Читать книгу The Only Child - Carolyn McSparren - Страница 10

AT ELEVEN-THIRTY that morning, Molly and Logan walked into George Youngman’s office unannounced. Youngman showed only a moment of surprise, then he became all smiles. Molly could see why Logan trusted him. The private detective had guileless blue eyes and a generous mouth. He stood five feet seven, and was built in a series of soft globes like the Michelin Man, yet gave the impression of muscles lurking beneath the paunch. His firm handshake didn’t last a second too long. His office was large and comfortably furnished. On the wall behind his desk were gold-framed photographs of Youngman shaking hands with high-ranking policemen and prominent lawyers.

Logan introduced Molly and held her chair for her. Youngman sat behind his oversize desk in his oversize leather desk chair.

“I was surprised when I got your call, Mr. MacMillan, after all this time,” Youngman said. “Something I can do for you or the little lady?” He shot his immaculate white shirt cuffs. They were monogrammed with an elaborate “GY.” Molly revised her first assessment. She instinctively distrusted men who wore monograms.

“I need to review a few things about my case,” Logan said.

Youngman leaned forward. Molly saw his hands tighten suddenly on his desk mat. The small tufts of brown hair on his knuckles seemed to stand up like the ruff of a dog that senses danger. “You got some new information on your daughter-in-law? Something you want me to run down for you?”

Logan shook his head. “Not precisely. Refresh my memory, Mr. Youngman. Who told you that my granddaughter Dulcy had died?”

This time there was no mistaking Youngman’s reaction. He sat back in his chair and drew his hands quickly into his lap. He answered carefully, as though he’d been expecting the question or something like it for a long time. “As far as I can remember, and it’s been a while, I got a call from an informant in Kansas about the kid being dead.” The detective nodded, then said, “Yeah. That was it. An informant.” He shrugged. “By that time the mother was long gone.” He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Tough break.”

“Refresh my memory, Mr. Youngman, just how did the person who called know you were looking for Dulcy?” Logan smiled gently. Molly could tell he had also noticed the detective’s response.

“I guess it was from some of those fliers I distributed to police departments, Mr. MacMillan. Why?”.

“And the people at the hospital definitely identified the child as Dulcy?” Molly asked.

“Yes, ma’am, absolutely.”

“Were you paid to say Dulcy was dead?” Molly asked.

Youngman turned to Logan. “What the hell’s this all about?”

Molly answered before Logan could speak, “I saw Dulcy MacMillan alive and well long after you told Mr. MacMillan she was dead, Mr. Youngman,” she said. “Her mother was with her.”

“You can’t have!” Youngman squawked and shoved his chair back so hard it crashed into the wall behind him. He jumped up and held on to the chair, his fingers working against the leather.

“Sit down, please, Mr. Youngman,” Logan said sternly.

“You must have realized that someone who knew her might see her alive one day,” Molly said.

“I don’t have to listen to this!” Youngman darted around the corner of the desk.

“Yes, you do.” Logan blocked his way, his quiet voice forcing the man back. “My granddaughter is alive, isn’t she?”

“No!” Youngman snarled. He made a futile attempt to push by Logan, thought better of it and moved to the other side of the desk where Logan couldn’t reach him so easily. He began to deflate. “At least I don’t think she is.” He raised his hand as though to ward off a blow. “Swear to God, Mr. MacMillan, your daughter-in-law told me Dulcy was dead.” Youngman frowned at Molly. “Heck, she is dead. You saw some other kid who looked like her.”

Logan ignored Youngman’s last statement. “Tiffany paid you to lie to me.” .

Youngman shook his head. “No way. You got to believe me. All she did was tell me which nurse to show the picture to. If the kid’s alive, I got conned same as you did.”

“That nurse. What was her name?” Logan asked. His voice was dangerously quiet.

Youngman’s eyes shifted and he gulped. The fleshy rolls that covered his Adam’s apple quivered. “I don’t remember.”

“You have the files. Look it up!” Logan snapped.

Youngman shook his head. “I dump all my inactive files after a year, unless it’s something about pending litigation.” He swung a hand at the file cabinets in the corner of the room and said plaintively, “I run out of space, as it is.”

“Why didn’t you give me the nurse’s name at the time? And why did Tiffany call you, not me or my daughter?” Logan asked.

Sweat gleamed on Youngman’s upper lip. His head swiveled from Molly to Logan. “She said somebody told her you’d hired me. Said you was one of them sex abusers. After the kid’s money. She didn’t want to talk to you.” Youngman hunched his shoulders. “She was crying and screaming fit to burst. Said Dulcy was dead. Told me to go on out to Moundhill and show that nurse the kid’s picture. Told me a bunch of other stuff, too, about how much better off Dulcy was dead than with you and your family. How you’d paid off the lawyers to get custody of her for her money.”

“And you believed her?” Molly snapped.

“I don’t see what was in it for you, Youngman,” Logan said, “unless Tiffany paid you more than I could. You had a good thing going with me. Even if the dead child had been Dulcy, you’d have done better to string me along a while longer, wouldn’t you?”

Youngman drew himself up. “I am an honest man, Mr. MacMillan. I wouldn’t take advantage of anybody like that.”

Logan shook his head. “So you took the word of a convicted felon that her child was dead and got the hospital to corroborate her story. All because you’re an honest man.”

“She’s the kid’s mother.”

“Where is Tiffany now, Youngman?”

“I don’t know, swear to God! You told me to drop it after that! You said you didn’t care if Tiffany got away once you found out Dulcy was dead. You said that.”

Logan stood and reached a hand down to Molly. “Yes, I said that.”

“Did you tell the police about her call?” Molly asked.

Youngman gulped. “Well, no. Wouldn’t do any good. She’d ‘a been long gone before they got there.”

Logan took Molly’s arm. “I have to get out of here now.” He glared at Youngman. “I have to call my lawyer, the man who sent me to you. He needs to know what a consummate professional he recommended.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong!” Youngman squawked.

“Except to keep facts from a client and conceal the whereabouts of a convicted felon.”

Youngman called after them. “I could make it up to you. I could maybe trace the kid for you now.”

Logan spun round. “So you admit you know she’s alive?”

Youngman took a couple of steps backward. “I don’t admit nothing. But if she is, I mean, I’m good at finding lost kids.”

Molly knew it was time to get Logan out of there. “Thank you, Mr. Youngman,” she said. “I don’t believe we need your services.” Then she grabbed Logan and dragged him out of the office.

Molly took the keys from Logan’s hand without a protest from him. His face looked like thunder. If he planned to take out his anger on something, she didn’t want him using a couple of tons of BMW to do it with. She climbed into the driver’s seat and waited for him to get in beside her, then pulled out into traffic.

“I owe you an apology,” he said after half-a-dozen blocks. He sounded rational. Bad sign.

They were passing Overton Park. Molly swung in and stopped beside the fourth fairway of the golf course. Logan stared straight ahead, his jaw set, his eyes seemingly focused on some faraway object.

Molly studied his profile. “Logan,” she said, “let’s talk about what happened. You seem to be taking things so calmly.”

Logan shook his head like a punch-drunk boxer. “I’m anything but calm. I feel so damned guilty.”

“Whatever for?”

“Tiffany read me perfectly. She must have realized instinctively that I would have no problem believing she could leave her sick child to die alone. She counted on me to call off the search once I thought Dulcy was dead.” He ran his hand over his hair and closed his eyes. “I’ve been refusing to admit even to myself how angry I was at Tiffany when Jeremy was killed.”

Molly laid her hand on his arm. She could feel his muscles bunched tightly under the wool of his jacket. “Of course you were angry. You can’t help your feelings, Logan. But, cut yourself a little slack. You stood by her, tried to help her.”

“She must have seen how I felt, how Zoe felt. Being around us must have been like heaping salt on a wound.”

“Are you excusing what she did?”

He shook his head. “Not for a minute. But I’m beginning to understand her reasons for running away.” He placed his hand over Molly’s and turned to her with a faint smile on his face. “All that matters at the moment is that I believe you. The child you saw, the child you modeled, was Dulcy.” He stared at her in awe. “If it hadn’t been for you and that doll, I might never have known that my granddaughter is still alive. Tiffany would have gotten away with it because I allowed a fake death certificate, a sketchy description of a dead child and a detective I knew nothing about to convince me of a lie.”

“Come on, Logan. Youngman’s story was plausible. He had the child’s death certificate and the identification of a nurse at the hospital where she supposedly died. As you said, he had no reason to lie to you about Dulcy’s death. You were paying him a bunch of money to keep looking for her—money that he’d lose the minute you called him off. Besides, your son had just been killed, your daughter-in-law had disappeared with your grandbaby and your wife was dying. You shouldn’t feel guilty.”

“Zoe wouldn’t agree with you.”

“Zoe would be wrong.”

“She’s been furious with me because I didn’t go to Moundhill and bring that child’s body home to be buried beside Jeremy and Sydney in the family plot. We’ve had more than one argument over it.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“If one really does believe in an afterlife, a soul, then the child wasn’t there anyway. Dulcy left the moment she died. I didn’t see any sense in disturbing her poor remains just to bury her in another grave in another cemetery.”

“I agree completely. So when are you going to tell Zoe?”

“Good God! I can’t tell her. What if I can’t find them? What if something’s happened since you saw them?” He looked hard at Molly. “I can’t get Zoe’s hopes up. She’s suffered enough already.”

“She has a right to know, Logan! She’s part of this.”

“No!”

Molly threw up her hands in frustration. “You’re going to do it all on your own and present her with a resurrected niece?”

“Better than letting her hope and then dashing her hopes all over again.” He shook his head. “I have to protect her.”

“I think you should tell her. If you don’t, I promise it will come back to haunt you, whether we find Dulcy or not.”

“No. The decision is mine alone and it’s final.”

She stared into his eyes for a long moment. She wished she could convince him that Zoe was a grown woman. To treat her like daddy’s little girl was the worst kind of condescension. Molly hesitated, then relented. “Oh, all right.”

“Bless you.” Impulsively he put his arm around her shoulder and squeezed. She was as startled as if he’d sprouted wings.

And even more startled by her own reaction. She hadn’t been this close to a man in more than three years. Logan’s arm felt taut around her shoulders. He smelled wonderful, like autumn leaves and ginger. Every endorphin in her body snapped to attention. Was she so starved for affection that a hug from an attractive man stirred her so completely?

Blushing, she thrust away from him, praying he had not sensed her reaction. She took a moment to fiddle with the keys until she had her breathing under control again.

As she turned on the engine, he laughed. She’d never heard him laugh—not a real laugh, at any rate. “Suddenly, I’m ravenous.”

Molly looked down at the serviceable steel watch on her wrist. “No wonder. It’s past noon.”

“Let’s have lunch at the museum restaurant. It’s close, the food is good and it’s quiet.”

“I don’t know. I’m not really dressed for the Brush and Quill.”

“Nonsense.”

As the hostess showed them to a table five minutes later, one of a group of elegantly dressed women at a nearby table waved and called to Logan. He smiled and waved back.

“Go on over and talk to her,” Molly whispered.

He shook his head and sat opposite her. “One of Sydney’s friends. I barely know her.”

“Good customer of MacMillan’s?”

“I have no idea. I told you, the shop is Zoe’s territory.”

“Well, at the moment she’s looking at me as though I were an armadillo. Hadn’t you better go speak to her?”

“No. We have to plan our campaign. I cannot—will not—trust another private detective to do the job. I’ve got to find Dulcy myself.”

“You can have whatever help I can give.”

“We’d best start with what we know.”

“Or what we don’t,” Molly said. “You said Tiffany’s scheme wouldn’t have worked unless you’d been willing to believe she’d abandon a sick child. It took more than that. There is a real little girl in Jane Doe’s grave in Kansas, a child the same age and with the same coloring as Dulcy. How did Tiffany find out about her?”

“She must have seen the child, maybe known the parents, or been around the hospital where she died.”

Molly nodded. “She didn’t call Youngman until months after the child died. Why did she wait so long?”

“Maybe she didn’t find out about the other child’s death right away. Or maybe it took that long to make her plans. She may have started trying to find a way to get Youngman off her trail the minute she found I’d hired him. The other little girl’s death must have seemed like the perfect opportunity to do just that.”

“If you bought the story, she was free and clear, and if you didn’t, what had she lost?” Molly said. “She’d just have to disappear again.”

“We know she was living in Moundhill, maybe she hung around the Moundhill hospital,” Logan said. “Perhaps she was a patient there.”

“Maybe Dulcy was a patient there,” Molly said quietly.

Logan stared at her in alarm.

She reached across the table toward him. “It’s possible. But we know she was alive and well long after that. I saw her, remember?”

Logan said with growing excitement, “She might still be living there.”

Molly took a deep breath. Logan wasn’t going to like her next words. “Did you ever think that maybe she’s made a new life for herself in Moundhill? Settled down. Married, even.”

“I hadn’t considered that.”

“Consider it, then,” Molly said. “What if you find Tiffany is sober, Dulcy is living happily with a new stepfather in a middle-class ranch house in Moundhill and going to Brownies every Thursday? Do you call the police, break up the family? Send Tiffany to jail? Drag Dulcy kicking and screaming back to Memphis to live with a man she likely doesn’t remember?”

“Dulcy belongs with me. I will be a good father to her.”

“Logan, you’re her grandfather. It’s not the same thing. You’ve been a father. The job descriptions are different.”

“No, I haven’t been a father.”

“But Zoe and Jeremy…

“They’re my biological children, all right, but I was never a father to them. I was gone for months at a time. Sydney had all the problems of being a single mother and none of the benefits. Well, almost all the problems. We had plenty of money—overseas jobs pay very well and there are no expenses to speak of. We decided the money was worth the long absences.” He threw down his napkin. “By the time I realized how wrong we were, Zoe hated my guts and Jeremy was a practicing alcoholic at sixteen.”

“Zoe loves you.”

He snorted. “She blames me for Jeremy’s drinking, his delinquency, his marriage, his death and for Dulcy’s death, as well. I used to think she married Rick just to spite me because he was a plumber without a college education.”

“If she did, she lucked out. Rick is a saint.”

He grimaced. “I must admit he’s been there for her.”

Molly could fill in the unspoken corollary. Rick was there when Logan hadn’t been. Maybe that was the key to Logan’s coolness toward his son-in-law. Rick made it all look so easy, while Logan struggled to rebuild his damaged relationship with Zoe.

Still, understanding Logan’s pain didn’t mean she had to agree with him. “So all this is not about Dulcy, it’s about you,” she snapped. “You want to prove to Zoe and to yourself that you can be a father. Of all the selfish, idiotic…” She pushed her chair back. “I’m not hungry. I’ll catch a cab.”

He caught up with her at the foot of the museum steps and grabbed her arm. “Wait, dammit! Listen to me. You’re wrong. It’s not about me. Tiffany’s life will be hell until she comes home to face what she did. No way can it be good for Dulcy. When we find Tiffany, I’ll help her any way I can, but I will take custody of Dulcy and raise her with love. Molly, you’ve got to help me. I don’t have anyone else. Please.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Fly to Moundhill with me.”

“I don’t think…”

“Listen to me, please.” He kept his hand on her arm and walked her to the BMW He held the door and she got in against her better judgment. He climbed in the other side and faced her without turning on the engine. “You’ve worked with abused children, you know the system.”

“So?”

“What’s going to happen if I find Tiffany and Dulcy in Moundhill? Let’s assume that instead of a decent life, they’re living in squalor. Whatever money Tiffany took from her trust fund must have run out long ago and there was no way she could get more. Maybe she paid it all to Youngman. She may be slinging hash or clerking at the grocery store—or worse. She wasn’t only into alcohol, Molly, she was into cocaine. Even Zoe doesn’t know that.”

“Oh, dear.” That changed things. Molly knew from the seminars she’d sat in on for her volunteer work what addiction to cocaine could do to women. They didn’t hesitate to sell their bodies and their children’s bodies when their need for the drug became too much to handle.

“Even Jeremy’s death didn’t stop her drinking or doing drugs,” Logan continued.

“Why did she take Dulcy along? It would have been easier for her to disappear alone.”

“Maybe she loves Dulcy the way a child loves a favorite toy. Maybe she took Dulcy to punish us, Zoe and Sydney and me.” He ran his hand down his face. “I don’t know anymore. Not after today.”

“I still don’t see how I can help. If you find Dulcy, surely they’ll give her to you.”

“Say I waltz in to the local police station with my order of custody executed before Sydney died. They’ll pick up Tiffany for extradition. Youngman was right. Tiffany may well tell them I’m a pedophile and after the child’s money. In today’s climate, they may believe her. Dulcy could wind up in foster care.”

“But I’m not a lawyer or a psychologist. I make dolls, period. And I’ve known you less than twenty-four hours during which you have acted about as stable as plutonium.”

“Touché. You, however, have ‘mother’ written across your forehead in letters the size of a marquee.”

“Oh, thank you so much. Just what every woman wants to hear.”

“Even though I’ve known you such a short time, I would trust you with my life, and what’s more, with my granddaughter’s life. Besides, you can identify her. I haven’t seen her since before she was two. You’ve got to come with me. And without letting anyone know where you’re going or why.”