Papoosed: An Essie Cobb Senior Sleuth Mystery

by Patricia Rockwell

  “Essie,” demanded the small woman, “what are you doing with a baby here in your apartment? Oh, my! That’s the noise I’ve been hearing! You’ve had this child in here since yesterday, haven’t you?”

  “I . . . I . . .” stuttered Essie. “Clara, what are you doing out of your apartment? There’s a quarantine in effect!” Essie could see that there was no denying to Clara what her own eyes were telling her.

  “I thought there was something funny going on!” declared the diminutive Clara with a punch of her fist, ignoring Essie’s excuse. “I was right!”

  “Clara,” said Essie, with a puny laugh, “it’s a rather funny story, actually.” Essie gathered baby Antonio into her arms and began to rock him before he emitted any loud noise that might rile up Clara and just confirm her suspicions about her noisy neighbor. “It’s actually rather sad too,” she added.

  Clara scowled. This was a no-nonsense woman, thought Essie, and the look on her face reminded her of a surly prison guard taking a recalcitrant prisoner off to execution. “Humph!” snorted Clara.

  “I’d be glad to tell you, Clara,” began Essie. Clara bunched up her upper lip and crossed her arms decisively.

  “I bet you would, Essie Cobb,” she said, pursing her lips together. “You have an excuse for every wild escapade you get involved with.” She stabbed her index finger into Essie’s face.

  “Oh, Clara!” cried Essie, “Jingling Jezebels, this is no wild escapade!”

  “It certainly looks like it!” replied Clara, edging closer to Essie’s rocker and cautiously staring down at the infant in Essie’s arms. “What in the world is that poor child sucking on?”

  “It’s a . . . well . . . it’s actually a rubber glove that Opal turned into a bottle,” Essie explained.

  “Opal?” queried Clara, reaching out gingerly to touch the baby’s feeding contraption. “You mean your tablemate? Is she involved in this baby snatching business too?”

  “Clara!” exclaimed Essie, staring directly at Clara and shaking her head furiously. “There’s no baby snatching involved. We . . . .”

  “You and Opal?”

  “Um . . . and Marjorie and Fay,” added Essie.

  “My God,” declared Clara, “there’s a gang of you involved in this! No wonder!” Clara shook her head. “And Santos? That young man who works in the kitchen?”

  “You know Santos?” asked Essie.

  “Of course,” replied Clara, stomping over to Essie’s sofa and sitting down on the edge like a hawk scouting prey from a mountain top. She continued to stare intently at the baby and his makeshift bottle. “I know everyone who works here. It always pays to be aware of the people and things around you. I knew you had something going on over here, Essie. I heard a lot of voices . . . far more than you usually have in your apartment.” She again punctuated her remark with her bony finger.

  “You got me, Clara!” replied Essie, with a shrug of her shoulders and a little laugh. “You found me out! I’m keeping a baby in here. So, I guess my question to you is, what are you going to do about it? Are you going to report me?”

  “That’s exactly what I should do, you know,” said Clara, leaning in to the baby and reaching out to touch his chubby leg that was waving in the air. “You and your friends are breaking all the rules at Happy Haven. No one is supposed to have overnight visitors . . . and certainly no one is supposed to keep a baby in their apartment. Of course, that doesn’t mean you can’t have visitors . . . but I’m assuming this child is more than just the child of one of your relatives. I’m assuming he’s been staying here with you overnight.” Clara’s eyes dared Essie to deny her statement.

  “Yes, Clara, but there’s a very good reason!” responded Essie. “His mother is . . .”

  “His mother!” cried Clara. She puffed herself up to her full height, which wasn’t much. “What mother would leave a newborn . . . and he does appear to be a newborn . . . with you? No offense, Essie, but why would his mother leave him with you . . . or anyone here at Happy Haven? None of us are equipped to care for children . . . especially newborns! What mother would do such a thing?”

  “She’s one of our kitchen workers,” said Essie, “and she’s disappeared. Santos and my tablemates and I have been trying to find her.”

  “What kitchen worker?” asked Clara, her tone changed, now all business.

  “Her name is Maria Compton . . .”

  “Oh, yes!” replied Clara, “I know who you mean. She always wears those bulky sweaters even when the dining hall is so warm. Oh, my! That’s why! She didn’t want anyone to know she was pregnant! I didn’t even realize she was pregnant. I should have figured that out.” Clara’s hand went to her mouth and she chewed on her fingers as if doing so would assist her in figuring out a puzzle. Essie pondered the fact that Clara had noticed Maria and her predicament and she hadn’t. Oh, well, she thought, I guess that’s all part of being a gossip.

  “Her husband was abusive,” added Essie, in an attempt to ingratiate herself into Clara’s good graces. “He beat Maria and the baby. See this gash on his cheek. It’s almost healed. He has one on his leg too. That’s where Gerald, the father, beat him. We know he beat Maria too. She was trying to get away from him. Santos was watching the baby for her last night while she went home to pack. But she never returned for the baby. Santos couldn’t take Antonio . . .”

  “The baby is Antonio?” asked Clara, as she tipped her head so she could look directly into the young boy’s eyes.

  “Yes,” replied Essie. “Maria was supposed to come right back and get Antonio and Santos was keeping him in the supply closet, but she didn’t return. He had no place to take Antonio because Santos lives in a boarding house and actually has less privacy than I do. So he asked me to assist him . . . and you know the rest . . . or you’ve figured out the rest.”

  “And this thing . . .” said Clara, pointing to the rubber glove device now sitting depleted on Essie’s end table.

  “Opal created it out of a new rubber cleaning glove,” said Essie. “And Fay made some disposable diapers out of some adult diapers that . . . well, that all of us had.”

  “Oh my!” cried Clara suddenly. “What are you feeding him? Surely not regular milk? To a newborn?”

  “No,” said Essie, “of course not! We know better than that. We’re giving him Vigor.”

  “That’s that adult protein beverage, isn’t it?” she asked.

  “Yes, and I know it’s not ideal . . .”

  “It’s a brilliant idea!” declared Clara. She snapped her fingers.

  “You think so?” asked Essie, amazed that Clara actually seemed interested in the baby’s care.

  “Essie, I used to be a NICU nurse. The ingredients in some of those protein drinks might just be a reasonable substitute for baby formula. Of course, it’s not as good as mother’s milk, but no one here can provide him with that.”

  “That’s for sure!” replied Essie, laughing and smiling cautiously at Clara. As her laughter subsided without any response from the severe Clara, Essie said, “Clara, can I please ask that you keep baby Antonio’s presence here in my apartment a secret just a bit longer? I really will try to keep him as quiet as possible so you won’t be disturbed . . .”

  “Stop, Essie!” declared Clara with an accompanying stomp of her tiny feet on the ground. “You’re not focusing on the real issue here.”

  Essie panicked as she wondered what Clara considered the real issue. Was she so consumed with propriety as Essie had believed that no matter what, she would report Essie and her little babysitting charge to Violet?

  “And what is the real issue?” asked Essie, tentatively.

  “Where is this child’s mother and how do we find her?” said Clara.

  “We? You mean you’ll help us keep Antonio’s presence a secret, Clara?” asked Essie.

  “Someone has to help you!” replied Clara. “You surely aren’t doing a very good job of it yourself. After all, I easily figured out that something was going on over h
ere.”

  “True,” agreed Essie. “So, Clara . . . what do you suggest we do to track down Maria Compton?”

  “What have you done so far?” asked Clara, scooting closer to Essie. “Could I hold him just a bit?”

  “Of course,” said Essie. “Here.” She lifted Antonio in the air and handed him to Clara. Antonio smiled up at Clara and gurgled. Clara accepted the infant with the ease and professionalism of a . . . well, of a seasoned former NICU nurse.

  “Oh my,” said Clara, “aren’t you the handsome one! Look at all that hair!”

  “Yes,” said Essie, “and he doesn’t seem to be missing his mother much.”

  “At this age, of course not,” said Clara. “Now, where could his mother be? Tell me what you know.”

  “We don’t know anything for sure,” began Essie, “but we have surmised from various sources that after Maria left Antonio with Santos last night, she returned to her home and began to pack. We then believe her husband Gerald came home unexpectedly and they got into a fight. Maria ran out on foot and Gerald followed her in his car.”

  “And how do you know this?” asked Clara.

  “We know Maria cannot drive,” said Essie, “and we heard on television that Gerald Compton was killed in a car crash about that time.”

  “Oh dear! Poor little baby!” cried Clara, rocking Antonio close to her bosom while she patted his back gently.

  “To be without a father, yes,” said Essie, “but not to be without this father. He was a brute! Anyway, Santos searched Maria’s apartment and found her wallet which we assume she left there in her hurry to get away. He also searched the area surrounding their apartment and found Maria’s Happy Haven name tag. Maria hasn’t reported in since last night and there was no mention of her in the news reports of Gerald’s accident.”

  “Curious!” said Clara. “Go on.”

  “I checked with the local newspaper and with the place where Gerald worked. I actually spoke with his father. It appears the father didn’t even believe in the legality of Gerald and Maria’s marriage. No one at the place where he worked seemed to be aware that the two were married . . . if they were.”

  “This doesn’t sound good,” said Clara. “If the mother . . . this Maria Compton was anywhere where she could communicate, you would think her top priority would be to get to her baby . . . or at least get word to Santos where she was.”

  “Yes,” said Essie, “that’s why we’re afraid that maybe she’s injured or dead.”

  “Out on the side of a road somewhere,” said Clara.

  “Yes!” agreed Essie. “Or in the woods or some deserted place near her home. When she ran out on Gerald, she may have fallen.”

  “She may be injured!”

  “Or dead,” reiterated Essie.

  “Yes,” agreed Clara, “but the good news is that so far no one has reported discovering her body, so we have to proceed on the belief that she’s out there somewhere and just can’t make it back.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking,” said Essie, “that’s what Santos is thinking too. He knows her well and he just doesn’t believe Maria would desert her child.”

  “Certainly not this child,” said Clara in a soft voice that Essie had never heard from her nosy neighbor. Clara beamed down at the infant in her arms.

  “So, Clara,” said Essie, “do you have any suggestions as to where we might look next? Where we might search for this little boy’s mother?”

  “I do,” replied Clara, “the one obvious place you haven’t looked. A hospital. If she’s injured, she may have found her way to a local hospital . . . or possibly some Good Samaritan helped her get to an emergency room.”

  “But, Clara, if she’s in a hospital,” suggested Essie, “surely she’d call Santos and let him know she’s all right.”

  “That’s just it,” said Clara. “She may not be all right. She may be in a hospital . . . unconscious or even in a coma!”

  “Just like Bob Weiderley was!” declared Essie.

  “Yes,” said Clara, “and if she is, it’s going to be a lot more difficult to track her down.”

  “Oh, no!” cried Essie. “We can’t wait much longer before we’re going to have to report Antonio.”

  “Then aren’t you lucky you have Clara Monroe on your side!” said Clara, smiling at Essie over Antonio’s little forehead.

  “We certainly are!” replied Essie. “Thank you, Clara! You are certainly a revelation!”

  “Enough, Essie!” said Clara. “Let’s get to work! Give me your telephone book!”

  “Coming up!” said Essie.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “It is the nature of babies to be in bliss.”

  –Deepak Chopra

  Clara made haste in locating the main number for the nearest hospital and quickly dialed while Essie cuddled Antonio.

  “Patient rooms,” she announced in her sharp little voice when the operator answered. “I’d like the room of Maria Compton.” She glanced at Essie as she waited for the operator to respond. “Hmm,” she said in response to the voice on the other end. “No Maria Compton? Maybe I got the wrong hospital. Yes, thank you.” She hung up and then spoke to Essie. “I can try other hospitals in the area, Essie, but something tells me that if the baby’s mother was injured near here, she would have gone to or would have been taken to Reardon General. I’ll check just in case.”

  As Essie continued to rock the baby and marvel that she was sitting in her living room being assisted in this secretive endeavor by her arch nemesis, Clara quickly used her finger to locate the main numbers for the three other hospitals in the Reardon area. Within a few minutes, it was obvious that Maria Compton was not a patient at any of them either.

  “Don’t lose heart, Essie,” said Clara firmly. “I’m not done yet. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since Maria went missing. She could still be out there undiscovered . . . .”

  “Oh, Fred’s heads, I hope not!” moaned Essie.

  “Or,” added Clara, philosophically, “she might be in a hospital but unable to contact anyone. She could be unconscious or injured so badly that she is unable to communicate. And, remember, you said she left her wallet in her apartment when she took off abruptly, so if she was in an accident and taken to a hospital and is unable to talk, the hospital staff has no way of knowing who she is.”

  “What would they do in that case?” asked Essie. She assumed Clara, as a former nurse, would be aware of procedures that would be followed.

  “Of course, the staff would do everything they could to determine who she is,” explained Clara, “but their first concern would be her health. They would be trying to stabilize her or deal with her injuries if she has any. Or if she’s in a coma, then, of course, they can’t ask her any questions. There are all sorts of possibilities. Once she’s stabilized, they will certainly try to determine who she is.”

  “But that might not be for . . . .” Essie speculated.

  “Well, not now, certainly,” said Clara. She continued to clutch Essie’s telephone as if it might inspire her to action.

  “Can’t we call the hospital and ask if they have a patient like Maria who is unidentified?” asked Essie.

  “They won’t give us information like that, Essie,” said Clara.

  “And neither will the police,” replied Essie, “for the same reason. I guess we’re stuck with trying to track her down ourselves and keeping Antonio hidden until we find her.”

  “This horrible snowstorm!” exclaimed Clara, as she rose and wandered over to Essie’s window.

  “I know,” agreed Essie. “All I can think of is this poor baby’s mama lying on the ground somewhere out in this weather.”

  “If I were younger, I’d put on my boots and winter coat and go out looking for her myself,” said Clara. She pulled two of the blinds apart so she could get a better view of the swirling snow.

  “Me too,” said Essie. “But we can’t do that. We’re just going to have to do what we can do and that is to tak
e care of the baby and try to find his mother in other ways.”

  Another soft knock at the door was followed by the door opening a crack and Santos popped his head in.

  “Miss Essie?” he called out. When he saw Clara Monroe standing by Essie’s window, he gasped and his eyes bulged out. “Miss Clara?”

  “Come in, Santos,” said Essie, waving him in. “Don’t worry; Clara is on our side.”

  Santos moved into the room carrying his fake food tray. He gingerly moved over to Essie and was quickly joined by Clara. Clara popped back down on the sofa, beside Essie who was holding the baby.

  “So, you’re the source of all this brouhaha!” declared Clara in full investigatory mode.