Bringing Maggie Home

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  The woman moved close to Diane. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to go home for a few hours?”

  Since John Wedman had the dogs and Meghan was in Arkansas, there was no reason for her to go to the house. Except to shower. She could smell herself. A shower would probably make everybody she encountered happy. But she didn’t want to leave Mother. She shook her head.

  “Ms. DeFord, may I be frank?”

  Diane offered a stiff nod.

  “I know it’s difficult to leave the bedside of a loved one, but if you don’t take care of yourself, you won’t be any good to your mother. Go home. Eat a good meal. Take a long shower or soak in a bathtub. Pamper yourself a little bit. Then come back. I promise we’ll take good care of her while you’re gone.”

  Diane pulled in a shuddering breath. “May I be frank with you?”

  “Of course.”

  “When she opens her eyes, I want her to see that I’m here. It is very important that she sees me when she wakes up.” Tears distorted her vision. She whisked the moisture away with her fingers and lifted her chin. “She was always there for me. I need to be here now. For her.”

  The woman glanced at the black box mounted above Mother’s bed, then at a small computer screen. She frowned at the screen for several seconds, sighed, and faced Diane again. “To be perfectly honest, I think you’ll be safe to leave. Her vitals show no indication of change. She isn’t likely to rouse in the next few hours.” A sad smile played on her lips. “It’s all right if you go. The poor woman won’t know the difference.”

  Thirty-Seven

  Cumpton, Arkansas

  Meghan

  The drive to Cumpton seemed shorter with the morning sun sending fingerlike beams of silver above the clouds and making the tree leaves glow like emeralds. The eerie feeling she’d experienced during Monday evening’s return to Bentonville had fled, and even the heaviest burden of worry had lifted. During her morning phone call, she’d tried to convince Mom to entrust Grandma into God’s hands, but she wasn’t sure she’d succeeded. Mom promised to give Grandma a kiss and an “I love you” from Meghan. She prayed the words would penetrate and settle deep in her grandmother’s subconscious.

  Sean had made a morning phone call, too, to Mrs. Durdan, so she was expecting them. She probably wasn’t expecting what they intended to ask, though. And she would probably deny them. Meghan wouldn’t get testy if she did—she understood wanting to protect someone she loved. But they needed to see Nora Burton’s financial records. If they were chasing the wrong lead, they needed to figure it out now rather than waste time.

  Meghan suspected they weren’t on the wrong track. “But what if we’re too late?”

  “What?”

  She hadn’t realized she spoke aloud until Sean shifted to grin at her. She snorted a short laugh. “Sorry. I was thinking. About Mrs. Durdan and the unlikelihood that she’ll willingly let us see her mother’s record book.” Her chest constricted. “And even if she does and we find out that Nora Burton was somehow involved in Maggie’s disappearance, Maggie would be seventy-three years old by now. A lot of people don’t live into their seventies. We could find out that, yes, Mrs. Burton did something with her but still be too late to reunite her with Grandma.”

  “And if that’s the case, at least your grandmother will have closure. Closure’s worth a lot.” Sean reached across the console and squeezed her hand. He’d touched her a lot in the past two days—comforting touches, reassuring touches, friendly touches. She’d come to expect and appreciate it. More than she probably should. “But don’t jump ahead, okay? One step at a time. All we’re trying to find out right now is how Mrs. Burton came up with the money for the extra things she bought. Mrs. Durdan might have a logical explanation—such as an inheritance.”

  “But the money and Mrs. Burton’s secretiveness about her financial dealings seem so fishy to me.”

  “It seems fishy to me, too, but there are lots of ways to bring in extra money, and not all of them are illegal. So let’s get the facts before we form conclusions.”

  They reached Cumpton, and Meghan pulled out her cell phone to snap photographs as Sean drove along the street. She might not end up showing them to Grandma, but she wanted to have them just in case. They followed the tree-lined drive to the orphans’ home. Mrs. Durdan was in the yard, wearing a big floppy hat and gloves and picking up sticks. She dropped her armload beneath a tree and waved when they pulled up close to the garage.

  She smiled as they crossed the yard, Sean tempering his stride to match Meghan’s crutches-limited progress. “Good morning, Detective Eagle and Detective DeFord. Have you had your breakfast? I baked muffins this morning, chock-full of apples and pecans from trees right here on my property.”

  “We did have breakfast, but I won’t turn down a muffin.” Sean offered Mrs. Durdan his elbow.

  “Now, aren’t you the gentleman.” With a girlish giggle, she pulled off her glove and took hold. They moved together toward the house. “I was certainly surprised to hear from you again. Did something I say help you in your investigation?”

  Sean stepped up on the stoop, gave Mrs. Durdan a little pull up beside him, then seemed to hold his breath while Meghan heaved herself up, too. “There are a few things we’d like to clarify, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.” She gestured them inside, and they followed her to the clean, good-smelling kitchen and the same little table they’d sat around for supper. She poured steaming coffee into thick mugs and served muffins, talking all the while. “I hope you know you’ve got the whole town of Cumpton—well, what’s left of it—abuzz. Edith Yarberry’s spread the word about cold-case detectives digging up graves. Half the people want to stand and watch, and the other half are readying to run the two of you out of the county if you bother any of their kin.”

  She sank into her chair and removed her hat, chuckling. “There hasn’t been this much excitement since Timmy Rodgers dumped a pint of green food coloring in the Palmers’ backyard well. And that was clear back in ’63. So you can tell we’ve been needin’ a little something to rile us up.” She took a breath and smiled. “Now, what can I do for you two today?”

  Sean took a muffin and broke off a small piece. “We’re hoping you can satisfy our curiosity.”

  “About what?”

  “You’ve carved a fairly comfortable life here for yourself. You told us on our last visit that you attended the University of Arkansas. Your mother made that possible for you?”

  “Oh, yes. She’d been puttin’ money aside since I was a little girl. When the time came, I had all I needed to cover my tuition, room and board, and books. Since Mother always had to work so hard, she wanted me to have an education so I could get a better job. Would you believe I got my degree in accounting? Not something many women pursued, but it sounded so excitin’ at the time.”

  Mrs. Durdan ducked her head and released a rueful chuckle. “I certainly disappointed Mother when I ended up working for the state as a foster parent. But I didn’t see the need to secure a better-payin’ job since Nolan earned a fair wage as a mechanic and we had this nice house ready for us.”

  Meghan stayed quiet and let Sean do the talking, but she observed Mrs. Durdan’s face. She’d learned to discern whether a person was being completely honest or hiding something. So far not even a hint of guile had made itself known.

  Sean finished one muffin and reached for a second, his stance relaxed. “I’m impressed how your mother was able to provide so well for you. As you’ve pointed out, she was ‘only’ a state worker and she had a lot of concerns about finances. Yet you didn’t seem to lack for what her generation would call the creature comforts. Did she inherit some money from her family that allowed for extras?”

  “Oh, no, Mother came from a very poor family. Twelve children in all, and a father who gambled away what little money he earned. If it wasn’t for the benevolence offerings given at the church her mother attended, she’d have gone barefoot even in the winter because there w
asn’t money for shoes. She knew hardship, Detective Eagle. I suppose that’s why she had such compassion for destitute children.”

  “Very commendable.” Sean paused long enough to chase a bite of muffin with a slurp of coffee. He settled the cup on the table. “She must have had some secondary means of income, then.”

  “Well, only one, as I recall.”

  “What was that?”

  Mrs. Durdan turned her gaze to the window. Meghan read both worry and uncertainty in the crinkle of her brow.

  “Mrs. Durdan?” Sean spoke gently yet with a note of authority. “How else did your mother earn money?”

  Slowly the woman shifted to look at the two of them again. “Mother never wanted me to talk about what she called her Christian dealings. She said the Bible speaks clearly that a person never lets the right hand know what the left hand is doing. She feared reprisal from the Lord if we talked about it.”

  Meghan leaned forward slightly. “Since she’s gone now, do you think she’d mind?”

  Mrs. Durdan fixed a stern look on Meghan. “My mother might be gone, but there are people here in Cumpton who still remember her. I don’t believe she’d approve of me sharing the way she helped the unfortunate. I already told you, she was a private person.”

  Sean linked his hands around the coffee cup. “Ma’am, it would help our investigation if we knew what she was doing. We need to close doors that lead us astray in order to find the door that leads to answers. Does that make sense?”

  “I suppose it does.” She bounced an uncertain glance from Sean to Meghan. “If I tell you about Mother’s Christian dealings, you won’t brag on it to folks around Cumpton?”

  “No bragging. I promise.” Sean said it first. Then he turned to Meghan and she recited the pledge, too, although she wondered how they would keep things quiet if Mrs. Burton had stolen children.

  “All right, then.” Mrs. Durdan took in a big breath, held it for several seconds, and then let it whoosh out. “My mother helped childless couples who longed for children and who would love and provide well for them.”

  Sean tilted his head. “She handled private adoptions?”

  “That’s right.”

  Meghan shook her head. “Why should that be kept secret?”

  “Well…” Mrs. Durdan picked at a snag in the linen tablecloth. “Because some of the children didn’t come from here at the orphanage. She rescued the children from hurtful situations. It always bothered her how folks who didn’t seem to know one thing about lovin’ and carin’ for their youngsters had whole housefuls, while others who had the means to provide well had none. So she tried to…balance the scale.”

  Sean flicked a meaningful look at Meghan. “How did she know the children were in need of rescue?”

  Sadness glimmered in the woman’s blue eyes. “Mother had a real sensitivity to children in need. With all the traveling she did, she saw lots of things. Things that made her heart hurt. And she wanted to make a difference. So she decided to be a kind of Robin Hood—you know the story about the man who stole from the rich to give to the poor? Mother loved that story. But she gave it her own twist. She rescued little children born to poor or unfit parents and sent them to families better equipped to care for them.”

  Meghan’s great-grandfather had been a drunkard. Had that been reason enough for Mrs. Burton to steal little Maggie away? Her mouth was dry, and she took a quick sip of her coffee. “It sounds as if your mother had a great deal of…empathy.”

  Mrs. Durdan nodded. “Yes, ma’am, she surely did.”

  “But I wonder how she knew she was sending these children to better families than the ones they were born into.”

  “Oh, she made sure the adoptive families were wealthy by asking for a placement fee. If the family could afford the fee, then she knew they could afford to raise the child.”

  Meghan’s flesh prickled. She squirmed in the chair, eagerness sending a rush of adrenaline through her. “Did she keep in touch with the families afterward? Do you know where the children were sent?”

  “She never communicated with the families afterward—at least not to my knowledge. But most of the children went to California.” She sighed, and a satisfied smile lifted the corners of her lips. “Mother said they’d live with sunshine the rest of their days. She was always very proud of sending them to such a happy place.”

  “So you mean—”

  Sean shot Meghan a silencing look. He rose. “Thank you very much for the information, Mrs. Durdan. You’ve been very helpful.” He stuck out his hand, and Mrs. Durdan took hold. Meghan recognized a hint of sympathy lurking behind his smile. “We’ll scoot out now.”

  He cupped his hand around Meghan’s elbow and escorted her to the truck. Meghan glanced toward the house, where Mrs. Durdan watched them from the kitchen window while Sean opened the door for her. She grunted as she climbed into the seat, then clamped and unclamped her hands as she waited for Sean to slide in behind the wheel.

  The moment Sean slammed his door behind him, Meghan exploded. “The woman is delusional. She can’t honestly believe her mother was some kind of avenging angel bent on saving the world’s children, can she?”

  Sean twisted the key in the ignition, and the truck’s engine roared to life. “Whatever she believes, she’s given us probable cause for a search warrant.” He drove up the lane, scowling through the windshield—what Meghan had come to call his deep-thought scowl. “Call Captain Ratzlaff and tell him what she said. He’ll need to make the call to the Bentonville courthouse and get a judge to sign off for us to search the orphanage. Tell him we need access to Mrs. Burton’s office and her personal accounting book.”

  Meghan pulled out her cell phone and brought up the captain’s number. “Should we put a rush on it?” Trying to get things accomplished across counties could take several days. “If we have to wait, do you think the book will still be there when we get back with a warrant? Mrs. Durdan might hide it.”

  His expression faded to sadness. “I doubt it, Meghan. She’s so sure her mother’s motivations were pure and honorable. You heard what she said about right hands and left hands—she’s stayed quiet all these years so her mother’s good deeds would be honored by God. Maybe her mother was the delusional one who really believed she was doing the right thing delivering those kids to wealthy parents. Who knows? But the birth families deserve the truth about what happened to their children. So let’s get that search warrant and pray Mrs. Burton didn’t throw away the addresses of the adoptive families in California.”

  Meghan grimaced. “The happy place of sunshine.”

  Thirty-Eight

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  Diane

  Was it happy wherever Mother was? Diane smoothed Mother’s hair. The nurse had given her a dry shampoo early that morning, but the snow-white strands seemed lank. Lifeless. As lifeless as Mother.

  Diane pulled the chair close to Mother’s bed and stacked her arms on the cold iron bed rail. For two days now Mother had lain quiet and unmoving. Diane rested her chin on her arms and gazed at her mother’s face. Mother didn’t seem to be in any pain. It appeared a deep, restful sleep had claimed her. Her chest rose and fell in slow, steady breaths, but other than that small movement, she might have been carved of stone.

  Music played softly on a portable CD player delivered by some of Mother’s church friends the previous evening. They’d come with the player and a stack of CDs, all of hymns played on the piano, which they said Mother would enjoy. While they were there, they circled the bed, held hands, and prayed. Diane had joined the circle and, during the prayer, kept her eyes open and fixed on Mother’s unresponsive face. She’d added her prayers that somehow the words being lifted to the God whom Mother loved and faithfully served would be heard and He’d answer their pleas for her to awaken. But surgery was now forty-eight hours past, and so far there’d been no change. Diane wasn’t sure if she was more disappointed or angry at God’s seeming inattention.

  Two hospital workers, this ti
me both men, strode into the room. She’d seen an endless parade of people coming and going. All of them seemed capable. To the letter, they performed their tasks without hesitation. But some were more compassionate than others, pausing to touch Mother’s hand or give Diane a smile of encouragement. The two latest ones seemed more focused on their job than the patient lying on the bed.

  Diane remained seated while one of the men replaced the flattened, empty plastic bag dripping fluids into Mother’s IV with a fat, full one. The other man stopped at the end of the bed. He flopped a clipboard with some sort of chart caught in the metal clip onto the bed near Mother’s thigh and lifted the sheets, exposing Mother’s feet. Curious, Diane shifted her gaze to him. He flicked the sole of Mother’s right foot. So hard it snapped like someone snapping their fingers.

  Diane launched upright. The chair skidded backward on the tile floor, screeching like an angry cat. “What are you doing?”

  “Checking for a response.” He positioned his hand to flick the other foot.

  “Stop that!” Diane grabbed his wrist and glared at the man. “You’re going to hurt her.”

  He angled a stern look at her. “Ma’am, I need to chart her responsiveness.”

  “Well, you don’t need to be so rough.” She flipped the sheets back in place. Yanking up the clipboard, she blinked hard against tears. “If you left a bruise on Mother’s foot, I’ll file a complaint with the hospital.”

  He held out his hand. “May I have my clipboard, please?”

  Temptation to slam it against the side of his head teased, but she slapped it onto his palm.

  He scribbled something on the paper and then tucked the clipboard under his arm. “I understand that you’re upset. It’s to be expected, given the circumstances. But being overprotective won’t help us. Or her.” He tossed the curtains aside and left, and the second man followed without a word.

  Diane sagged into the chair. “Overprotective…” The word reverberated through her mind. That’s what she’d called her mother. Over and over again, she’d railed against Mother’s overprotectiveness. And for the first time, she fully understood Mother’s motivation. Mother loved her. Loved her so deeply and expansively that she tried to weave a cocoon of protection around her. Not a cocoon to stifle her, but a cocoon to keep her safe. Why hadn’t she been able to understand before now?