The Baby Scheme

by Jacqueline Diamond

  Stepping inside, Alli hoped she hadn’t figured wrong. She would certainly owe Binnie one heck of an apology, and she’d have made a complete fool of herself. But sometimes a reporter had to take a risk.

  Thank goodness for Kevin. She appreciated that he trusted her enough to offer support even without knowing the whole story.

  “What’s this about?” the counselor demanded.

  “Tara Durban says you’re having an affair with her husband.” Alli hadn’t talked to Tara. It was a bluff, a big one.

  She’d put together the facts that Ralph had financial problems, that he knew about the investigation in Costa Buena and that he had a history of marital infidelity. She’d speculated that he must have figured out he could access data on vulnerable parents by seducing the counselor.

  Her guess had hit home, she saw when the color drained from Binnie’s cheeks. The woman clenched and unclenched her hands a couple of times without speaking.

  “I’m sorry?” Dr. Graybar shook his head. “I don’t understand what this has to do with anything.”

  “Ralph and Tara Durban are prospective adoptive parents,” Kevin replied coolly. He didn’t look happy, probably because, indirectly, they were revealing the identity of the blackmailer before the police had closed in on him.

  But she could see from the set of his jaw that he’d followed her line of reasoning. Probably he was disgruntled because he hadn’t thought of it first.

  If Brad and Kevin had leveled with her, Alli would have had to respond in kind. Having figured out Ralph’s identity on her own, however, she considered herself under no such obligation.

  “Mrs. Durban says her husband and Ms. Reed carried on their affair right here in the office after hours,” Alli fibbed, outlining the scenario she’d hit upon as most likely. “She left him alone while she went to the bathroom. He used that time to copy the names of some adoptive parents from your records.”

  Binnie gasped. “I can’t believe he’d do that!”

  It took a moment for Dr. Graybar to absorb the implications. “You think this man is the blackmailer?”

  Alli nodded.

  He turned to his employee. “Is this true? You’re the one who leaked those names?”

  Binnie glanced desperately around as if for inspiration, but none came. “I don’t know what Ralph did. I can’t believe he called those people and tried to extort money. It’s horrible.”

  “You had sex with a man here—worse, a client—and left him unsupervised with access to patient records?” Dr. Graybar demanded.

  She pressed her lips together and lowered her gaze. It was answer enough.

  “If you try to warn Mr. Durban in any way, you’ll be charged as an accessory,” Kevin interposed. “This is a police matter.”

  “I won’t,” she whispered. “Oh, Dr. Graybar, I’m so sorry. I’ve never done anything like this before. I don’t know what came over me.”

  “We have strict policies against that kind of conduct,” he reminded her. “Not to mention the negligence involving patient records.”

  “I’ll submit my resignation.” Binnie fought tears. “What else can I do?”

  “The police need you to testify against Ralph Durban,” Kevin said. “I’ll give you the lieutenant detective’s number. Call him now and volunteer the information. He may not charge you with anything if you contact him of your own accord.”

  “You won’t tell him you forced my hand?” she asked.

  “We’re just trying to get this case resolved.” Now that Rita Hernandez and Kevin’s client were off the hook, Alli could spare a measure of sympathy for Binnie. Ralph had obviously been a skilled manipulator.

  Dr. Graybar stared grimly into space. “This is unbelievable,” he muttered to no one in particular. “A breach of privacy like this, in my office.”

  “I’m sorry we suspected you of being involved,” Alli said.

  “I am involved, indirectly,” he replied. “Are you going to publish this whole mess in your story?”

  “It depends on what the police say,” she admitted.

  The doctor grimaced. “This didn’t have anything to do with Klaus LeMott then, after all?”

  “As far as we know, he’s in the clear,” Kevin confirmed. “At least, in the matter of the blackmail.”

  “I assure you, my dealings with him have been strictly ethical,” Graybar responded. “I’m repaying every penny of that loan.”

  “Sorry for the misunderstanding,” Alli said.

  The two of them stayed until Binnie placed the call to the detective. Then they slipped away.

  “It’s ironic. If LeMott had kept a leash on his bodyguards, he’d be off the hook. What an idiot,” Kevin noted as they took the elevator. “Listen, why don’t we finish discussing this over a bite to eat?”

  His casual tone rubbed Alli the wrong way. Couldn’t he at least suggest a candlelit dinner? “It’s five o’clock. I’m not hungry yet.”

  Her edgy tone must have given away her mood. “Are you mad at me for some reason?” Kevin asked.

  “No. Yes. Never mind! I wouldn’t want to be seen having dinner with you. It might give your mother and sisters the wrong idea.” The words tumbled out before Alli could stop them.

  “What wrong idea would that be?” he inquired as they reached the parking lot.

  She knew she ought to make some sassy remark and walk off. Brazen it out, the way she always did. Put on the tough veneer that kept the rest of the world at bay.

  She couldn’t. This was Kevin. He’d hurt her too much.

  “The wrong idea that you and I mean something to each other,” she blurted. “After all, our case is over. We’re not living together and we’re not planning to, as you pointed out.”

  A furrow creased his forehead as if he were trying to read fine print flashing by at high speed. “What’s this got to do with grabbing a burger?”

  “Seeing us together might give somebody the wrong impression,” she griped. “Like Heloise, Betsy and Bitsy.”

  “That’s Boopsy. I mean, Barbara.”

  “Right. They might think I’m pregnant. Or that I’m your girlfriend. They might mistake me for someone they could welcome into their family and expect to see in the future. Somebody they might teach to make casseroles and wrap up food in aluminum foil. They might even let slip the secret of where to buy those ‘From the kitchen of’ labels.”

  “But you hate acting domestic.” He sounded utterly confused.

  “That’s right, I do.” Alli fought through defiant tears. “Obviously, I’m not cut out to stick around. I’m not the ooh-Kevin kind of woman. I never made a bet that I could get a date with you. I don’t throw my precious hands in the air and get the vapors when some kid sits on your face. I’m clearly not your type.” A phrase that particularly rankled came rolling out. “No romance, no wedding bells, no baby.”

  “Whoa,” Kevin said. “You want a baby?”

  “No!”

  “Alli, where is this coming from?” He reached for her arm, but she backed off. Across the parking lot, a couple of people glanced in their direction. She ignored them.

  “Do you ever stop to think how lucky you are?” she pressed. “You have this wonderful home. You have a loving family, even if they overdo it once in a while. Women throw themselves at you. I guess it becomes a huge burden, doesn’t it? You’d rather be alone. Okay. I’m leaving you alone.”

  She half ran to her car, embarrassed by the drops burning tracks down her cheeks. What was wrong with her? She’d just made a scene in front of the man she’d come dangerously close to falling in love with.

  It was a good thing she’d wised up in time. She’d told him off, too. She ought to be proud of that.

  She’d unloaded a burden, Alli mused as she hit the gas and screeched away. Any minute now, she was going to feel light as a feather.

  Any minute.

  THE RED SPORTS CAR streaked across the blacktop and disappeared into traffic. Easing into his sedan, Kevin wished he unders
tood what had upset Alli. He’d responded to her request for muscle, hadn’t he?

  In his car, he noticed a paper coffee cup she must have left on the way back from the police station, and which had somehow escaped his notice earlier. A small wad of lined paper, apparently from her pad, lay crumpled on the dashboard.

  In addition, he thought he detected a small object wedged between the seat back and passenger-seat cushion. As he extracted a ballpoint pen, his hand brushed the upholstery and found it warm.

  For one heart-twisting moment, it seemed like residual body heat. Then he realized it must be from the sun.

  Kevin deposited the leftovers in a nearby trash receptacle. As he got back in, he suddenly realized that he’d removed the last traces of Alli except for the faint scent of green apples.

  When he reached home, he sank into one of the swivel chairs that had served as a yurt support and wondered what the odds were of the Anaheim Angels making it into the pennant race this year. And how many lifetimes it would take before he stopped seeing the tears running down Alli’s face as she told him she was leaving, and wishing he’d stopped her.

  WELL, THAT WAS GREAT. She’d completely blown it in front of Kevin. He was the last man on earth to sympathize with a weepy, out-of-control woman. For heaven’s sake, the guy was allergic to excess.

  If she’d kept her cool, Alli thought, they might have shared a few more days or weeks of fun before failing finances forced her out of town. She would have been the first to advise a girlfriend that it was stupid to give up fabulous sex after a single night.

  The man had haunted her dreams and her desk drawer for three years. She’d finally gotten him in the sack, an accomplishment that would have wowed ’em at city hall. And what had she done? Gone sentimental, like that ditzoid hanging around him at the party Saturday night.

  This gloomy creature blowing her nose into a tissue wasn’t the real Alli Gardner. She ought to be out tossing back a beer with the photographers. Shooting the breeze with Larry. Dancing.

  Glumly, she discarded the tissue and wandered to the refrigerator. Since she hadn’t gone to the supermarket, there was almost nothing in it. In the freezer, three pint-size ice-cream containers yielded a combined few scoops of butterscotch, chocolate–peanut butter and pistachio-mint.

  She ate on the living-room couch, digging in with a soup-spoon. The worst part was that she could hardly taste the flavors.

  It was all Kevin’s fault.

  When she was done, Alli watched a couple of game shows, then switched between channels to catch the news. Several stations carried footage of the police hauling Dale and Bruce to the lockup. They also flashed the picture of Payne from Monday morning and trumpeted the tale of the hard-driving reporter who’d nearly become a martyr. None of them mentioned Alli.

  At least nobody used the adoption story, probably because they hadn’t been able to confirm the Outlook’s screwed-up information. By now, Brad must be closing in on Ralph, she thought. With Binnie’s help, an arrest should come soon.

  That was some consolation, anyway.

  Alli fell asleep on the couch, barely remembering to click off the set. When she awakened in the morning light with a view of empty ice-cream containers on the coffee table, she realized she was once again free to be a slob. No more Mr. Clean.

  She waited for a twinge of satisfaction that never came.

  When her cell phone rang deep within the sofa, Alli grubbed around in the cushions. The darn thing must have fallen out of her pocket during the night and gotten shoved down there.

  Finally, she retrieved it. “Gardner,” she rasped.

  “It’s J. J. Morosco,” came the editor’s voice. “I’m sorry to hear you got shot at.”

  “That was yesterday.” Old news, by anyone’s standard.

  “I would have called sooner, but it’s been hectic,” the editor said. “I’m still trying to sort things out. Could you do me a huge favor and drop by? I have a few questions I don’t feel comfortable asking over the phone.”

  The temptation to suggest he take a flying leap nearly overwhelmed Alli’s better judgment, but not quite. She still needed his recommendation for her next job. “I’m not dressed.”

  “Whenever you can get here would be fine,” he replied.

  “See you in an hour.”

  She took her time showering, picked a cherry-red suit with a short skirt and applied enough makeup to make herself look twenty-nine again. Morale counted.

  Remember, you’re the one who cracked the adoption case and nailed LeMott’s goons. You’re a winner, even if you don’t feel like one.

  Buoyed by her pep talk, Alli retrieved a pair of high heels from the closet, the better to tower over J.J. For good measure, she grabbed her laptop on the way out.

  You never knew when it might come in handy.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Alli paused in the Outlook’s lobby to glance over Thursday’s paper, which lay on the front counter. A retraction of the adoption story dominated the left side of page one. It disowned the unattributed police quotes and apologized to Dr. Graybar and the mayor.

  On the right, a photo showed yesterday’s arrest of the bodyguards. The headline, with uncharacteristic restraint, identified the men only as drive-by shooters. Not until the third paragraph were they revealed to be in the employ of Klaus LeMott.

  J.J. appeared to be learning caution belatedly. He might get lucky, however. With his aides in the slammer and his own reputation on the line, LeMott was unlikely to file libel charges for yesterday’s story. She doubted Dr. Graybar would, either, given Binnie’s culpability.

  The desk clerk signed her into the building. “Are you coming back to work?” she asked.

  “Not as far as I know.” Alli didn’t dare assume anything of the kind.

  “Too bad.” The young woman gave her a sympathetic smile. “I hope they change their minds.”

  “Thanks.” Alli was touched. It hadn’t occurred to her that staff members outside the newsroom cared about her.

  Upstairs, when she stepped out of the elevator, the subdued level of noise struck her at once. A few ringing phones and quiet conversations replaced the usual clamor. In the quasi-silence, she could hear the tap of keyboards and the squeak of her own shoes across the linoleum.

  A couple of reporters nodded or smiled. Madge Leeky shot her a thumbs-up, to which Alli replied in kind.

  She didn’t see Larry, which was just as well, because she didn’t want anyone to know he’d been helping her. As for Ned, he hunched over his desk, glowering. Payne was nowhere in sight.

  She approached J.J.’s office and, in the absence of his secretary, gave a warning knock before entering. “How’s it hanging?” she asked, trying for her usual cockiness.

  “Thanks for coming.” The editor rose to shake hands and waved her into a chair. “I was hoping you could clear something up for me.”

  So much for any lingering optimism about a job offer. “Sure.”

  “One of the copy editors mentioned that you called Ned on Tuesday night.”

  “Sure did.”

  “May I ask why?”

  Alli would have preferred to let the matter die, but she wasn’t about to lie, so she took the plunge. “I called to tell him to kill the blackmail story because it was off base.”

  J.J. blinked a couple of times. “How did you know we were running the blackmail story?”

  “Because I wrote it.”

  He went stock-still. Apparently he expected her to fill in the blanks, or else he was in shock, because he didn’t say anything. Neither did Alli. Let the guy stew for a while. He deserved it.

  “You wrote the story?” the editor managed to say at last.

  She nodded.

  Dryly, he commented, “That wasn’t your usual level of reporting.”

  “It wasn’t reporting,” she told him. “It was fiction.” He seemed to have trouble breathing.

  “I thought the cop who used malapropisms was particularly funny. Guess I’ve
got a gift for dialogue,” she said. “Care to see the original?”

  His head bobbed stiffly.

  Setting her laptop on his desk, Alli opened the file and turned the computer so he could see. “There it is.”

  J.J. read the piece slowly. He must have gone over the Outlook’s account with a fine-tooth comb yesterday, so he probably recognized that it was nearly the same. “I don’t understand.”

  “Where’s Payne?” she asked.

  He glanced into the newsroom. “I sent him to the garden club.”

  She nearly choked. “He’s covering the garden club?” That was an assignment fit for a student intern not a reporter. “Well, while he’s gone, I’d like to show you something. Follow me.”

  Closing the laptop, she went out. J.J.’s footsteps followed.

  At Payne’s desk, she perched the laptop atop a stack of papers and plugged it into the network. Opening a blank file, she instructed the editor, “Write something.”

  “Me?”

  “Doesn’t matter what. Anything.”

  As he frowned at the screen, Ned came over, trailed by a couple of copydeskers. Madge joined them, too, watching wordlessly.

  The editor typed, “This is J. J. Morosco.” When Alli closed the file, a small window appeared on Payne’s screen. “Click on that,” she said.

  The editor tapped the mouse. A file opened on Payne’s screen.

  It read, “This is J. J. Morosco.”

  She heard a collective release of breath. Ned coughed. J.J. stared at the screen.

  “It’s spyware,” Alli told them. “It works whether I’m writing at that desk over there—” she indicated the empty one where she used to sit “—or at home, or even at the Slumber Well Motel.”

  “This is a trick,” Ned responded.

  He’d picked the wrong time to open his mouth. The editor turned on him and, in front of everyone, said, “Did Ms. Gardner phone you Tuesday night and tell you not to run the story about the extortion scheme?”

  “She made some wild accusation about Payne stealing it from her,” he blustered. “I’d had enough of her excuses.”

  “I told you it was a dummy story,” Alli said. By now, no one in the newsroom was even pretending to work. “I told you I had evidence that LeMott wasn’t involved with the extortion, and that you should wait until you could check the whole thing out.”