Читать книгу Little Girl Found - Jo Leigh - Страница 14

Hailey sat on the edge of the couch, her gaze fixed on the sleeping child.

It was nearly noon, and Megan had been asleep for almost two hours. The poor kid had exhausted herself. At least she’d gotten some comfort from her quilt and her doll. The three of them were on the floor, just like naptime at Hailey’s. Last Christmas she’d bought Megan a brand-new doll, a beautiful one with a full head of hair and not a single felt-pen mark on her body. But Megan was a loyal little thing. She’d thanked Hailey, then gone right back to lugging Tottie around.

Hailey tried to remember if she’d had a favorite doll. One she couldn’t be parted from. But it wasn’t the day for her own memories.

She forced herself to look up, to see where she was. Jack’s television, dark and silent, reminded her of the statues on Easter Island. The icon of worship for people who didn’t get out much. Which didn’t fit into the admittedly sketchy picture she had of Jack.

Grace had told her he was single. And that an assortment of women dropped by at all hours. Grace also said she’d seen him in his skivvies once, by accident, and that pound for pound he was the best-looking man she’d seen since Elvis.

But then, Grace also believed aliens took all the good parking spots at Luby’s.

Hailey had wondered how Grace had seen him in his underwear. The woman was sixty if she was a day, and she chain-smoked unfiltered Camels, which had stained her teeth an interesting shade of brown.

When had they had that discussion? Oh, yes. It was last Easter. When Hailey had brought her downstairs neighbor a cooked ham. Last Easter, Jack had been fine. It was only two months ago that Hailey had seen him in the laundry room. Seen him using the cane. She’d been with Megan that day. And she remembered thinking then that despite Jack’s brusque manners, he was a devilishly handsome rogue.

She smiled. Rogue. She’d been reading too many historical romances.

Even if he didn’t fit the rogue category, there was something about him…She got up, filled with nervous energy. She went to his kitchen and saw a few dirty plates in the sink, a few clean ones in the plastic drainer on the counter. Discarded coffee filters and beer cans were all she could make out in his trash. She opened his refrigerator and sighed. Not much there. Mustard. Beer. A loaf of bread and a big salami. He’d never heal with this kind of diet.

Wondering how he’d managed so far, she went to the sink and turned on the water. There were no gloves, but there was detergent and a sponge. Having something to do helped. It made her calmer. It gave her time to strategize. When Jack came home, he was going to want to call social services, and there was no question in her mind that she wasn’t going to let him. The idea of Megan going to a stranger after all she’d been through made her sick to her stomach. No matter what, Megan was going to stay.

After finishing the dishes, she cleaned the counters and the coffeemaker. Picked up the old newspapers and tied them with some cord she found under the sink. Then she dusted a bit and, with nothing left to do, headed down the hall to Jack’s bedroom.

His decor was consistent, if nothing else. Only the bare necessities. A bed, no headboard. A dresser. A chair. Not even a chair. She shook her head, not surprised that the bed was unmade. Given his condition, she had to wonder when he’d last changed the sheets. It would be a difficult task with a cane.

Was it too personal a thing to do? She didn’t know the man at all, and now she wanted to change his sheets? Her own need for a purpose silenced her doubts, and she went to the hall closet to get fresh ones.

He only had two other sets. Both beige. Utilitarian. Fine for a man whose life was filled with work and friends, but awful for a man who was virtually house-bound.

She checked on Megan, who was still sound asleep and clutching her doll, and then headed back to his room. It took no time at all to strip the bed. When it was bare, she hurried, because the room felt too much like a prison cell.

Once she was done, she dusted in there, too, wishing she could vacuum the place. It wasn’t as if she was a neat freak or anything, but Jack had done a good deed for Megan. He’d brought Megan to her. It was only right that Hailey do something nice for him in return.

Then she remembered the pillowcase. She’d barely looked in it when she’d pulled out Megan’s fresh clothes. Hailey hurried back down the hall, and just as she took hold of the pillowcase, she heard his key in the lock.

She felt her stomach tighten as she turned. Jack walked in slowly. He looked exhausted. His gaze went to Megan, asleep on her quilt on the floor, and Hailey saw his shoulders relax. Then he spotted her, standing by the couch. “I haven’t gone through it yet,” she said, holding out the pillowcase. “I just got her clothes out after her bath.”

He nodded, locked the dead bolt, then took off his jacket. After leaning slightly against the door, he rolled up his sleeves past his elbows. His arms were lightly dusted with dark hair. She could clearly see the road map of tendons and muscle on his forearms. Very masculine. He winced as he pushed off toward the kitchen, and she fought the urge to offer to help him. He wasn’t one of the children she tended, and besides, she remembered his angry reaction the first time. Still, it hurt, somehow, to watch him move across the room, leaning so heavily on his cane.

“What’s this?” he asked when he turned the kitchen light on.

“I hope you don’t mind. I couldn’t sit still.”

He grunted a noncommittal response, then poured himself a glass of water. She approached him as he drank, fascinated by his Adam’s apple, at the size of his thirst. When he finished, he wiped his arm across his mouth, his gaze on hers as if he’d known she’d been watching him. “Did you tell her?” he asked, keeping his deep voice low.

She nodded. “She was very brave. But it hasn’t really hit her yet. It’s going to take a long while for her to adjust to this. To accept that her father isn’t coming back.”

Jack moved to the kitchen table and sat heavily in a chair. His cane clattered loudly to the linoleum floor, but he didn’t even give it a glance. “Not only is he not coming back,” he said, “he wasn’t really here.”

“What?” She pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down, laying the pillowcase between them.

“Roy Chandler wasn’t his name.”

“Seriously?”

He answered her with a look that said he was dead serious.

“Who was he?”

“A charmer named Barry Strangis. From Oklahoma. Incarcerated twice for armed robbery, once in 1972 and again in 1980.”

“Oh, man.”

“Yeah,” he said. His gaze moved to something behind her, and at first she thought Megan had gotten up, but when she turned, she saw she was still sound asleep. He had looked at his chair in the living room. Looked at it with need.

She stood up, went to his television table and got his bottle of pain pills. After she put the bottle on the kitchen table, she took his glass and filled it once more with water. She handed it to him as she sat down again.

He didn’t seem pleased. His eyebrows furrowed and his lips pressed together tightly. Finally he said, “What are you doing?”

“Getting your pills. Water.”

“I know that, but why?”

“Because it’s time for you to take a pill.”

“How do you know?”

“From the look on your face. You seemed…pained.”

“I always look like this.”

She smiled, then tried to hide it.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, his voice even rougher than before.

“I’ve always admired a good curmudgeon,” she said. “George Bernard Shaw. Scrooge. They lend balance to the world.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

She nodded. “Yes, I am.”

“Well, knock it off.”

“Then take your pill.”

He glared at her for another long moment, but then he opened the bottle, shook a pill onto his palm and popped it into his mouth. He drank the entire glass of water, and once more, he wiped his mouth with his arm.

The movement should have been gauche, but it wasn’t. He reminded her of Marlon Brando in Streetcar. Rough and cruel, but only because it hid a vulnerability so deep he didn’t know where to turn.

“So what’s in the case?” he asked.

She shifted her attention to the pillowcase, dumping the contents on the table. The first thing she saw was a picture frame. She moved to pick it up at the same time he did, and their fingers brushed. The contact surprised her, and she jerked her hand back. He grew very still for a moment, then lifted the frame so he could see the picture. “Hmm,” he said.

“What?”

He turned it around.

“That’s Megan’s mother,” Hailey said. “Patricia.”

Jack looked at it again. “She was pretty.”

“Megan looks a lot like her. She’ll be a beautiful woman.”

“Do you know when this Patricia died?”

Hailey shook her head. “Not really. But I think it was after they moved here. I started working for Roy two years ago.”

“What’s that?” He pointed to a sheet of paper inside a plastic bag.

Hailey turned it over to find a recipe. For mulligatawny stew. Handwritten, stained. She passed it to Jack.

“Why would he give her this?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s all he has in his wife’s handwriting.”

Jack shook his head, then put the recipe aside. He picked up a bank passbook and opened it. “Four hundred and fifty dollars. In the name of Megan Chandler.”

“When was the last deposit?”

“At Christmas.”

She didn’t see much else of interest. Just clothes, which she proceeded to fold. There were jeans and sweatshirts, a few dresses, a jacket. Two pairs of shoes, a stack of panties and three sets of pajamas.

“He knew he was going to be gone awhile,” Jack said. “Or that he might never come back.”

“It appears so. But there’s something I’ve been wondering all morning. Why did he bring Megan to you, when I was just down the hall?”

Jack’s frown deepened. “The only reason I can think of is that he knew I was a cop.”

“So he must have guessed he was in trouble. Bad trouble.”

“Given the fact that he’s a corpse now, he guessed right.”

“And he didn’t say anything else?”

He looked at her, studying her closely. She thought he was going to say something, but then he just shook his head. She had the feeling he wasn’t telling her everything. Maybe that was for the best. She didn’t want to know anything that would get her into trouble. Not when she had to look out for Megan.

As if he’d sensed her protective thought, he nodded toward the living room. “We should call.”

Hailey caught his gaze and held it. “No, we’re not going to call.”

“We’re not?”

“No,” she repeated. “I want her here.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Maybe not. But I’m going to all the same.”

He leaned back in his chair, giving her a repeat of his unhappy face. It made him look dangerous in a way. Not spooky dangerous. Sexy dangerous.

“I promised her that she could stay with me,” she said. “She has no one else. And she’s too vulnerable to be taken away by strangers. It would make things infinitely worse.”

“The cops will find out he had a kid.”

“I don’t see that as an obstacle. I’m sure there are ways we could make them think Megan was away. I could tell Grace and a few other tenants. They’d help.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he looked back at her, he’d eased up on the frown. “For now,” he said.

“Fair enough.”

“But when things settle down…”

“We’ll talk about it again.”

“You design web sites? You should have been a lawyer.”

“Thank you.”

He leaned forward again, and she prepared for his retort, but instead, he frowned once more and nodded toward the living room. “Look who’s awake.”

Hailey turned to see Megan sitting up, clutching Tottie and sucking her thumb. “Hey, sweet pea,” she said as she left Jack and his scowl. “You slept a long time.”

Megan looked at her. “I want to go home,” she said.

“I know you do, honey. But I’m afraid we can’t go home just yet. Mr. McCabe and I are going to look after you, remember?”

She nodded slowly. Hailey thought she might start crying again, but she didn’t. “Tottie’s hungry,” was all she said.

“I’ll bet she is. And I’ll bet you are, too. Tell you what. You stay here with Mr. McCabe, and I’ll get us all lunch from my apartment and bring it back.”

“I want to go, too.”

“I’ll only be gone a few minutes. Why don’t you show Mr. McCabe your special blanket?”

Megan nodded, and Hailey wasn’t sure it was a good thing. The girl was a scrapper. Always had been. She sometimes had a tendency to throw a dramatic tantrum when she didn’t get her way, although the episodes were short-lived. To see her acquiesce so soon, and so stoically, told Hailey a lot. This little one was going to need a great deal of attention and a great deal of understanding.

“I’ll be back,” she said, turning to Jack. “I’ll bring some food.”

“I’ll help,” he said, leaning down to retrieve his cane.

“No, that’s okay. You need to be here with Megan.” Before he could argue, Hailey unlocked the apartment door and went outside. It was still chilly. She would put on a jacket before she returned.

As she walked toward her apartment, she felt nervous, as if someone was watching her. When she looked at the parking lot below, no one seemed to be there, although there were several unfamiliar cars in the lot. She shook the feeling off as understandable paranoia, but she walked faster and didn’t feel better until she was inside her place. She bolted the door behind her. The feeling didn’t completely disappear, and she understood right then that her own personal bubble of invulnerability had been shattered this morning. She wondered it she’d ever get it back again.

“THIS IS GARFIELD and he’s the dog. And these are the bees, the mommy and daddy and baby, see?”

Jack nodded, feeling awkward and inept as he listened to Megan talk about her blanket. She continued to point out all the significant pictures—the little girl who was all alone, the eyes, the letters and numbers and the great big heart. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense to him, but then he couldn’t remember ever thinking about a quilt before. Megan certainly took it seriously, though. After each explanation, she waited for his nod and only then moved to the next.

So he kept nodding when there was a pause, but he wasn’t thinking about the big bus or the bumblebee family. His thoughts were on the girl and her situation. She was an orphan, and even though Hailey wanted to keep her, the state still had control over her future. Unfortunately the state was a notoriously bad parent.

It would probably be better for the kid to stick with Hailey, but if she did that and a relative showed up, there’d be big trouble. Who knows how attached Megan would become to Hailey? Then she’d have lost her parents and her guardian, and that wouldn’t be something she could easily recover from. He’d seen that too many times to have any doubts. Kids taken from bad families, put into foster homes, then shuffled to another and another. Those kids didn’t, as a rule, fare well. They ended up coming back home, only by then the parent state was usually in the form of a penitentiary.

At least she was a girl. Girls generally adjusted better than boys.

“…daddy?”

He heard the word and realized she’d asked him something. “What?”

“Do you know my daddy?”

Shoot. He’d hoped to avoid this. What was he supposed to say? Where the hell was Hailey? “Uh, yeah,” he said. “Sure.”

“Hailey says he went to heaven to see my mommy.”

Dammit, where was she? How long could getting some food take? “Yeah, uh, well…Hailey’s pretty smart.”

“Does she baby-sit you, too?”

He smiled. “Not exactly.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “People don’t come back from heaven.”

He probably needed to say something else. Something reassuring. She looked up at him with those big blue eyes, just staring. Waiting. But he didn’t have a clue. She might as well have been one of those bumblebees on the quilt for all he knew how to talk to her. He’d never been around kids, not like Megan, at least. He’d know what to say if she’d just tagged a building or sold drugs on the schoolyard. But this? He was way out of his league.

He blinked, but she didn’t. She didn’t move. “You want to watch some television?” he asked desperately.

She nodded, but did he detect a note of disappointment in her eyes? Had he already failed?

“I like Reading Rainbow,” she said in a small voice. “And sometimes I watch Barney.”

“Barney,” he repeated, wishing he knew what she was talking about. “Sure you don’t like to watch football?”

She shrugged.

“It’s fun, trust me,” he said, turning toward the television. The remote was on the TV table, and he switched on the set, grateful for the distraction. He clicked until he hit the Dolphins’ game. Then he went to his chair and sank into it, grateful to be off his feet.

Megan came up next to him. “I’ve seen this game before at my house.”

“Yeah? Well, good. Greatest game ever invented.”

“My daddy says football is for jerks. He says the quarterboy doesn’t know shit from shinola.”

Jack jerked his gaze to Megan. “Pardon me?”

She sighed. “He says football is for jerks—”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you. Maybe we’ll look for this Barney show, after all.”

“Okay,” she said.

He flipped the channel and the next and the next until finally he found some cartoons. It wasn’t Barney, but it wasn’t football, either.

She moved closer to him, then before he could do a thing, she climbed into his lap and settled back. She adjusted her doll under her arm and put her thumb in her mouth.

It was the damndest thing.