Baby Bunco

by Cosgrove, Julie B;

  Ethel harrumphed. “Why don’t more people check off the donor box on their driver’s licenses?”

  “Folks are just not willing to part with their parts for religious or social reasons.”

  “Don’t they realize when they go to heaven they’re given a new body?”

  “Not everyone believes that these days.” Janie punched a number into her phone. “Betsy Ann. Hi. Listen. Can you and George scan the newspapers for a police report of a stolen ambulance in the past few weeks?”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  “You’re meddling.” Blake’s voice blared through the receiver.

  “Only because I do it so well.” Janie huffed. “It came to me watching a mystery movie with Ethel on the public channel tonight. Did you see it?”

  “Did Jack tune into murder mysteries after he put in a twelve-hour day?”

  “No, of course, he didn’t. Sorry.”

  She heard his footfall on the hardwood floors of his den, which meant he paced. Not a good sign. After a minute his voice came over the airwaves. “Janie. Why must you become involved?”

  “I’m used to being in the loop. Or, at least, I did when Jack still walked this earth.” A lump of memory lodged in her windpipe. Even after ten years, at times, the realization she now journeyed alone hurt more that she wanted to admit.

  Blake’s tone softened. “You do possess a sharp wit. I’ll be the first to admit it. But, Janie, you got me knee deep in hot water last time. My calves still burn.”

  A picture of him standing in a boiling pot in white boxers with red hearts and crimson sock suspenders flashed before her. A Panama hat sported by gumshoes from a bygone era angled on his head, cocked over his left brow. She giggled at the image. “Sorry, Blake. The visual is too much.”

  “Never mind. I don’t want to know.” His chair squeaked. He must have returned to his desk.

  She shifted the conversation before he felt the need to pace again, or hang up on her. “The autopsy will be public record, correct?”

  “Sure, in about two months once they scan it in. Sorry. I found out the backlog in Austin is steep, since all the small towns in the state send theirs into the capital headquarters’ database.”

  “So, why not share the one you got with this public now?”

  His nose sigh whistled through the receiver. “I did show it to you.”

  “Not all of it. In fact, you only read parts of it to me. You never let me review the whole thing.”

  At first, he didn’t respond. Then she heard the casters roll forward over the hardwood floors of his den. The rustle of papers meant he still sat at the desk. “OK. What are we looking for?”

  “You may be looking for peace on earth and goodwill to men so you can go on vacation to the coast with Melody and the kids in June. I, on the other hand, want to know what drugs, if any, were in the girl’s system.”

  “You mean like heroine?”

  She paused. “More like an anesthetic or perhaps a prescription painkiller.”

  “Because...?”

  “Think she’d let someone slice her open and take the baby along with a kidney or two if she wasn’t knocked out?”

  A terse snicker came over the wire. “OK, you got me. I’ll pull it and let you read it. Provided you do it in my office behind closed doors. Tomorrow at eight sharp. This time, you bring the coffee and breakfast burritos. Now, go to bed. It’s after ten.”

  “Deal.”

  Janie clicked off and clutched the phone to her heart. “Yes.”

  ~*~

  Blake chomped his sausage and egg wrapped in a warm, flour tortilla as his mother-in-law read the report. Her silver-blue eyes scanned back and forth, reminding him of the Felix the Cat clock in her kitchen. He envisioned the cog wheels churning in her head like an old timekeeper’s pocket watch. The woman amazed him. He only hoped he had half her cognitive abilities when he turned seventy and made a mental note to order that brain exercise book he’d seen on the info-commercial.

  “So, one kidney had been severed at least several months before the other.” She peered at him over her readers. “Just as I thought.”

  “As is evident by the almost healed scar on her torso. This time, they took her other one and her liver.”

  “Along with her baby.”

  He laid the breakfast burrito down and wiped his fingers. “Yes.”

  “And yet the infant found in Edwin’s garden home is not a match?”

  “Which means there’s another baby out there somewhere.”

  Janie’s eyes clouded. “If it’s still alive. I gather her attackers wouldn’t care one way or another.”

  He took in a deep breath. “This world stinks sometimes.”

  “Hmm. That it does. I wonder if it’s always been this way, and we just hear about it more due to the Internet. What do you think?”

  Blake folded his hands. “Scripture seems to indicate some of the ancient societies were pretty unethical and lawless. Sodom and Gomorrah come to mind. And the Canaanites. They sacrificed newborns according to the book we’re reading in Bible study.”

  “When did you begin that?”

  “Mel and the kids go every Wednesday. I try to when I can. We’re all studying the same passages so we discuss it later on the ride home.”

  Janie smiled. Blake acknowledged her expression without another word passing between them. Both knew what the other thought.

  Only a month previously, Mel had whimpered to her mother how Blake never had time for family since his partner, Mitch Hornsby, went on extended medical leave. This became the catalyst for Janie’s involvement in the Edwin Newman case—her attempt to allow Blake extra time away from his job. Even though it didn’t turn out the way she planned, her point had been made.

  After a moment he leaned forward and pointed to the paper in her hand. “She had enough barbiturates in her system to knock out an elephant.”

  “Death occurred before the organs had been removed. How do they know?”

  He shrugged. “I never went to medical school. John did. I trust his expertise.”

  “John Abrams?”

  “The one and the same. I gather Jack knew him since he’s your contemporary.”

  Her face drooped. “Yes. We had him and Mary over for dinner a lot. She and I would excuse ourselves when they talked shop while carving the roast. After a while, they’d realize the side dishes and their wives were not present.”

  He snickered. “I bet it didn’t stop them, though.”

  “Not often. Eventually, they learned to hold off until they sat on the back porch with cigars and coffee.”

  “Sounds like great friends.”

  Janie let out a sigh. “Truly. John lost Mary a few years after I buried Jack. Breast cancer came back with a vengeance.”

  “Surprised you two never got together.”

  Her mouth flew open at his comment. Blake squelched the desire to laugh. He loved getting her goat.

  She gave off a small cough. “Back to the matters at hand.” She lowered her glasses at him.

  “Yes. You had a comment, Janie?”

  “I gather you checked the hospitals for an abandoned newborn.”

  “We did, along with the firehouses, police headquarters in neighboring towns, and the doc-in-the-boxes. Even the libraries.”

  She tapped her finger on the report. “It doesn’t make sense. Where is her baby?”

  “Maybe in a dumpster.”

  Janie sat back and crossed her arms. “Now look who’s trying to connect an old case to a new one.”

  She had him. “I meant, perhaps the infant was stillborn or didn’t survive the procedure. You were right. The incision smacks of an amateurish C-section. Which means her attackers didn’t know what they were doing.”

  She peered at him over her readers with an exasperated expression. His mind flashed back to his fourth-grade teacher as she tried to drum math equations into his brain. “Not necessarily, Blake. It’s conceivable they had some medical training.”

&n
bsp; “Why?”

  “The kidney and liver were surgically removed according to the report.” She waved the paper at him. “Not a whack job. My guess is they were emergency technicians because an ambulance would provide them privacy and the equipment they’d need. They could drive around doing their deed and no one would be the wiser.”

  He felt the blood leave his face.

  “I’ve already told George and Betsy Ann to look into stolen emergency vehicles. But, there is one piece of the puzzle I don’t know.”

  “And that is?”

  “The brutes knew she neared her due date. They had this planned out in advance.”

  He snapped his fingers. “Of course they did.” Blake stood and came around his desk. He laid a hand on his mother-in-law’s shoulder. “Janie, now I understand why Jack cherished you.”

  Her elderly, crow-foot lined eyes glistened. “And I him.”

  Blake detected the love still lingering in Janie’s eyes for her late soul mate. Definitely not ready to turn her attention to another man. Perhaps she never would. It made him wonder if his wife would remarry if…he blinked the thought away.

  Janie rose to leave. “We’ll finish this case in time for you and the kids to go to Padre Island on vacation.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Date’s set in stone. Mitch should be back anyway. He can tie up any loose ends with Hemphill.”

  “I’m glad. I’m sure you’ve missed your partner.”

  Blake huffed through his cheeks. “Not as much as I’ve missed my wife.”

  Janie nodded her approval as she gathered their breakfast remnants and placed them in his wastebasket. “Have a good day, Blake.”

  After she exited, Blake called a florist and ordered two bouquets. One for Janie and one for Melody. From today on, he’d appreciate them both more.

  ~*~

  Janie walked up the street from the parking lot to the Maid to Order headquarters. Her mouth moved ever so slightly as she rehearsed the spiel she’d give to the punk receptionist. However, when she entered through the shiny glass doors, the desk lay empty. Within a few seconds the telltale stilettos of the owner, Mrs. Arnold, sounded across the floors.

  “Why, Mrs. Manson. What a surprise. Not a complaint, I hope?” She waltzed toward her, sculptured fingernails extended to prompt a shake and pearly white teeth gleaming between ruby red lips.

  “No, not in the least. In fact,” Janie dug the notes out of her purse, “the ladies in my Bunco club wanted to express their thanks to the cleaning crew who did such a fantastic job to our common areas. Trouble is, I didn’t catch all of their names. I know Olga and Mita, but there were two or three others present. We wish to address the cards personally to each maid.” Janie clutched the envelopes to her chest as she returned the same saccharine smile the proprietor had used to greet her.

  Mrs. Arnold dropped her hand. “My, how unnecessarily kind.” She moved two more paces into Janie’s personal space. “I’ll make sure they all get them.”

  Janie didn’t move. She stared the woman down. “I’ll need the others’ names to put on the outside of the cards.”

  The owner’s penciled eyebrow raised. “Let me consult my records. I’ll be right back. Please take a seat.”

  “Where’s your lovely receptionist?”

  The woman called back without turning around. “I fired her. I only hire hardworking employees and she turned out not to be one.”

  Her heels clinked down the highly polished hallway. Janie muttered to herself. “It took you long enough to figure that one out.”

  She rolled her eyes and began to sit in one of the modern chairs when the Rolodex—the old fashioned telephone number filing system with small cards on a spindle in alphabetical order—caught her eye. She slipped behind the reception area and twirled it, opening the “O” tab. There. What luck. Filed by first names, not last. Olga Stovanosky. 512-994-6265. Another half turn. “M”—Mita Raza. 512-246-1132. One more flick of the knob. “R”—Ra’naa Batani. 512-699-4478.

  She jotted down their information on a post-it note and shoved it in her pocket as the stiletto clacks grew louder. Janie dashed to the chair and perched, purse in her lap and legs crossed at the ankles as Mrs. Arnold rounded the corner. “No matter. My regular secretary will be back next week. Here you are.”

  “Thank you so much. I will only be a minute addressing them. May I use the desk to steady my handwriting? My hands shake a bit, you know.”

  She eyed the neat surface with no papers in sight other than the packet of notepads. “Well, yes. I suppose so. Just leave them when you are through and I will stick them in each girl’s locker.”

  Janie gave the woman her most sweet-and-trustworthy-little-old-lady grin. Satisfied, Mrs. Arnold stepped back. “I will be in my office making some calls. Good day, Mrs. Manson. I am glad you and your community are pleased with the work my maids provide.”

  Waiting for the footfall to diminish, Janie read the names on the list. Maria Hernandez and Anna Walker were the others listed. Yes, she now recalled the older one who seemed in charge had introduced herself as Mrs. Hernandez. She flipped through the card file and recorded their info as well, just in case.

  TWENTY-SIX

  That evening when Blake walked in the door, the aroma of his favorite dish, chicken and dumplings, filled the hallway. In the center of the dining room table, perched his bouquet. Lit candles flickered on either side and a place setting for two had been laid. He loosened his tie and wandered into the kitchen, slipping his arms around his wife’s waist.

  “Where are the kids?”

  “Jaime’s at an out of town game and won’t be home until eleven, and Ellie’s out on a double date to the church’s youth concert. I expect her home at midnight.”

  He ran his hands down her hips. “Is dinner nearly ready?”

  She twirled into his embrace and pecked his neck. “It can simmer a while.”

  They finally ate at nine.

  Melody hummed as she placed their meal on the table. “Are you truly going to be able to go on vacation in two weeks?”

  He took her hand. “Whether this case is resolved or not, you, me, Ellie and Jamie will hit the surf. I promise.”

  “Excellent.” She kissed his temple and set the plate of food in front of him.

  “You modeling that new bathing suit stays on the forefront of my mind as incentive.” He wiggled his eyebrows, which made his wife’s cheeks turn the color of the roses in the vase. After a moment, he continued his thought, “I think you need to take the old one.”

  “Why?”

  He winked as he placed the napkin in his lap. “I’m not sure I want other men seeing how sexy you look in the new one.”

  She swatted the air near him with her hand.

  He pretended to duck. “Your mom dropped by the office today, by the way.” Blake shoveled a dumpling into his mouth.

  “She told me. I gather she’s helping, instead of hindering, with this new case. You sent her posies as well.”

  He eyed her over his glass half raised to his lips. “Do you mind?”

  “You sending her flowers or taking her on as volunteer help.”

  Blake reached for her fingers. “Both, I guess.”

  “No and no. Though I’m curious why the change in tune. Didn’t she land you in a bit of a pickle last time?”

  He cut a piece of chicken. “She did. This time, I’m making sure she stays in the background and does the grunt work.”

  “Blake!”

  He flayed his hands out to the sides. “What? She loves it. She has Ethel and Betsy Ann hopping to her commands, along with that new flame, George.”

  His wife stopped with a dumpling dangling from her fork. “What? Mom’s got a boyfriend.”

  He roared back and laughed. “No, dear. Betsy Ann does.”

  “Oh yes. That George.”

  “Which reminds me. Why didn’t Janie and John Abram connect? Here tell they were all good chums.”

  Melody gave him a wise-old-owl e
xpression. “Perhaps that’s exactly why.”

  He eased forward and gave her a small smack on her lips. “I married a smart woman.”

  “Thank you, dear.”

  “You’re almost as quick in the wit as your mother.”

  “Oh pooh on you.” She giggled and handed him the rolls.

  ~*~

  Janie unfolded the square, canary papers to review the names and numbers. She gathered these were all cell phones so she chanced texting Olga and Mita. Sweet talked Mrs. Arnold out of your phone numbers so I could thank you for such a great job yesterday. Always here if you ever need anything.

  She called Ra’naa’s number. A mechanical recorded voice told her the number no longer worked. A hot chill scooted up the back of her neck. First, the girl disappears then her cell is disconnected? It didn’t take a fortune teller to figure out the poor immigrant might be in grave danger, or worse.

  Neither Olga nor Mita returned her message. Janie pouted. Maybe they had their phones muted while they were on the job. Mrs. Arnold sounded like a stickler for work ethics. Janie decided to wait twenty-four hours and then try to reach them again. What to do until then?

  Laundry? Ugh—no. She closed the hamper, crawled under her afghan with a cup of herbal tea and began to read a clean historical romance novel. Within minutes, Mrs. Fluffy joined her, made three turns and curled up in the concave of her knees. She became so engrossed in the Regency tale, she barely heard the clock bong five.

  “Oh my. Where did the day go?”

  Mrs. Fluffy stretched and waddled to her food bowl.

  “Good idea. I’m hungry as well.”

  ~*~

  In the morning before her scheduled power walk, she checked her phone for texts. None. When she tried later in the day to call, she got a message saying neither chose to receive any at that time.

  Another chill traveled her spine. Something told her the girls fell into trouble. She prayed it wasn’t due to her meddlin’, as Blake put it. Then she asked God to help her find a way to contact them.

  ~*~

  Two days later, a rancher discovered a young, dark-haired woman floating in his stock pond fifteen miles outside of Alamoville. Blake phoned Janie to give her the details.