Читать книгу Familiar Lullaby - Caroline Burnes - Страница 12

It’s a party! Orchestra, glittering gowns, laughter, the sparkle of jewels and conversation. In attendance, the crème de la crème of Washington society. Not to be a name-dropper, but there’s George Stephanopoulos. And over in the corner, another powerful pundit, George Will. Gads, none of the common reporter breed! And I see Senator Finances and the First Lady of Law and Order herself. Yes, Preston and Rose have created another successful power evening! Clotilde can be proud of her humanoids. I noticed earlier that the television vans were parked on the street. No working press invited tonight, but they’ll be eager to film who comes in and out of the party.

Power, prestige and purr-fectly prepared food—this is absolutely the setting for a few smooth moves and some hanky-panky from a swanky black feline. Speaking of beauteous kitties, where is Clotilde? I’m out on the veranda, picnic spread, waiting to woo my love with sumptuous tidbits I’ve purloined from the various buffet tables. And Clotilde keeps me waiting. Isn’t that just like a feline?

So I have a little time to recheck the menu. I have some smoked salmon with cream cheese spread and caviar. A little salty for my taste, but Clotilde loves it. Honestly, the way that caterer acted when he caught me snatching it off the table, you’d think it was gold bullion.

Now some escargots—yum. Fascinating what garlic and butter will do for a snail. A bit of beef, a sampling of roasted pork, some cheeses. I’d say I covered all the bases. As for dessert, that’s something I want to save for later, if you get my drift.

The night is a little chill for the humanoids, which means they’ll stay inside. Clotilde and I will have the lovely veranda all to ourselves. We can still hear the music and watch the bipeds do the dance of power and politics. And we can dine at leisure, without censure or interruption. Goodness, after my last case in New Orleans I’m glad to be home. I think I might have to take a breather from the P.I. business. I think a few weeks of Clotilde…what’s that?

Someone is climbing over the wall in Preston’s backyard. The guest list was exclusive, but I hardly think this party is worth breaking and entering. A sleek, elegant black shadow—hey, it could be me if I were a biped. Except this one is a woman! I wonder if it’s one of those pushy media types.

No, she’s carrying a basket. A big basket. And she’s being very, very careful not to be seen. I think this must be one of those surprise delivery services. You know, the ones that drop off expensive gifts in deadly secret. Let me say, I highly approve of this delivery gal. She’s got a pair of gams that Ginger Rogers would envy—long, lean and well-muscled. And the torso sitting on top of them screams “kick-boxing fool.” She climbed that wall like it wasn’t twelve feet of solid cement. And she can crouch and run—a talent for a biped, and don’t forget it.

The basket is pretty heavy, too. And she’s leaving it on the veranda. Very stealthy lady. A secret gift basket. Someone has sent Clotilde’s humans a lovely basket of food for the party. And guess what! I’m going to make sure there’s nothing in there that might make a humanoid sick. That’s part of my feline duties—to consume any suspicious foodstuffs. I’ll just give bat-woman another second to fly back over the wall…. Now I can make my move on the food basket. I hope it’s a good, salty ham. It looked to weigh about ten pounds or so.

There’s just nothing like a ham—uh, oh, this ain’t no smoked piglet. It’s alive and kicking, and it’s about to start crying for mama. That woman abandoned a baby! A real, live humanoid of the smaller version. A humanette. A muchacha. A bambino. A babette.

Oh, my goodness. It’s so newborn its eyes can’t focus. She can’t see Uncle Familiar hovering over her. And it’s too cool out on this veranda for a baby! What was that woman thinking?

Thank goodness, here’s Clotilde. One look at the little bambino and I can see a plan in her eyes. Yes, I know Rose and Preston have wanted a baby for years. Yes, I know they’d make perfect, loving parents. Yes, I know they could give a child all the advantages. But that doesn’t negate the fact that this child belongs to someone—someone who climbed a wall and dumped it here.

Clotilde has found a note. And the baby is starting to cry. Much as I hate to do it, I think I’m going to have to find Eleanor. Clotilde wants to keep this baby, but whoever abandoned a child deserves to be punished. Severely punished.

A lot of people view living creatures as disposable. If they don’t want a kitten, or a puppy or a baby, they just throw it away—toss it out somewhere and hope someone will find it and want it.

Or toss it out and just let it die of starvation.

This burns me up! I know, from personal experience, what it feels like to be tossed. And though Clotilde may view this as a gift from God, the long-legged humanoid who brought this baby here is soon going to view me as the avenging angel. Okay, here’s Eleanor. She’ll know what to do to keep the little whippersnapper from crying so.

MEL HASKIN leaned against the wall and took in his surroundings. Enough food for an army lay deserted on buffet tables where chilled bottles of champagne still resided in ice buckets. Yes, this was one party that had come to a screeching halt. And all for the little bundle that a handsome, dark-haired couple hovered over.

Eleanor Curry taped the diaper into place and then relinquished the baby to Rose Johnson.

“I’m a veterinarian, not a pediatrician,” Peter Curry said, “but that baby isn’t more than ten hours old. He’s been well taken care of.”

“There’s a note, officer.” Eleanor glanced at the woman with the infant as she picked up the note and read aloud. “‘His name is David. He has the power to slay Goliath, and you must protect him from his enemies. Keep him safe and always remind him of his mother’s love and her sacrifice to protect him.”’

“I will protect him. We will.” Rose Johnson cradled the baby in her arms and looked up to meet her husband’s gaze. He nodded firmly.

“Rose, a crime has been committed,” Eleanor reminded her. “You can’t keep this baby.”

“Watch me,” Rose said. She settled on the sofa with the child in her arms and the beautiful calico cat purring at her side. “Even Clotilde thinks he belongs to us.”

Mel gingerly took the note that Eleanor Curry offered him.

“I’m afraid it’s been handled by quite a few people,” Eleanor said apologetically. “When Familiar found the baby, we all became a little excited. We passed the note around the party. It’s just that…well, we weren’t actually thinking of the baby as a crime at the time.”

“No one saw the drop?” Mel asked. He personally was avoiding the baby. It wasn’t that he didn’t like children. In fact, one day he hoped to have a couple. But with the work he did, he viewed babies and small children as victims. They had no voice, no way to protect themselves against whatever rotten deal their worthless parents happened to hand out to them.

Just like the baby in this case. So what if the mother had named him—the Biblical name of a young man who slew a giant? And so what if she’d left him on the doorstep of a wealthy home—a place where he was obviously wanted and would have every advantage?

None of that made a difference. Not to him. No matter how the facts were dressed up, the story was the same. Some young woman had gotten herself pregnant and had the kid. Then because the kid would inconvenience her life, she’d dumped the responsibility on someone else.

In Mel’s book, that was a crime that deserved prosecution. And he was just the man to do it.

“Meow.”

He was pulled from his thoughts by sharp claws in his shin. He looked down into the green eyes of the sleekest black cat he’d ever seen.

“Meow.”

“What?” He looked around to make sure no one had heard him talking to the cat.

The cat turned quickly and went to the basket, which had been put beside the sofa. With one expressive black paw, the cat patted the basket.

Mel picked it up and examined it. His fingers brushed against the blanket the baby had been wrapped him. Soft. Very soft. He pulled the pale blue wrap out of the basket and shook it out. He’d never felt a baby blanket so soft. His fingers rubbed the texture. Cashmere! Incredible.

And the cat was tipping the basket over to indicate a tag. He looked at it. Not just an ordinary wicker basket—this one was signed. A handmade basket. Now that was a clue. As discreetly as possible he returned the blanket to the basket.

“I’d like to take these items as evidence,” he said.

“I’d prefer that you didn’t,” Rose Johnson said quickly. “Those may be all this little boy has to remember his mother by. I’d like to hold on to them and give them to him when he’s older.”

Mel sighed. He was going to have his hands full now. In her mind, Mrs. Johnson had adopted this child. She was already planning his future.

“The baby will have to be taken to DHR,” he said as gently as he could. “It’s the law, ma’am.”

“Surely we can work something out, detective,” Preston Johnson said, stepping forward. “We’ll assume complete responsibility for this child.” He put his hands on his wife’s shoulders. “We’ll hire a full-time nurse, if that would help. We’ll start a college fund.”

Mel held up a hand. “I don’t doubt that you’d make the most wonderful parents in the world. But that’s not up to me to decide. I’m only a detective. The Department of Human Resources handles all of these cases. All I do is follow the procedure.”

He saw the frown pass over Preston Johnson’s face and knew these weren’t people who gave up easily. Too bad the baby’s mother hadn’t wanted him one-tenth as much as these strangers. He felt a flush of fury. At a strange woman. At the cruelty of fate.

“Detective, I don’t mean to usurp your authority,” Preston said carefully. “Would it offend you if I made a call to Judge Patterson? I believe he handles these cases, and we’re old friends. If he said we could keep the child—just until Monday morning—would you feel comfortable with that?”

Normally, Mel knew the suggestion of going over his head to a judge would ignite his sense of outrage. But for some reason—probably because the Johnsons so obviously cared for this abandoned baby—he felt only hope. “Judge Patterson has the final say. If he gives me the green light to leave the baby, I’ll do it with a glad heart.”

Preston Johnson smiled. “I’ll make the call. While you’re waiting, could we make you some coffee? I’d offer champagne, since we had to hustle all of our guests out the door.” He chuckled. “But I know you’re on duty.”

“Coffee would be nice,” Mel said. Actually, he just wanted to get back to the department, where he’d left a stack of paperwork a mile high on the last case he’d finished. A double homicide. What he wanted more than anything was ten consecutive hours of sleep.

Everyone else in the room was so involved with the baby they failed to hear the disturbance at the front door. Curious, Mel slipped out of the room, down the hallway and to the front where the butler held firmly to the door.

“I’m sorry, miss, but no press was allowed to attend tonight. I don’t believe the Johnsons want to change that policy now.”

“I heard that someone dropped a baby.”

Mel recognized the crisp tones of the reporter and he stifled a groan. Lily Markey. She was a pitbull disguised as a fashion model. Of all the hundreds of reporters in Washington, D.C., Lily Markey was the one he dreaded most. She wasn’t unethical, and she wasn’t sensational—what she was was a pain in the butt because she was so ethical. She had a reputation for being tough but fair, and she lived up to it every day. In a city where law enforcement viewed most of the media as egotists and liars, Lily had everyone’s respect.

And here she was with a tip about the baby.

“Miss, you can call Mr. Johnson Monday at his office. I’m sure he’ll talk with you.”

“It’s Saturday night. I can’t wait until Monday,” Lily said sweetly. “In fact, I’ve got an hour until deadline. I have to see one of the Johnsons right this minute.”

“Impossible,” the butler said sternly. “Now remove yourself or I’ll have to take appropriate steps.”

Mel sighed again. He could deal with Lily now, or he could wait until later, but deal with her he’d have to. He walked up to the door. “I’ll take care of this,” he said softly to the butler. “Thanks.”

He opened the door, stepped outside and closed the door behind him.

“Mel?” Lily showed genuine surprise. “The baby’s okay, isn’t he?”

Mel was struck first by Lily’s intensity. She was a woman who gave her heart and soul to her work. He noticed her beauty and her word choice almost as a simultaneous second.

“He? You must have one helluva source at the department because I haven’t phoned in the gender of the baby to anyone.”

He’d caught her off guard, and he was pleased to see her flush. Lily Markey had a very powerful source. Someone way high on the food chain in law enforcement was feeding her facts. And he’d nailed her on it.

“Oops,” she said, biting her bottom lip in a way that said she was a silly child. Only Mel knew she wasn’t silly, and she wasn’t a child.

“Oops is right. With a clue like that, I might be able to figure out who your source is.”

“Unlikely,” she said, recovering her balance. “Now tell me about the baby. Will the Johnsons keep hi—it?”

“How did you know—”

“I’ve been to numerous cocktail parties thrown by Rose and Preston. Everyone in their circle knows how much they want a child.” Lily waved one graceful hand in the air, dismissing the personal knowledge she’d obtained.

“Even a Washington Post political reporter?” Mel didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm in his voice. Sane people, especially those who lived in the fishbowl of Washington politics, would gnaw off an arm before allowing a media person to know any of their personal business. Especially something as private as a desire for a child.

“I’m not an ogre. I can understand the desire for a child.”

There was a defensive tone in Lily’s voice and Mel wondered if he’d hit a nerve. “I thought it was newspaper policy that you had to eat at least three of your young to prove you were tough enough.”

To his surprise she laughed. “Old policy. The newspaper revamped with a kinder, gentler policy. Now we just have to eat three police detectives.”

“Touché,” he said, laughing also. He couldn’t help but notice that Lily, though reputed to be cold and heartless, had eyes that danced with merriment when she laughed. With her auburn hair and green eyes, she seemed more Irish lass at the moment than big-city reporter.

He changed his mind instantly when she opened her mouth. “So, what about the baby? Will the Johnsons keep it?”

“That’s to be determined by DHR,” he said, stepping back into his official role.

“What are you doing here? I thought criminal action was your bailiwick?”

“It is. There’s nothing more criminal than abandoning a child.”

“Abandoning?”

He narrowed his gaze at Lily. She acted as if he’d said the baby had been abused.

“I thought it was left here at the Johnson home. During a big party. That doesn’t seem to constitute abandonment. I mean, it isn’t as if someone left him out in the freezing cold in a Dumpster or—”

“That baby was abandoned as surely as if the mother dropped him in an alley like an unwanted kitten.”

“I beg to differ. I—”

To Mel’s surprise, Lily halted in mid-sentence. She bit her bottom lip again, as if to force herself to shut up.

“Why does it seem to me that you’ve got a personal stake in this baby?” He was only playing a hunch, but his hunches were one of the reasons he was considered one of the top three detectives in Washington, D.C.

“It’s just a terrific human-interest story.”

“I thought politics was your beat.” He felt that strange tingling that made every one of his senses come alive.

“It is. The Johnsons are political.”

“An unwanted baby isn’t exactly what I’d consider your normal turf.” He paused. “What are you doing here, Lily?”

She hesitated. “I’ll tell you, Mel. I got this tip from a friend. A close friend. I was asked to pursue the story, as a personal favor.”

He nodded. That made a little more sense. “Well, there’s no story here yet.”

“Level with me. The baby’s okay, right?”

There was worry in her voice though she did her best to hide it. “Yes. He seems fine. The Johnsons have called a doctor to check him out. It would appear the infant will have every benefit that money can buy. At least for the short amount of time the Johnsons can keep him.”

“What do you mean? They want him, don’t they?”

“You may know the Johnsons, but you aren’t familiar with the law. A person can’t just find a baby and keep it because she wants it. The baby will have to go through the system.”

“But the Johnsons would make terrific parents.”

“That’ll be for DHR and a judge to determine. I’m afraid the baby is going to spend the first few months of his life in an institution.” He heard the bitterness in his tone even though he’d thought he was long over it. He saw that Lily, too, heard it. She gave him a speculative look but said nothing else.

“Could I speak to the Johnsons?” she asked.

“Give me your card. I’ll leave it with them. Right now, I can honestly tell you that they’re interested only in the baby.”

Lily smiled. “That’s good to know.”

“Yeah,” Mel said. “It is.”

He took the business card she offered and watched as she strode down the walk with long, bold steps. She was tall, slender and athletic. Just the kind of woman that could rock his world.

He turned back to the house and found that he wasn’t alone on the steps. The black cat was sitting beside his feet, tail twitching. The cat watched the departing newspaper reporter with green-eyed intensity.

It seemed he wasn’t the only one with hunches on a cold March night.