This Little Baby

by Joyce Sullivan

  “Do either of you know his last name?” Paulina asked.

  Both women shook their heads.

  “Would you mind if I took your names so I could call if we come across something in the investigation that you might be able to shed some light on?”

  Paulina noted obvious reluctance in their eyes.

  “Please,” Gil said, emotion creeping into his deep voice. “For Mikey’s sake.”

  “Okay,” Kathie finally agreed.

  Danielle nodded.

  Paulina made a note of their names and telephone numbers. “Is there anyone else here you think we should talk to?”

  “Not really,” Kathie said. “The three of us got friendly straight off.”

  Still, Paulina resisted the temptation to leave immediately. There might be someone else who could tell them something important. Twenty minutes later, she thanked everyone for their cooperation. Then she and Gil approached the front desk and asked to speak to the director.

  “Are you finished, then?” the director inquired, glancing at the clock. He removed the cap of a pen dangling from a cord around his neck and made a notation on a schedule secured to a clipboard.

  “Yes, it’s been very helpful.” Paulina leaned against the counter. “But there’s one other person I’d like to talk to. I understand Cindy was a friend of one of your employees. I believe his name is Jean-Luc?”

  “That would be Jean-Luc Deveau.”

  “Is he here today? Could I talk to him?”

  “That wouldn’t be possible.” The director gave Gil a long, appraising look. “Is he with the police?”

  “No. He’s my partner. If you could tell me when JeanLuc’s scheduled to be in next, I’d be happy to come back.”

  “You don’t understand, Ms. Stewart,” the director explained. “Jean-Luc won’t be back. He quit last Tuesday. He didn’t even give two weeks’ notice.”

  Paulina frowned. “Have you got a phone number or an address where I could reach him?”

  “I’m sorry, that’s confidential information.”

  “Of course.”

  Gil stirred restlessly at her side, then politely excused himself. She tried to gauge what was going on with him in the brief look he sent her before he dug his hands into the pockets of his gray slacks and paced toward the elevator near the rear entrance. Maybe all the talk about Cindy’s involvement with another man was getting to him. Paulina hovered between a compassionate urge to follow Gil and the compunction to complete the interview. She decided to stick with the director. Recovering Mikey was her top priority.

  “You said Jean-Luc quit without notice,” she remarked, trying another tact. “Did he give you any reason?”

  “No. He just came into my office at the end of his shift last Tuesday and announced he was quitting. I asked why and he said it was none of my business. He told me to send him his last paycheck.” The director put the cap back on his pen and scratched the bald spot on top of his head. “He probably found a better-paying job.”

  Paulina had other ideas—none of them good. “Well, thanks again for the help.” She turned and headed in the direction in which Gil had gone. What had come over him? She took the elevator down and walked out to the parking lot. She found Gil’s black sports car, but there was no sign of him. Had he gone for a walk around the block to vent some steam?

  It didn’t work, telling herself that her concern was purely professional. She was worried about the man. Not her client. Which was going to get her into trouble if she wasn’t careful enough. Stifling an exasperated sigh, she returned to the rear lobby and picked up a pay phone. While Gil was cooling off, she might as well call Karl and see if he could get her an address on Jean-Luc Deveau.

  Karl, as always, was happy to oblige her request. Paulina scribbled Jean-Luc’s address onto her notepad. Finally, they were making progress in this case. Now, if she could just find Gil.

  GIL FELT THE TENSION winding tighter in his body. He’d hoped one of the employees at the community center would have Jean-Luc’s home number or would know where he lived, but he’d come up with a big fat zero. A male fitness instructor had told him Jean-Luc kept to himself. The only thing he talked about was his 1969 Mustang.

  Somehow that didn’t make Gil feel more relieved. How many lunatics out there kept to themselves?

  He found Paulina standing on the sidewalk near the parking lot, her slender hand shielding her eyes from the sun as she gazed toward the park backing the community center. Her red crepe dress made her look smart and professional and very, very sexy. His body throbbed with an insatiable curiosity to find out if she wore lacy red underthings beneath it.

  “Looking for someone?” he couldn’t resist saying.

  She whirled around, her expression a mixture of relief—and annoyance? She was probably mad about that married reference. Hell, he’d read all her signals and knew there was no way her life could be in sync with his—even though that kiss the other night had been spectacular. He was just having trouble convincing the rest of his body parts that she was not his type.

  “There you are,” she said. “Where were you?”

  He told her.

  “Well, it was worth a shot. I should have thought of it myself.” She grabbed his arm, dragging him toward her car. For a slender woman hampered by high heels, she had a considerable amount of power.

  He pulled his mind away from wondering if she was this assertive when it came to lovemaking. Why was he torturing himself with never-gonna-happen fantasies? Probably because he was focusing on Paulina’s beauty to keep himself from going stark, raving crazy about Mikey. Thanks to one of those ladies inside, Gil now had another worry to add to his growing list—just who the hell had fathered Mikey?

  “Come on,” Paulina urged. “We don’t have time to waste. I’ve got Jean-Luc’s address.”

  For a moment he was dumbfounded as he tried to process what she’d just said, then questioned his surprise. Paulina Stewart seemed capable of anything. “How’d you get it?”

  She shook her head, her short black cap of hair gleaming in the sunlight. “Can’t tell, it’s a trade secret.”

  “Damn woman,” he muttered under his breath, half hoping she’d hear. She jammed a key into the lock of the passenger door. “Why are we taking your car?” he demanded. “I’ll drive.”

  “Because it’s not far and you have too much on your mind. Get in.”

  He obeyed her. She turned onto East Somerset and zipped up to King Edward Avenue.

  “So,” he began, “I was thinking about what Cindy’s fnends told us.” He cleared his throat, afraid to say what was poisoning his thoughts. But he’d never run away from a problem in his life. In the long run it was easier to face up to things right from the start. “It got me wondering if Mikey is Ted’s child.” His fingers splayed on his thighs. Bitterness coated his tongue. “I used to tease Ted and say, ‘Isn’t it fortunate Mikey doesn’t look anything like you?’ Mikey’s got pale blue eyes like Cindy—and his hair is blond. Ted had dark hair like me. Isn’t dark hair dominant?” A fierce anger cut his guts to ribbons. It was killing him to think Mikey wasn’t Ted’s flesh and blood.

  Paulina laid her hand on his left thigh, covering his hand with hers. Gil closed his eyes, overwhelmed by how good it felt to have her there to talk through this madness. To touch her and be soothed by the calm strength of her satiny fingers.

  “Gil,” she said firmly, “lots of kids have blond hair when they’re babies and it becomes darker later in life. Try not to jump to conclusions.”

  He laughed abruptly. He knew she meant well, but he’d already taken a long flying leap. “You mean like don’t assume this Jean-Luc character killed Cindy because he learned Mikey is his son and she’d tried to conceal the fact from him?” Gil realized his jaw was trembling with the effort of trying to keep himself together. “You know, it all makes sense in a sick kind of way. He quit the day before Cindy died. Was he making plans to kill her and run off with Mikey?”

  Paulina di
dn’t answer him. She gave his thigh a comforting squeeze, then returned her hand to the steering wheel so she could pull over to the curb. She pointed at a low two-story brick building down the street. “That’s Jean-Luc’s address.”

  Gil tensed, studying the decaying building. A marked difference in the color of the redbrick indicated where a grander front entrance had been replaced during the building’s conversion to a row house. Now, a simple colonnaded porch painted Quebec blue-and-white sheltered two private entrances. A cornice across the top of the building ended in corner brackets detailed with French fleurs-de-lis. Jean-Luc’s prized olive green Ford Mustang sat in the right side driveway.

  Gil climbed out of the car, ready to draw blood.

  The row house was ominously silent.

  “Let me do the talking and keep your fists in your pockets,” Paulina told him as they walked up the uneven concrete path to the porch. “You’ll be no help to Mikey if you’re thrown in jail for assault causing bodily injury.”

  Gil’s heart started to pound. He rang the doorbell, hearing it echo in the abode. There was no sound of answering footsteps. Gil leaned over the porch railing to look in the living-room window. Paulina stepped in front of him for a look, too, her soft body brushing against his. Her fresh lilac scent tantalized him, despite his red-hot urge to throttle Jean-Luc on sight. The open layout of the row house allowed him to see straight back to the eating area—and the legs of a man sprawled on the floor. The man wasn’t moving. Gil’s heart sank with dread. Then he noticed a blue-and-red diaper bag on the table. Mikey’s diaper bag.

  Gil swore under his breath, fear and anger colliding head-on in his chest. He plied his shoulder to the door as a wild surge of adrenaline kicked into his system. The frame groaned in protest. “We’ve got to get in there. Mikey could be inside.”

  “Wait, Gil!” Pauhna admonished him, tearing at the gold clasp on her purse. She pulled out a tissue. She wanted him to wait so she could blow her nose?

  Gil drew back for another lunge. He was getting inside. Now. He surged forward, caught by surprise that the door opened so easily. He’d barely touched it. He stumbled as he charged inside the narrow foyer, realizing to his embarrassment that Paulina had opened the door by turning the knob.

  Paulina grabbed on to the back of his suit jacket, slowing him down. “Try not to touch anything,” she cautioned as they wove through the furniture in the living room to the jean-clad figure lying on the speckled vinyl flooring.

  The smell of death pervaded the house. Horror gripped Gil’s heart and wouldn’t let go. The fear that his gaze might fall on Mikey’s lifeless body at any moment made his limbs quake. Paulina hunched down on her heels near the man’s body, her expression grim. The man’s shoulder-length blond hair and muscular build told Gil it had to be Jean-Luc. Blood surrounded a hole at the base of his head. A gun was clasped in Jean-Luc’s right hand. Had he shot himself after he’d killed Cindy?

  By sheer strength of will, Gil forced himself to glance around the room. Would they find Mikey here with—He couldn’t think the worst. Gil strained his ears, listening for signs of life in the quiet house.

  Paulina rose to her feet. “He’s probably been dead a few days. We’ll search the house for Mikey before we call the police.” She handed Gil her tissue and pulled another out of her purse. “Just watch what you touch. Robbins will give us hell for disturbing a crime scene.”

  “Okay, okay. Let’s go.”

  The row house was hot and the smell turned Gil’s stomach. Sweat dripped down his face as they raced from room to room, searching for some sign of Mikey. Gil felt the air trap in his lungs every time they opened a cupboard or a door to one of the upstairs rooms. They found a pile of disposable diapers in the bathroom cabinet and a baby toy that must have rolled on the uneven pine floors to a low spot under a gliding rocker in the living room.

  Where could he be? Gil wondered as they trudged downstairs to the cramped foyer. The diaper bag proved Mikey had been here. Cindy’s name and phone number were written on it in permanent marker.

  Paulina explored the narrow hallway that ran straight back to the kitchen, skirting the living and eating areas. “Gil, there’s a door to the basement under the stairs,” she said, her face white and pinched.

  They went down together. Gil led the way on the narrow, rickety stairs, glad for the reassuring feel of Paulina’s hand on his back. He was too tall to stand upright as they entered the gloomy cavern illuminated by a single bare bulb. The space was used to store a bicycle, hockey gear and homemade beer-brewing equipment. They methodically looked everywhere. To Gil’s relief, the concrete floor revealed no signs of having been disturbed.

  Paulina took a deep breath of cool basement air before they returned to the living room. She’d seen a phone on a student-type desk there. She put a call through directly to Detective Robbins. He instructed them to get out of the house and wait for his arrival.

  She hung up and relayed Robbins’s message to Gil. Then she looked thoughtfully at the red light flashing on Jean-Luc’s answering machine. Her tissue-draped finger hovered over the button. “Shall we?” she asked Gil.

  “Push it,” he said, his face tight.

  Paulina’s own voice floated into the high-ceilinged room. There were no other messages. “Evidently, JeanLuc was the last person Cindy called from her apartment,” she observed.

  “Evidently,” he repeated.

  Paulina pressed the redial button and listened to the phone ring, her gaze landing on a black metal-framed photograph of Jean-Luc that hung on the cracked plaster wall above the desk. His intense brown eyes hinted at a passionate personality. She wondered what he’d been passionate about in life—Cindy? But pictures of the dead don’t speak.

  A recorded message came on the line and informed her she’d reached Canadian Airlines. A customer-service representative would be with her shortly. Paulina shared the information with Gil.

  Gil carefully picked up an envelope lying on the desk by the answering machine. Paulina used her tissue to pull out the papers inside.

  “Oh, no,” Paulina whispered, seeing two airplane tickets to Reno. The flight was for the previous Wednesday evening. She met Gil’s troubled gaze. “Something obviously went horribly wrong between Jean-Luc and Cindy. It still doesn’t explain where Mikey is, though.” She checked the itinerary the travel agent had provided. “They planned to be away for two weeks. Maybe they meant to elope.”

  “I’ll try not to be offended by the lack of an invitation,” Gil bit out. “Or the fact my brother’s been dead only two months.”

  Paulina slid the tickets back into the envelope. “We should get out of here before the police arrive.”

  They stood in the driveway, their fingers tangled together for mutual comfort, staring at Jean-Luc’s Mustang. He’d kept the car in mint condition right down to the mag wheels. The paint looked brand-new. The doors were locked but there was nothing visible on the olive green leather seats. Not even an infant car seat.

  “Mikey’s obviously not here,” Gil said, hope clinging to his voice. But his inner fears were telegraphed from every harsh line drawn around his handsome features. “I was thinking maybe Jean-Luc put him in the Dumpster with Cindy and a stranger heard him cry and rescued him. Maybe this person always wanted to have a child but couldn’t…”

  Paulina put her free hand up to his massive chest, feeling the powerful surge of his heartbeat and the depth of his love for Mikey, which was like an aura radiating from his heart. She needed to be strong for Gil and not be sidetracked by the anxiety spiking through her or the compelling desire to stop thinking and just react to the situation by holding him in her arms and reassuring him everything would be okay. Logic would find Mikey.

  “Gil, we haven’t actually determined Mikey’s not here. There are two places we haven’t searched. The yard and the trunk of Jean-Luc’s car.”

  “I’ll go inside and get the keys—”

  Paulina gripped the lapels of his suit to stop hi
m from charging off. “No, Gil.” A hot lump wedged in her throat. “If he’s here, it means he’s…”

  She saw the understanding dawn in his eyes. “Oh, Paulina, I want to take care of him. Ted thought he was his son and that’s good enough for me.” His face crumpled and Paulina slipped her arms around his waist and held on tight.

  Hugging Gil was like embracing an elm tree. To see a man of such sheer muscular strength reduced to tears over a baby made a sizable impression on Paulina’s heart. Her own tears slipped down her cheeks, saturating his shirt. “I don’t want you to lose him, either,” she said slowly, each word more painful to form than the last. “I’ll be right here with you. No matter what.”

  He nodded, his damp cheek brushing hers. “You know, Paulina Stewart, you’re one hell of a woman,” he said thickly.

  “Thank you.” She tried to smile, but gave up. Right now she felt like one hell of a bad detective. “I’ll take that as a compliment. But I don’t hold a candle to a nice guy like you.” Someday he’d be a good husband to some lucky woman—and a good father to some lucky kids. He deserved that much out of life.

  Paulina turned her head at the sound of tires squealing in the street. The police had arrived.

  GIL PUNCHED IN the security code of his house, feeling as though he’d been pushed through the wringer on the old washing machine his mom had kept for laundering his football uniforms. She’d been so proud of her new machine, she didn’t want to soil it with grunge from the field.

  He ran his hands through his hair. At least he still had hope. The police hadn’t found Mikey. They had found suitcases when they opened the trunk of Jean-Luc’s car.

  “Gil?” He felt Paulina’s hand on his shoulder. “How about I make us something to eat and we can talk?”

  He blinked, realizing he’d been staring blankly at the keypad. It was probably a good thing Paulina had insisted on driving him home, though he hadn’t liked leaving his car in the community center’s lot. “Sure.” He moved through the central hall to the kitchen, turning on lights.