Lily tossed her head from side to side. Tears ran down her face from eyes squeezed shut. Her little arms thrashed about, beating off an unknown assailant. Muffin was crouched in a corner of the room, watching with wide-eyed feline fear. Wainwright had his two front paws on the bed. He looked to me, waiting for the command to jump on the bed and rescue our charge. I patted his faithful head and gently yanked his collar, signaling for him to get down.
“Mummy!” Lily screamed in her sleep. Wainwright’s front paws instantly went back on the bed.
Pushing the dog out of the way, I sat on the bed and scooped the distressed child into my arms. I held her tight. “I’m here, Lily.” I knew she wasn’t screaming for me, but for the moment I’d have to do.
“Mummy!” This time the cry wasn’t as loud, but it was just as urgent. I wondered if Lily had had these nightmares when she slept at Erica’s house.
“It’s okay, Lily,” I told her as I stroked her hair. Around her face it was damp. “It’s okay. I’m here.”
Lily clung to me, but she still didn’t open her eyes. When Greg made it to the guest room, I was gently rocking her and she had quieted down, her breathing returning to the normal pace of sleep.
“What’s the matter?” Greg asked, his voice strained with concern.
I shrugged. “I’m not sure if she called for her mother because she was having a nightmare,” I whispered, “or if the nightmare is that her mother is not here.”
Greg wheeled closer. He had thrown a robe over his boxers. Stretching out a hand, he pushed a lock of damp hair from Lily’s forehead. “She’s slightly warm. Should we give her some more medicine?”
“I gave her some just a little bit ago.” I looked down at the little girl sleeping in my arms, and my heart broke. Where in the hell was her mother? No child should be shunted from one house to another like this. I had the urge to stay home tomorrow and keep Lily close to me. We could bake cookies and play with Muffin. Carl’s assignment would just have to wait.
I laid Lily back down and tucked her in. She was snoozing peacefully now, her face smooth and untroubled. It was then I knew I couldn’t stay home and play house with this poor abandoned child, as much as I knew both of us would love it. I had to find Erica and, through her, locate Connie Holt. Lily needed her mother, not some chunky squirrel who might not have a job in a few weeks.
nine
In the morning Lily’s cold seemed better, but the weather was not. It was drizzly and cool—unusually cool, even for March. I skipped my morning walk because of it and because I knew getting Lily ready to go to Zee’s would take extra time. Just how much extra time made me stagger in disbelief.
By the time I’d showered and dressed myself, then dressed Lily and fed her Cheerios with milk and banana, then re-dressed her because breakfast had hitched a ride on her clothes, and then changed my blouse because somewhere along the line it had been accessorized with milk and a smear of banana, I was already way behind schedule—so much so that Zee had called to see if I was still bringing Lily over.
Greg watched the whole thing with amusement and a closed mouth. Smart man. He’d suggested earlier that it might be prudent to dress Lily after she’d eaten, noting that milk on jammies was no big deal. I figured a little milk on her clothes wouldn’t kill her any more than milk on pajamas. Like the time issue, I had way underestimated how much milk could make its way onto her shirt and never considered any would find its way onto my clothing. The happy Wainwright did cleanup detail, competing with Muffin and Seamus for the drips of milk on the floor.
As I handed Zee Lily’s stuff, including the baby monitor, I gave her a rundown on Lily’s nightmare and the status of her cold. Lily was already in the living room in front of the TV. She’d brought the baby doll back with her. It had been her constant companion since Zee had handed it to her the day before.
“The nightmare doesn’t surprise me,” Zee said. “Children are creatures of habit, and this little girl’s world has been turned upside down.”
“She was fine this morning, so I’m not even sure she remembered it. I hope she’s okay tonight.” I hesitated, not quite convinced I should leave Lily overnight. “Maybe she should stay with us tonight.”
“Nonsense,” Zee said with assurance. “I can handle a nightmare if it happens. You and Greg have fun tonight. This weekend you can be parents full-time.”
I glanced around. Zee seemed to be alone. “Where’s Seth? Is he okay with this?”
Zee’s face broke into an explosion of white teeth. “He had an early meeting, and okay is not the word. As soon as I told him we’d be entertaining a little one tonight, he went into the garage and pulled out Jacob’s old wooden train set.” She held Lily’s jacket. After giving it a slight shake, she draped it over the back of a chair. “Wouldn’t surprise me if he came home early today.”
Lily only kicked up a little fuss at being left behind at Zee’s. Zee quickly defused the situation by telling Lily they were going to make cookies later that day. Hearing that news put a smile on the child’s face, and she happily waved goodbye out the window to me as I drove away in the rain. Cookies—that had originally been my plan, now it was Zee’s. Driving away from the Washington house, I felt a bit left out, like a kid home sick for the day instead of out playing kickball with her friends.
When I showed up at the office without Lily, Alyce seemed disappointed and made the offer again to take her for the weekend. Mark glanced into my office and appeared disappointed, too, but his letdown seemed more rooted in the fact that I still had a key to the firm’s suite.
“Where’s the rug rat?” he asked, a mug of coffee in his hand. My office was between his office and the kitchen, which meant he passed by several times during the day. Mark seldom stopped to make small talk, choosing instead to toss sneers through the doorway like flaming bags of dog poop. Two days in a row now, he’d lingered long enough in my doorway to speak. Lucky me.
With a pen clutched in my right hand, I waved him on like a traffic cop. “Move along, Baker, nothing to see here.” If my hand had been empty, it might have morphed into a vulgar hand gesture, adding even more work problems to my plate.
He gave me a tight-lipped smile, raised his mug in salute, and moseyed along.
Once settled behind my desk with a mug of coffee of my own, I plotted out my day. In addition to doing more research on the players involved, I wanted to swing by Erica’s house and also take a drive out to Irvine to check out the Holt place. With my regular workload almost nonexistent, I didn’t think anyone would notice if I took off. I would simply say I was working on something for Carl. I also wanted to tap Alyce for any information that might have popped up since the day before. Maybe she’d heard from Erica.
After topping off my mug in the kitchen, I casually strolled past Alyce’s desk. “Have you heard anything from Erica?”
“Not a word,” she answered without looking up from her work. Her diligent fingers flew across the keyboard without hesitation. On her typing stand was a document with handwritten corrections and lines and arrows going every which way, like a John Madden football diagram, only more complicated. “She left me a pile of work yesterday and asked that I e-mail it to her when I was done.” Alyce took a deep breath, her fingers pausing just long enough to allow time to inhale and exhale before starting up again. “This is the last of it.”
“You still don’t know where she is?” I took a sip of coffee in an attempt to appear only half interested in the answer. “Maybe she’s working at home.”
Alyce shook her head and scrunched her nose. Her glasses were slipping down the bridge, but instead of helping the situation, it only made it worse. “Don’t think so. Racel, her cleaning lady, called. She’s at the house now and also needs to reach her.”
I took another sip of coffee, wondering how helpful and forthcoming Erica’s cleaning lady might be with information.
“Well, if Erica does call,” I said to Alyce as I started for my office, “please let her know that Ca
rl Yates wants to talk to her as soon as possible.”
Alyce nodded but kept working.
“Oh, and speaking of Carl,” I said, pausing in my tracks, “I’ll be out of the office most of today doing research for that project of his.”
“Okay,” she said, eyes still glued to the document, her fingers scurrying across the keyboard as if trying to catch a train.
ten
Erica’s home was exactly where I expected it to be after checking out the map the night before. From my office, I’d headed down Bristol towards Newport Beach, making a right on Jamboree Road. Then it was a quick right turn onto East Bluff Drive, followed by a left into a housing development of large, well-maintained homes. It was a peaceful, upscale family neighborhood, with manicured lawns and tidy streets and sidewalks.
My destination was located on Ceiba Place, at the end of a very short and quiet cul-de-sac. From the way the house was situated, the back yard probably abutted Jamboree Road and had either sound walls or a bank of tall bushy oleanders to buffer the noise from the wide, busy street on the other side. When driving down Jamboree, you could see such sound-reduction measures coupled with the wall that encircled the entire development.
The stubby street was quiet, with only a few cars in evidence. A new Toyota Sienna was parked in the driveway next to Erica’s house, but there was no sign of neighborly life and none on the other side of Erica’s either. Could be everyone was at work or the rain was keeping them inside, or both. The home on the right was a two-story, the other a single-story structure like Erica’s. The properties were divided from each other by chest-high hedges trimmed to razor sharpness. Erica’s house was a cheerful sage-green stucco with white trim and an attached two-car garage. In her driveway was a white Ford Focus—not new, but well maintained. I knew Erica drove a silver Lexus sports coupe. There was no sign of it, unless it was in the closed garage.
I drove my car around the curve of the cul-de-sac and parked just past the house, with the nose of my car pointing towards the opening of the street. Getting out of the car, I smoothed my slacks and adjusted my jacket, thankful it had stopped raining. As I walked up the drive to the front door, my rubber-soled shoes squeaked on the wet concrete.
I had to ring the doorbell twice before anyone answered. On either side of the front door were narrow opaque windows. I tried to see through them but couldn’t. I was about to ring a persistent third time when the door was opened by a young, shapely woman in jeans and a long-sleeved, form-fitting tee shirt with the sleeves pushed up almost to the elbows. She appeared to be in her early twenties, and if I had to venture a guess, I’d say she was Filipino.
“May I help you?” she asked, looking me full in the face with sharp almond eyes that dared me to be selling something or campaigning for a political cause. If I had been, I would have lied, because it was easy to see this woman was having none of that. Not today, not ever.
“Um, maybe I have the wrong house,” I stammered. “I was looking for the Mayfield residence.” When she offered nothing, I prodded, “Does Erica Mayfield live here?”
“Yes, she does. May I ask what is your business?” The question was direct and confident. I wondered if maybe my assumption about Mark and Erica being romantically involved was wrong. Maybe Erica pitched for the other team and this sassy and pretty lass was her main squeeze. She certainly acted like the lady of the house.
Shaking off hesitation, I started on the fabricated reason for my visit. “I’m Odelia Grey. I work at Ms. Mayfield’s firm.”
“And?”
Apparently my law-firm credentials weren’t good enough. “I need to speak to Racel,” I added, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice.
She crossed her arms in front of her in a challenging stance. “I’m Racel.”
The young woman standing in front of me did not look or act like any cleaning lady I’d ever met. My housekeeper, Cruz, was a short, squat grandmother in her sixties. Racel looked more like a university coed with a prominent ’tude. I went headlong into the next portion of my story.
“I’m looking after Lily Holt, and she’s asking for a doll or something like that. I think Erica forgot to pack it.” Lily wasn’t asking for anything outside of her mother, but I figured a kid in distress might get my foot in the door a lot easier than simply firing away with questions.
Racel stuck her chin out. “Wouldn’t surprise me, the way she handled that kid.”
“May I come in and look for it?” I suggested, hoping she wouldn’t simply disappear and return with something soft and fuzzy and send me packing. From the tone of her voice, it didn’t sound like Racel was any more pleased with the way Lily was treated than I was. If so, she just might spill some information I could use. After a bit of hesitation, Racel opened the door for me to enter.
Erica’s home was spacious and beautiful. Once past the foyer, I walked into a humongous open space with French doors lining the far wall. Just beyond the doors, a patio of red brick dominated the small back yard, covering most of the property in place of grass. The patio was partially covered and populated with more furniture than my living room. Flowering plants in pots of various sizes and styles dotted the area. Off to one side was a hot tub, and beyond that the back wall of the property was lined with sentries of tall oleanders acting as a privacy wall and sound barrier. It was the perfect outdoor entertainment space.
The wall-to-wall carpet was thick and the color of pale champagne. In one corner of the living room, past the two matching sofas and chairs and assorted polished tables, was a baby grand piano. Another wall was dominated by a large fireplace framed in white wood with a deep mantel. Above the mantel was a Chagall in a gilt frame, and I’d bet my next latté the painting was real. It was a lovely room but very formal and stuffy, like a photo shoot for a glossy design magazine. Every knickknack, painting, and lamp looked appointed and impersonal rather than a cherished memory. There were no personal photos anywhere. I half expected to see red velvet ropes to keep people from using it.
The great room expanded around a wall into a dining area with a large table and six matching chairs covered in cream brocade down to the floor. I started to poke my head out, craning to see the kitchen, which had to be around the next bend, but Racel cleared her throat, bringing me back to the task at hand. I turned to her and gave her a smile I hoped didn’t look too cheesy.
“Like I said, I’m Odelia Grey. I’m a paralegal at Erica’s firm.” I held out my hand to Racel. She took it.
“Racel Barlongo.” She softened her look, which enhanced her pretty face and made her look even younger. “How is Lily?”
“She’s fine,” I told her. “She’s with a friend of mine today who is spoiling her rotten with fun and affection. I think they’re going to bake cookies this afternoon.”
“The kid needs something like that. Erica made her stay in the guest room most of the time, like a prisoner. Occasionally she was allowed in the den.” With a sweep of her hand, Racel indicated the immaculate living room. “She was terrified Lily would make a mess in the house.” She let out a half snort. “As if Erica would be the one to clean it up.”
“How long have you worked for her?”
“About eight months. My aunt used to work for her. When she retired, I took it over.” She motioned for me to follow her down a long hallway while she talked. “It’s not a bad gig. I’m here almost every day, but my hours fluctuate depending on my school schedule. I go to UC Irvine, biology major. Erica doesn’t care as long as the work gets done while she’s gone.” Once she knew I was Lily’s new caretaker, Racel relaxed and became quite chatty. I hoped it would continue.
Racel opened a door off the hallway, exposing a large bedroom. It was nicely decorated but sparse, holding only a queen-sized bed and a dresser. On top of the dresser was a combination flat screen TV and DVD player. “This was where Lily stayed,” she told me.
Without asking permission, I started searching for something soft and kid friendly. I needed to at least try to ke
ep up my ruse while I pumped Racel for information.
“Do you know what Lily was so attached to?” I asked while I did my fake search. Lily hadn’t seemed to be missing anything important to her, so I doubted Racel would come up with anything.
“I only saw her a few days,” Racel said, helping me look for the nonexistent toy. “Long enough to wash her clothes and keep her occupied on top of my other chores. I watched her all last week, but this week I couldn’t. I think the only time she was allowed outside to play was when I was here.”
I turned to Racel. “That explains her clothes. Lily and her clothes were scrubbed and fresh earlier in the week, then declined after that.”
Racel nodded. “Monday was the last day I was here, until today. My mother had surgery and I spent the last few days with her, so I couldn’t watch the kid. I’m on break right now, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to stay with Lily last week.”
“Makes sense. Erica didn’t bring Lily into the office until Tuesday.”
I opened the closet and found nothing. The drawers also produced nothing, and I mean nothing. It seemed that Erica had packed all of Lily’s things, every last one of them, as if she didn’t expect the little girl to return. But then, maybe Lily only arrived at Erica’s with the clothes on her back and those in her small suitcase. If her mother only planned on parking her here a few days, that would make sense.
“Did Lily’s mother ever call to check on Lily?” I asked.
“Not that I know of.”
“And you didn’t see Erica’s sister drop Lily off?”
Racel narrowed her eyes and studied me like a stain that needed removing. “What’s with all the questions?”
I shrugged. “Just curious. I’ve been watching Lily since Tuesday and haven’t heard a peep from or about her mother.”
Racel considered my comment. From the way her shoulders relaxed, I could tell she thought my explanation plausible. “Lily was just here one day when I got to work,” she explained. “Erica called me the night before and asked if I’d come in early. When I got here she told me I’d be looking after Lily while she was at work. Said she’d pay me for the extra hours.” Racel ran her hand across the dresser, checking for dust. There was none. The house was spotless. “I’m always eager to earn extra money when I’m off from school.”
Hide and Snoop (The Odelia Grey Mysteries) Page 8
