“Yes, they do.”
“Okay, then. My thoughts are with you. We’ll be in touch.”
Gaynor hung up the phone, took a deep breath, and put a hand to his chest. His heart was pounding.
He needed a drink.
He went to the liquor cabinet, poured himself a scotch, and then pulled himself together so that he could send out e-mails to clients he was supposed to meet with over the next week. Family emergency, he said, and offered his apologies. Gave them the name of an associate who could help them.
He was looking mindlessly at his in-box when he heard Matthew stirring in the next room. When the baby woke, he’d be hungry.
Gaynor went into the hallway and down the stairs, careful not to step on the slightly faded red footprints he’d left earlier. As he entered the kitchen he forced himself to look away from where he’d found Rosemary. Focused in on the fridge. Rosemary always prepared two days’ worth of bottles of formula, and there were still four of them in there. He warmed a bottle, wondering what he would do when these were all gone. He’d never made up bottles for Matthew. Didn’t have a clue how to do it.
He had a steep learning curve ahead of him.
God, where was Sarita when he needed her?
He had some theories in that regard. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be seeing Sarita around here anymore. The police could look for her all they wanted. Good luck with that.
But he had to find someone to replace her, soon. Before he went back to work. Someone who could come into the house, or maybe someone he could drop the baby off with in the morning.
God, the things that had to be worked out.
And a funeral. He hadn’t even thought about a funeral.
He took the warmed bottle back upstairs, entered Matthew’s room. He’d already pulled himself up, was standing at the railing. Pretty soon he’d be walking.
“Hey, little man,” he said. He lifted Matthew out of the crib, held him in one arm, and handed him the bottle with his other hand. The baby grabbed hold and shoved the rubber nipple into his mouth.
“Yeah, you eat up,” he said.
How did you explain to a baby that his mother wasn’t coming home? What could you say?
“We’re going to be okay,” he said softly. “You and me are going to be okay.”
Downstairs, the doorbell rang. Police, Gaynor thought. Maybe here to tell him they’d charged that insane woman. Gaynor considered putting Matthew back in the crib, but didn’t think he should leave the baby alone while he sucked on the bottle.
Gaynor carried Matthew downstairs and opened the front door. There was a man standing there, but Gaynor knew he wasn’t from the police department.
“Bill, I’m so sorry,” the man said. “My apologies for not getting here sooner. It’s been quite the day.”
“Jack,” Gaynor said.
“May I come in?”
“Yeah, sure, of course.”
Gaynor closed the door as Jack Sturgess came into the foyer.
“If you want a drink or something,” Gaynor said, “you can go into the kitchen and help yourself, but I just... I can’t go in there. I had to get this for Matthew, but...”
“It’s okay,” Sturgess said. “I just wanted to drop by and see how you and the baby were.”
“Matthew’s... okay. I’m... I’m just trying to figure out what I should be doing first. I don’t know where to begin. I mean, the priority is Matthew. I’ve gotta look after him, and I don’t know the first thing to do. I’ve never made up the formula before. Rose did that, and Sarita. I’ve talked to the office, and I’ve been in touch with clients, and I had these people here — there’re actually companies that do nothing but clean up after... God, I don’t know if I can hold it together.”
“You’ll be okay. You will be. But you’re right: The important thing is Matthew.”
Gaynor looked misty-eyed at the doctor. “You’ve always been there for us. Every step of the way. Rose, she was so grateful for everything you did.”
The doctor rested a hand on the man’s shoulder. “You all deserved happiness. And I really thought you’d found it. You didn’t deserve this.”
“I thought, when I heard the doorbell, it’d be the police. Telling me they’ve charged that woman.”
“Yes, well, that may very well happen,” the doctor said.
“I guess it’s been all over the news.”
“Pretty much,” Sturgess said.
“The detective, he called me a while ago. They know about her history. About trying to steal the baby from the hospital. They’ll nail her with this, I just know it.”
“It may never get to that,” Sturgess said.
“What are you talking about?”
“She’s in the hospital. She tried to kill herself.”
Gaynor’s mouth dropped. “You’re kidding.”
The doctor shook his head. “But... she wasn’t successful.”
Gaynor said. “That’s, I mean, it’s an awful thing to say, but it would almost be better if she’d succeeded.”
“I don’t know how to respond to that, Bill.”
“I’m just thinking,” Gaynor said slowly, “that if the woman had died, if there was never going to be a trial, maybe they wouldn’t have to do any autopsy on Rose. They won’t have to... they won’t have to do things to her, cut her open. I can’t bear the thought of it. And even if this Marla Pickens woman doesn’t die, if she does go to trial, I mean, for Christ’s sake, it’s obvious what happened to Rose. All you had to do was see her lying there to know. Why the hell do they have to cut her open when it’s so fucking clear what happened?”
“Bill, I’m sorry, but they’ve probably already done that. It’s standard procedure, even in deaths that are pretty straightforward.”
Matthew was pushing the bottle away. He’d had enough for now. Gaynor handed the bottle to Sturgess, placed the child on his shoulder, and lightly patted his back. When Gaynor spoke, he whispered, as if the baby were somehow old enough to understand what he might be saying.
“I’m worried about that,” Gaynor said.
“About the autopsy?”
Gaynor nodded.
“About what it might show,” he said. “What else they might find.”
The doctor studied him. “I think you’re concerning yourself needlessly there.”
“But if they figure out—”
Sturgess held up a cautious hand. “Bill, I think I have an idea what you’re talking about, and you’re taking several leaps here. As you say, the cause of death in your wife’s case is pretty obvious. It’s unlikely anyone’s going to be looking at anything beyond that. I can’t think of any reason why they would.”
“You think?” Gaynor asked, still patting Matthew’s back.
“I do. You worry about your boy, and—”
“When will they release her? I have to plan a funeral and—”
“Why don’t I look into that,” Jack Sturgess said.
Matthew burped.
“Attaboy,” Sturgess said.
Twenty-six
During dessert, the phone rang. Dad, Ethan, and I were sitting at the kitchen table, finishing up some chocolate ice cream, while Mom stood at the counter rinsing dinner plates. Dad and I had both told her to sit down, that she should stay off her leg, but she wouldn’t listen. When the phone rang she was standing right by it, and grabbed the receiver from its cradle.
I watched her face drain of color while she listened to whoever was on the other end.
“Okay, Gill,” she said. So now we knew who it was, and who it was likely about. “Keep us posted.” Slowly she hung up the phone.
“What is it?” Dad asked.
Mom looked at Ethan, wondering, I guessed, whether to discuss this in front of him. But the kid didn’t miss much, and before we’d sat down to eat he’d asked what was going on with my cousin Marla, so I’d told him. I left out the graphic details, including what I’d witnessed in the Gaynors’ kitchen, but Ethan knew Marla was in big trouble, and that the police probably viewed her as the prime suspect in the death of the mother of the baby I’d found her with.