"Thanks. Did you want to ask Burl any questions, Will?" I know I would have if I was him, considering Will once spent the night in the man's house.
Will hesitated, pursed his lips a few times before speaking. "What happened that night, Chief? I mean, when you came and got me?"
Burl leaned back, his hands clasping his silver belt buckle. "It was Jasper who called. Pissed as hell. But then, he stayed that way. When I got to the house, you were sound asleep in that little plastic infant seat. Too big for it, but I had to make do when I carried you over to my place in my truck. Strapped the seat belt around you. My wife was thrilled I brought you home, even if for just one night."
Will smiled briefly, then said, "But what about them? The Olsens? You said Mr. Olsen was mad."
"Like I said. He stayed that way."
"What was she like?" Will asked.
"You want to know everything, huh?"
"I need to know. Especially if she was my birth mother."
"Okay. I won't lie. Verna Mae wasn't quite right in the head, and that particular night she was crying so bad, Jasper sent her to the bedroom. Practically pushed her down the hallway. He told me she'd been saying how they could keep you, pretend you were theirs. Jasper had a good laugh about that." Burl cast his gaze downward, obviously embarrassed.
"He laughed?" I said.
Burl looked at Will. "We should just skip the rest, son. You don't need to hear what some ignorant redneck had to say. Everything worked out great for you. The way you carry yourself, the way you play ball, everything about you says you've been raised right."
"Tell me why he laughed." Will's tone had gone hard, out of character for him. "Tell me now."
Burl shifted in his chair, avoiding eye contact with both of us. "Okay, he said Verna Mae was stupid to think she could pass you off as theirs. Said he wasn't having any black baby in his house for one more second."
Will stared at his hands, his long fingers intertwined and white-knuckled with tension. "That's what I figured. Thanks for being honest."
A tense silence followed before I said, "Guess we're done here." I started to get up, then remembered the blanket. "You really don't need that blanket now, right?"
"I collected the blanket as evidence during an executed search warrant, so yes I do," Burl said evenly.
"But it probably has nothing to do with Verna Mae's death."
"Probably is your key word, Abby. If I give it up and the blanket turns out to be even remotely connected to the murder, the thing's worthless as evidence."
"How could an old blanket be connected to her murder?" Damn, I hate to hear no. Made me want the stupid thing even more.
"Don't know, but the blanket stays with me, and when I have proof it's not important, then it's yours with Will's permission. I learned long ago, you collect evidence, you keep evidence until you're sure it's worthless. I'm a careful man, Abby Rose, a trait that's served me well in the police business." The country charm had been turned off. He meant business.
"A few pictures wouldn't break your chain of evidence, would it?" I had to leave with something, because that DNA test might turn out far different than what we expected. Besides, that blanket was linked to Will's past, if not to his birth parents. I was learning to be careful myself.
Burl sighed. "Guess pictures wouldn't hurt."
While Burl unfolded a step stool and climbed up to reach one of the stacked file boxes, Will looked at me.
"I'm glad she didn't keep me," he said. "I'm telling my mom and dad how much I love them the minute I get home."
I patted his knee. "Good idea." I took my camera phone from my purse.
After cleaning off his desk, Burl laid out several sheets of blank white paper and placed the creamcolored blanket on these.
I snapped off a few shots.
Will leaned forward for a better look. "You think this was mine? It doesn't look all that old."
"The blanket itself is well-preserved, but check out the label." Burl turned over one corner so I could photograph the label.
The small rectangular piece of satin had yellowed with age, and the stitching on the edges was frayed. Underneath the embroidered words HANDMADE FOR POSH PRAMS I now saw something else—100% HANDSPUN NEW WOOL. I'd had little chance to notice this the first time, seeing as how Burl had commandeered the thing almost immediately. If the word "posh" didn't make it sound expensive, "hand-spun wool" certainly did.
"You sure I can't have this?" I said.
Burl smiled. "Your cop friend wants it, all he has to do is ask and I'll turn it over properly to preserve the chain of evidence."
"Okay." I held up my phone. "The pictures will do for now, and we do appreciate your help."
"My pleasure. Great to meet Will all grown up." He carefully folded the blanket and returned it to the box. On paper taped to the box lid he wrote down the date and time he'd accessed the contents.
"You want to take your keys, Will?" I nodded at the envelope still lying on the desk.
Will shook his head. From the look on his face, you'd have thought he was eight years old and I'd asked him to open up the closet where the boogeyman lived. "No. Could you, like... deal with them for now?"
I picked up the envelope. "Sure. But your parents might want to get a lawyer on this."
Will released an audible sigh of relief. "Yeah. Sure. Whatever."
We said good-bye to Burl and left.
I'd had a notion to stop at Verna Mae's house, but I decided Will had been given plenty to chew on today. The house could wait.
8
By the time I dropped Will off at his home early Monday evening and explained about the money part of the inheritance to his mother, my stomach was complaining about missed meals. I'd eaten nothing since breakfast. I called Jeff's cell, hoping we could grab a bite together, but he said he wouldn't be leaving work for several more hours. He was chasing Verna Mae's money trail.
I decided to stop by Kate's house for the company, but only after picking up a Chick-Fil-A sandwich and a Diet Coke. Who knows what might be on the menu at her place. Probably yellow gooey vegetables or enough bulgur wheat to feed a barn full of chickens for a month.
When I arrived, I discovered that vegetables would have been glorious in comparison to what was truly on the menu. Our Aunt Caroline's baby-blue Lincoln Town Car sat in the driveway. If not for Terry Armstrong, Kate's significant other, I would have floored the Camry and hightailed it home, but Terry was returning from a walk with Webster, their border collie. A very slow walk, no doubt, since Webster is so lazy he wouldn't wake up from a nap even if a herd of sheep got into the living room.
Terry spotted me, waved and smiled. Yup, I had to stop. Either that, or be ratted out to Kate and Aunt Caroline that I'd been in the neighborhood and split.
When I climbed out of the car, Terry released Webster's leash, and the dog came running to greet me. "What's with him?" I asked. "He hasn't run anywhere since he found a body in my greenhouse last summer."
Terry is about six-four with an easy smile, lean frame and a spirit as kind as my sister's. "Didn't Kate tell you?"
"Tell me what?" Webster planted his feet on my waist and sniffed at my Chick-Fil-A bag.
"Our boy is hypothyroid. He's been on medicine for a week, and we can already tell the difference."
We started walking down the driveway toward the back door. "I always said something was wrong with him."
"You know Kate. She wouldn't trust any ordinary vet, but she found this woman who uses natural medicine and chiropractic. Webster's now beginning to act like a real border collie."