by Alice Walsh
—
Daniel’s heart was racing as he approached an old Victorian house that had been converted into law offices. Lauren is somewhere in this building, he told himself. The receptionist sitting at a mahogany desk paid no attention when he walked in. Paula was engraved on a wooden plaque in front of her. The only other person in the waiting room was a man flipping idly through a magazine.
Daniel took a seat in a roomy chair and surveyed his surroundings. Not bad, he thought. The office was tastefully furnished with sofas and chairs in beige and gold. Tiffany-style lamps cast warm pools of light on polished tables. Reproductions and original paintings were scattered artfully on the soft grey walls. A stack of well-thumbed copies of Law Yearly and Art Review were stacked neatly on a glass table.
He glanced at the man across from him. He looked familiar, Daniel thought, taking in the man’s sandy hair and square jaw. He was wearing a tailored suit, and an expensive leather briefcase lay at this feet.
Daniel thought again about the evening he and Lauren met at the children’s hospital. She had read stories and played with the young patients for over an hour. Later, the two of them had gone to a café and talked for ages. Even now, he could recall their conversation almost verbatim. Both their fathers were psychologists, both control freaks. Lauren’s father, who the family mockingly called Siggy, drove the family crazy with his psychobabble. “He puts the fun in dysfunctional,” Lauren used to joke. Daniel’s own father was a mean son of a bitch who’d become even meaner after he joined some fundamentalist religious outfit.
The phone rang. “Ms. LaVallee is ready to see you, Dr. Warren,” the receptionist said.
Dr. Bram Warren, Daniel realized as the man picked up his briefcase and started down the hallway. That’s why he looked familiar: Daniel had seen him on the news; he was Claire Ste Denis’s husband.
The receptionist glanced at her calendar before turning her attention to Daniel. “Do you have an appointment, sir?”
Daniel got up from his seat. “I’m a friend of Lauren’s, but I can see she’s busy at the moment.”
“She should be finished in—” Paula checked her watch “—about forty minutes. She usually picks Bailey up from preschool around that time.”
“Bailey?”
“Lauren’s daughter?”
Daughter. Daniel felt his mouth gape open. For a moment, he was too surprised to speak. “Ah, yes,” he said, composing himself. “Bailey must be growing.”
“She’ll be four in August.” Paula chuckled. “Keeps Lauren busy, that girl.”
“I’m sure,” Daniel said, surprised at how steady his voice was. “But then, I suppose Bailey’s father is a big help.”
Paula glanced up at him, her smile fading. “Who did you say you were?”
“I’m a friend...I haven’t seen Lauren in years...I….”
The phone rang again and Paula picked it up.
Daniel turned to leave.
Paula placed her hand over the mouthpiece. “Can I give Lauren a message?” she called after Daniel, but he was already out the door.
Daniel walked to his car, stunned by what he’d learned. Lauren had found someone else. Well, what did he expect? She wasn’t going to wait around for him. But a child? He felt a twinge of jealously. She has a right to happiness, he rebuked himself. Still, the sense of loss was hard to ignore.
Across the street was a brick building with a mural of a fisherman in a dory painted on its side. A sign in front said Newfie B’ys Café. He could use a cup of coffee, he decided.
Daniel took his coffee to a small table that looked out onto the street. For a long time he stared at the passing traffic. It hadn’t taken Lauren long to get over their affair, he mused. Hadn’t taken her long to crawl into someone else’s bed. Stop it, he told himself. You’re being unreasonable. Why shouldn’t Lauren move forward with her life? She deserved to be happy and God knows he’d had little to offer her. Still, memories stirred. He recalled the trip they took to Europe. The quaint bed and breakfast in Ireland, where they’d registered as Mr. and Mrs. Kerry. The owner, a Mrs. Ryan, was a devout Catholic with seven grown children. She thought Lauren was too thin and loaded her plate with sausage, pancakes, and eggs each morning. She encouraged them to return, saying the next time they came to Ireland, she hoped they would have one or two little Kerrys in tow.
Daniel tried to imagine Lauren with a child. She would make a good mother, he knew. He recalled the time she’d taken care of her cousin’s three young children while their mother was in the hospital. She kept them busy every minute, reading stories, baking cookies, and arranging treasure hunts. Daniel would leave the apartment exhausted, but Lauren, it seemed, never ran out of energy. He smiled at the memory. Now Lauren had a child of her own.
He’d go back to the inn, Daniel decided, collect his bag, and get back on the road. Lauren had a new life, a life that didn’t include him. The realization pained him. Her child would be four in August, Paula said. She must have been conceived shortly after Lauren left him. He recalled the note he’d found after he got back from the special mass on St. Patrick’s Day. As if a switch had been turned on in his brain, another thought occurred to Daniel.
“No,” he said aloud, causing heads to turn at nearby tables. Lauren would have told him, surely. He counted years and months. He counted and re-counted. If his calculations were right, Lauren would have been three or four months pregnant when she left him.
For a long time, Daniel sat at the table, pulse racing. Stupefied, he walked to the counter and smiled. “Hi there, I’m looking for my niece’s preschool—I know it’s somewhere near here, but I can’t remember the name,” he said to the waitress.
“The only one I know of is Kiddy Academy.”
“Yes, that’s the one. Where is it located, again?”
“Actually, it’s not far from here. Keep on Main until you come to Birch Street,” she instructed. “Turn left on Birch. It’s the second building on your left. Can’t miss it.”
Chapter 12
“What’s on your mind, Bram?” Lauren asked. She could tell he was nervous from the way he kept wringing his hands.
“I feel we should reconsider the insanity defense.”
Lauren leaned back in her chair, stifling a sigh. They’d been through this before. “It would make a good defense,” she acknowledged. “Dr. Kaminsky says it’s not uncommon for women suffering from postpartum depression to experience paranoia, delusions, even lose touch with reality. But Claire will never give up her innocence. She’s determined to find Ariel’s killer.”
“I have no doubt my wife is innocent. But I don’t want her going to jail.” Bram absently ran his fingers through his hair. “I keep imagining the case from the perspective of a jury and it doesn’t look good.”
“The deck is stacked against her,” Lauren admitted. “Claire was alone in a locked house with Ariel when she died. There’s still no evidence linking anyone else to the crime. Even if we go with the insanity defense, there’s no guarantee Claire won’t get jail time.”
Bram closed his eyes momentarily.
“Let’s deal with this one thing at a time,” Lauren said. “Right now, our main objective is getting Claire out of jail so she can attend Ariel’s memorial service.”
Bram nodded. “It’s scheduled for next week, depending on whether Claire makes bail. Her parents feel it’s important that she attend.”
“Of course,” Lauren said. She knew Claire’s parents had already viewed the body before cremation took place.
“Did Claire tell you she went off her medication?”
“She seems to be doing well enough without it,” Lauren said. “Dr. Collins doesn’t seem concerned.”
“She’s very fragile.”
“Claire’s stronger than we realize. I’m amazed at how she’s handling the situation.”
“She’s been thro
ugh a lot,” Bram agreed.
Lauren took a deep breath. “Bram,” she said, “Stephen Coleman from the Daily News called this afternoon. He found out about Claire’s adoption and the issues with her birth mother.”
“How the hell did he find that out?”
Lauren shrugged. “I have no idea. But it’s obvious he intends to connect Claire’s past with Ariel’s death.”
Bram frowned. “I can’t believe he’s still writing for them! I’ve read some of the stories Coleman wrote for that rag he works for. He needs to be held accountable for what happened to that Baptist pastor over in Shelagh’s Arm!”
“The Hawk can be ruthless,” Lauren agreed. He’d made a career out of ruining marriages, businesses, careers, and families. Some months earlier, Coleman had written a story about a married pastor who was having an affair with a male member of his church. The pastor was so disturbed when the story broke that he committed suicide.
“He needs to be stopped,” Bram said.
“I know how you feel,” Lauren said, “but we have no control over sharks like Coleman.”
Bram rose from his chair. A look of disgust came over his face. “I’m sick and tired of the press hounding us,” he said. “They’re harassing Claire’s friends, her colleagues, her students. They’ve even approached my patients.” He let out an exasperated breath. “I need them to go away.” He grabbed his briefcase, knowing their time was up.
“I know how hard it is,” Lauren said as she saw Bram to the door. “But that’s what they do.” She laid a reassuring hand on his arm. “You take care, Bram. I’ll be in touch.”
Lauren closed the door, feeling a sense of guilt. Would Claire be better off with another lawyer? It was true that Judge Dillard didn’t easily grant bail. And this wasn’t the first time a low-risk defendant had lingered in jail waiting for trial. Still, Lauren wondered if she had done everything possible for Claire. She’d been lingering in that cell for two weeks when she should have been home. There was another bail hearing in a couple of days. She had to get Claire home with her family.
The receptionist was putting on her coat when Lauren came into the waiting room. “I’ll see you in the morning, Paula,” she said.
“A man came by while you were in your meeting with Dr. Warren,” Paula said. “He said he was a friend.”
“A friend? Did you get his name?”
“No, I’m afraid I didn’t.”
“Did he say what it was about?”
Paula shook her head. “He didn’t leave a message.”
Just as well, Lauren thought. It had been a long day. She didn’t like friends, clients, or even potential clients showing up unannounced. Bailey grew uneasy if she wasn’t picked up on time, and Lauren was already running late.
—
Daniel had no trouble finding Kiddy Academy, a low brick building enclosed by a chain-link fence. He parked his car in the lot and got out. Children ran around the yard with balls and skipping ropes. Some rode tricycles and scooters. Daniel found the main door and went inside. Low shelves overflowing with puzzles, games, and books took up one side of the room. Paintings and crayoned drawings decorated the walls, each labelled with a child’s name. A long window ran along one wall out of which he could see a sandbox, small tables, and chairs.
A teacher was putting away books and toys. “I’m a friend of Lauren LaVallee,” Daniel told her. “She’ll be here soon to pick up Bailey. Is it okay if I wait for her?”
“Follow me.” The teacher led Daniel to a narrow room off the classroom. “You can wait in here,” she said. The room had a sofa and a couple of armchairs. Daniel realized the window was actually a one-way mirror. “Good view,” he commented.
“We had this installed a few months ago,” the teacher explained. “Parents can observe their children discreetly. It comes in handy for instructors in the Early Education Program to evaluate their students.”
Daniel settled himself on a sofa.
“She should be along soon. If you need anything, let me know,” the teacher said and left the room.
A few minutes later, a group of noisy preschoolers came into the building. Daniel stood by the mirror, carefully scanning each little face. A boy with curly hair held hands with a younger girl. Two boys in baseball caps jostled to see who could reach the sandbox first. There were blond children and dark-haired children, some with curly hair, some with straight. He studied each child carefully. Then he saw her—a little girl wearing a white top and blue overalls. The eyes he recognized as clearly as if he were looking at his own. She kept pushing back her unruly red curls with a small hand. There was already a smattering of freckles across her pert little nose. A surge of emotion arose in Daniel. It took all his willpower not to go to her.
“Bailey,” he whispered. This was his child. There was no doubt about it.
—
Lauren frowned at the line of cars in front of her. Maybe I should start leaving the office earlier. I could avoid this traffic, spend more time with Bailey.
She was about to turn onto Birch Street when she heard the whump, whump, whump of her damaged tire. “Great,” Lauren muttered. Why hadn’t she taken the mechanic’s advice, had the damn thing replaced? She pulled off the road and dug her cellphone from her purse.
The garage promised to send a tow truck within the hour. Lauren could drop the keys off on her way home, the mechanic told her. She scrolled though her cellphone and found the number for Bert’s Taxi. The line was busy. She’d walk. Probably be quicker than waiting for a cab, she decided.
It was raining a fine mist, and Lauren regretted not taking her umbrella. She was halfway to the school when the heavens opened. In no time, she was soaked, her hair plastered to her head. She was sure her new shoes were ruined.
Just then she heard the sound of a car horn. A pair of brake lights gleamed through the silvery downpour. Andrew Collins was behind the wheel. “Andrew, you’re a lifesaver,” she said, climbing aboard.
“What are you doing walking in a downpour?”
“That bad tire again. Glad you came along.”
“Glad I can help. After we pick up the kids, I’ll drive you home.”
“I have to drop off my keys at the garage,” Lauren explained. “They’re going to send a tow truck.”
“No problem. I’ll swing by the garage.”
“But it’s out of your way.”
“Happy to do it,” Andrew said earnestly. “You look like you could use a friend.”
Lauren shook her damp hair. Water dripped from her nose and chin. She winced at the sight of her mud-splattered trousers. “I must look like a drowned cat.”
Andrew gave her an appraising look. “You look fine to me.”
“Thank you.” Lauren flushed. “So, been to visit Claire lately?”
“A couple of days ago,” Andrew said. “Anya’s back now and she’ll be taking care of her, at least until the new doctor arrives. You realize she’s moving to Alaska?”
“So, she’s finally decided to make the big move,” Lauren said. “I know she’s been considering it for some time now.” She made a mental note to call Anya. She would have to sign a sworn affidavit before she left. It might save her from having to testify if the case went to trial.
Andrew parked beside a blue car that had a string of rosary beads wrapped around the rear-view mirror. With a grin, he turned to Lauren. “Race you inside,” he dared.
Chapter 13
“I’ve sent a letter of reference to Lance Rainer, the director of Candlewood Lane,” Mitch told Erika Jansen. It was late afternoon and they were having tea at Newfie B’ys. “Lance is a good friend of mine, and he expects the pilot to do well.”
“I appreciate you having so much confidence in me, Professor Cromwell,” Erika said.
He smiled. “Who knows where this might lead?”
Erika brightened, feeling
an excitement she hadn’t felt in a long time. This could be her big break. “Do you think I’m ready for such a large part?” She looked up at Mitch. “I mean…I haven’t even finished the program yet.”
Mitch touched her sleeve. “Absolutely, my dear. I wouldn’t have recommended you if I thought otherwise.” He peered at her from beneath brushy white brows. “You have what it takes to make a successful actress.”
“Thank you,” Erika said.
“You’ve been through quite an ordeal for someone so young. But I know how determined you are.” Mitch gave her an encouraging smile. “An actress’s experience can be her best asset.”
Erika was thoughtful. Instead of letting all her emotional baggage get in the way, she could use it to her advantage. She had a chance to start over, make a new life for herself.
She felt a stab of gratitude. Mitch was the only person she’d confided in about her past. She’d come to rehearsals one day in a bad state, stumbling over her lines, playing a less than enthusiastic Lady Macbeth. Mitch had called a recess, demanding to know what was bothering her. When she shrugged it off, he’d requested she meet him after rehearsals. Before she knew it, she was spilling her guts. She was glad now that she had shared her burden.
“I think you’ll make a perfect Daisy,” Mitch said.
“I love Daisy.” Erika smiled. “She’s such a great character.”
Mitch cleared his throat. “As you know, Erika, I’ll be retiring next term,” he said. “Professor Ste Denis may be taking my place.”
If she doesn’t go to jail, Erika thought. She knew things did not look good for Claire. “How is Professor Ste Denis?”
A shadow crossed Mitch’s face. “As well as can be expected, considering the circumstances.” He took a sip of tea. “She made bail and is home now, but it’s not easy. She still has to face trial and the press is harassing her, making her life miserable.”
Erika lifted a drowned teabag from her cup and placed it on a plate. “It must be very stressful. But at least she’s made bail. You must be happy about that.”
