too.”

  Lisa kept busy dusting off a shelf as she listened to the one-sided conversation. She gathered that Anthony Callas was demanding they find Ginger again, at once. When Ryder hung up, he said, “He’s venting his anger on us. But he has an urgent meeting and can’t get here himself till this afternoon. Tells you something about his priorities, doesn’t it?”

  That was ironic, coming from a man who’d rather not have kids, Lisa mused. Still, it was better to avoid parenthood than to be neglectful.

  He sprayed on sunscreen, loaded his bag with a fresh batch of flyers and went out. They were both hoping, Lisa knew, that he could spot Ginger and keep her in his sights.

  The morning passed slowly. Ryder popped in twice, only to report no news. Several women dropped in to examine the new skirts and tops, and one made a purchase. Three surfers passed nearly an hour in examining a board, then departed promising to think it over.

  Lisa wondered when Ginger had developed such a chip on her shoulder, and why the father didn’t time off work to search for her himself. What were her own parents like?

  A shadowy image formed of a large room that resembled a hotel lobby. There were a man and a woman in it, but they seemed too distant and reserved to be her folks. Was it a memory, or a scene from a movie? The more she struggled to focus, the blurrier it became, and finally she gave up.

  Near lunchtime, Buffy and Starr dropped by. Impressed with the new clothes, they offered to stage another fashion show. “Maybe later.” Lisa would rather they weren’t parading arou
nd when Anthony Callas arrived.

  “Can we get you something to eat?” Buffy asked.

  They were very considerate, Lisa reflected. Quite a contrast to Ginger. “That would be great.” She handed them money for an order of fried clams, plus extra to buy themselves something.

  Shortly after the girls left, a dark figure appeared in the doorway. Squinting against the sunlight, Lisa realized it was Ginger. She reined in her instinct to leap at the girl. Instead, she said casually, “Ready for that coffee?”

  The hair shook, no. The girl stayed where she was.

  “Are you okay?”

  A long, unsteady breath. “You were right. That guy’s a jerk.”

  “What guy?” Lisa eased aside so the sun through the doorway no longer blinded her.

  “The one I was talking to.” Despite her freckles, Ginger looked pale. “Ned.”

  “You saw him again?”

  “He, like, came to the place where I’ve been sleeping,” she said. “I was playing cards with the guys and I told him to beat it.”

  “The guys?” Lisa hazarded a guess. “Greek and Moron?”

  “Yeah.” So Ginger had been staying with them the whole time. “Ned got real mean. He said he’d spent money on me and I owed him. Money! Like, a few meals!”

  “He’s a manipulator,” Lisa said. “Those meals were bait.”

  “Yeah, well, I never figured he’d think I owed him something. For a little food that cost, what, ten bucks total? That’s nothing!”

  “Maybe not to him.” She avoided revealing that her awareness that Ginger was from a wealthy family.

  “I’m afraid he’ll be back,” Ginger said. “You’re a grown-up. How do you get rid of a creep?”

  “You stop accepting gifts,” Lisa said. “If you can, pay him back for the food. Then keep making it clear that you want nothing to do with...”

  The girl stared outside in dismay. “I don’t believe it!” With a hard, angry look at someone out of Lisa’s sight, she fled.

  If it was Ned, why hadn’t Ginger scooted further inside for safety? Lisa ran to the doorway to check.

  The man marching toward her had probably never worn polyester in his life. Squarely built, his dark red hair fringed with gray, he wore his couturier suit with an air of command.

  “Ginger!” Blocked by two women pushing baby carriages, he shouted after the girl as she vanished around a corner. The man dodged and took a few running strides, but had to halt again to avoid a collision with a bicyclist. “What’s wrong with people around here?”

  “Mr. Callas?” Lisa asked.

  “Yes?” Unable to follow his daughter without trampling a flock of small children wearing matching preschool T-shirts, he glared at the teacher shepherding them.

  “I’m Lisa Schmidt, Mr. Kelly’s associate.”

  “Where the hell is he?” Ginger’s father glanced around impatiently. She could see where his daughter had learned her rudeness.

  “Searching the beach.”

  “I’ll do it,” the man snapped. “My daughter doesn’t seem to be afraid of you, so you go after her.”

  “Yes, sir!” Lisa barely resisted the impulse to salute.

  “Hurry!” He whipped a phone from his pocket and stepped inside, presumably to get away from the omnipresent rumble of the surf.

  On the sidewalk, Buffy and Starr ambled toward the shop, carrying paper boats of clams. “Do you know where Greek and Moron are staying?” Lisa demanded.

  “I have kind of an idea,” Buffy said.

  Since she had a partial address, Lisa figured she and Buffy ought to be able to put two and two together. “Starr, would you watch the store, please? Just tell people I’ll be back soon. And ignore the man inside. He’s naturally grumpy.”

  “What about lunch?” the girl asked.

  “Eat yours. Save mine.” She hurried away with Buffy.

  After a couple of wrong turns, they arrived at a white box of a building with wrought-iron stairs leading to the second floor. The door to 125 1/2 stood open and music blared from inside.

  “There?” Lisa asked.

  “Yeah.” Buffy nodded. “I should join you.”

  She couldn’t put a young girl in a potentially dangerous situation. “I’d prefer that you go back to the surf shop. When Ryder shows up, that’s the man who was with me yesterday, bring him here. Would you do that?”

  “Got it!” chirped the preteenager, and loped away.

  As Lisa approached the top floor, she prayed silently that Ginger had returned. And that Ned hadn’t.

  When she reached the doorway, she made out Ginger’s huddled shape on the floor by a loudspeaker, lower lip thrust forward like a toddler having a temper tantrum. “You phony!” the girl shouted at her. “You tricked me! You were working for my father!”

  “What?” Lisa waved toward the speakers. “I can’t hear you.”

  “You’re a creep! Beat it!”

  Lisa cupped her ear and pantomimed trying to hear. The ruse worked: Ginger turned down the stereo. “I said—”

  “That I tricked you,” Lisa finished. “You’re right. My friend Ryder is a detective, and he’s been trying to find you. I’m just along for the ride.”

  “I don’t need my dad,” the girl snarled. “I can get along fine by myself.”

  Lisa swallowed the impulse to point out that Ginger wasn’t doing a very good job of it. The girl wouldn’t appreciate hearing it.

  “You’re right,” Lisa said. “You’re fine by yourself.”

  “Is that supposed to be sarcasm?”

  “Not at all.” Bypassing a pile of crumpled clothing and sandy towels, Lisa perched on a sagging couch. “You’re, what, sixteen?”

  A reluctant nod.

  “When you’re eighteen, you’ll be legally an adult,” she said. “You can get a job or go to college, whatever you choose.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” Ginger sneered.

  Although Lisa’s temper began to fray, she kept her tone level. “If you intend to be independent, you’d better figure out what your goals are. You’ll have to work for them like everybody else.”

  The words echoed in some recess of her mind, as if they’d been spoken by her old self. Just before the accident, had she been changing, taking charge of her life? But what did that have to do with using false ID and trying to get pregnant?

  Get pregnant? Where had that idea come from?

  “My dad doesn’t think I’m good for anything.” Anger and hurt warred in Ginger’s voice. “What’s the use?”

  “You’ve done things backward,” Lisa said. “You need your father’s support to get through school. While he’s doing that, learn to distance yourself mentally. If he has a low opinion of you, ignore it. Decide what’s important and go after it.”

  A light flickered in Ginger’s eyes. “Like, I can keep my room and my clothes, and run away inside.”

  Lisa didn’t notice the dark figure in the doorway until she saw the girl’s sudden alarm. This time, there was no defiance, no adolescent cockiness, only naked fear.

  Anxiously, hoping she was mistaken, Lisa turned to focus on the new arrival. A cold slimy sensation ran up her spine.

  The man with the snake on his neck had returned. And he was closing the door behind him.

  Chapter Twelve

  When Ryder reached the store, he found Anthony Callas prowling back and forth like a caged panther. The knobby girl named Starr sat behind the counter, studying the man’s tailored suit as if planning to make knock-off copies.

  “Where’s Lisa?” Ryder asked.

  “What do you mean, where’s Lisa?” snarled his client. “Where’s my daughter? I’m paying you damn well to find her, in case you’d forgotten!”

  Ryder hung onto his temper. “Tell me why Lisa isn’t here.”

  Callas clenched and unclenched his fists. “Ginger was talking to her when I arrived. She ran off, and your associate went after her.”

  “So what are you complaining abou
t?” Ryder said irritably. “It sounds as if Lisa had things pretty well under control. Any idea where they went?”

  “Obviously not!”

  “Buffy went with her,” Starr put in. “Lisa asked her where Greek and Moron were staying.”

  Lisa wouldn’t have dragged the kid into this mess without good reason. “Does Buffy know their address?”

  “Not exactly, but she’s seen the place.”

  “Aren’t you going to take action?” demanded his client.

  Running around without a clear destination was likely to result in missed connections and wasted time. “They may be on their way back right now. Let’s wait another ten minutes.”

  “Just sitting here?”

  “I may stand.” Ryder didn’t enjoy sending the man’s blood pressure through the roof, but he intended to abide by his own judgment, not take orders from a hysterical father.

  “Oh, no.” Starr’s eyes widened as a small, brown-haired woman wearing a shirtwaist dress and pumps marched through the door.

  “What now?” growled Callas.

  “It’s Buffy’s mom. They were supposed to meet! Hi, Mrs. Grayson.”

  “Hello, Starr. Where’s Buffy? She was supposed to be at the corner twenty minutes ago. I’ve been checking all the shops.” The woman folded her arms. “Starr, what are you doing behind the counter?”

  “Oh, like, helping out.”

  “Since when do stores hire twelve-year-olds?” The woman regarded Ryder sternly.

  “She’s not working for me,” he said.

  “Why are you bothering with these women?” Anthony waved one hand dismissively. “Get them out of here!”

  Mrs. Grayson drew herself up. “I’ll be happy to leave when you produce my child.”

  “We have nothing to do with your precious Muffy, or whatever her name is! There are serious matters at stake here.”

  “Mr. Callas,” Ryder said, recalling why Buffy had left. “This woman’s daughter is doing you a big favor.”

  “What kind of favor?” Mrs. Grayson twisted the strap of her shoulder bag. “What’s going on here?”

  Visions of being charged with contributing to the delinquency of a minor were flashing through Ryder’s brain when a voice from behind him chirped, “Hi, Mom! Oh, sorry, I forgot what time it is. The dentist always makes us wait anyway, doesn’t he?”