The Baby Scheme

“I’m surprised Morosco didn’t. I know he’s relatively new, but surely he’s read my work.”

Larry shrugged. “Madge Leeky thinks he’s trying to impress the publisher by putting his stamp on the paper. She says he wants to believe in Payne because he likes the idea that he hired a ‘star.’” Madge had written for the Outlook since before Alli was born.

“I don’t think that star’s going to twinkle for very long. At least, I hope not.” She pulled to the curb in front of the boxy, three-story building. It felt weird not to be parking in back as usual.

Larry sat glumly in place. “We all miss you. It isn’t the same since you left.”

“It’s only been a day and a half.”

“It seems longer.”

It did to Alli, too. Then an idea hit her. “You could help if you’re willing. But I wouldn’t want to land you in trouble.”

His face brightened. “Tell me how.”

“It would be great if you would access the paper’s library and look up Dr. Joseph Abernathy and Dr. Randolph Graybar,” she said. “I’m working on a freelance story about them, kind of a showpiece. It’s a secret.”

“Graybar? Is he any relation to the former lieutenant governor, Aldis Graybar?”

She hadn’t made the connection. “I’ll try to check online, but I still can’t use my laptop on the Internet.”

“I’ll get on it right away.”

She made sure he had her cell number. “If anyone acts suspicious, don’t do it,” she warned. “One person being fired because of Payne Jacobson is already one too many.”

He opened the car door. “I’ll be careful. Thanks for the ride.”

“You’re welcome. I really appreciate whatever you can find out.”

As she drove off, Alli hoped she hadn’t done the wrong thing by making the impulsive request. Well, she’d advised Larry to back off if things got touchy. And she knew he would respect her request for secrecy.

The copy shop had a Closed sign on the door. The hours read 10:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m. and it was a little past that.

Alli headed home. Inside the apartment complex, she was nearing her unit when her pulse rocketed into high gear.

In a visitor’s space across from her building sat a gray van like the one in the drive-by shooting. Despite the late hour, lingering June daylight revealed two man-size silhouettes in the front seat.

Tapping the brake, she backed out of sight behind an SUV. Had they spotted her? She sat trying to listen past the rush of her blood for the roar of the van’s engine or the slap of running feet, anything to indicate they were in pursuit.

She heard nothing.

It might not be the same van. But she didn’t intend to run any foolish risks.

Common sense warned her to call the police. If she did, however, she’d have to tell them about the incident at Dr. Abernathy’s and why she’d been there. Someone from the Outlook would read the report and discover what she was working on.

As Alli sat mulling over what to do next, it occurred to her that she must be on to something big for these men to spend their time stalking her. Unless, of course, the men weren’t connected to the adoption ring. She’d also been investigating Mayor LeMott who, before going straight as a businessman, was rumored to have been involved in loan-sharking and racketeering.

He’d escaped prosecution because witnesses against him had a nasty habit of disappearing. The thought sent shivers down Alli’s spine.

He knew she’d been working on a story about him because he’d granted an interview after his election as mayor in April, expecting a puff piece. Even though her name wouldn’t have appeared on today’s article, it had probably quoted from the interview.

Oh, the heck with it. She wasn’t giving up her investigation, regardless of the danger. What would happen if reporters let themselves be intimidated into silence?

First necessity: to rescue a few essentials from her apartment. Second requirement: to locate another base of operations, preferably one that cost nothing and came with a computer.

Her mother would welcome her, but Mom lived in Texas. Larry shared a tiny beach pad with four buddies, so that put him out of the running.

An image sprang to mind of a glowering man with muscular shoulders, intense physical presence and access to Internet databases. The fact that Kevin Vickers wanted nothing to do with her was, in her view, a mere technicality.

After slipping out of the car, Alli traced a circuitous path toward the back of her apartment unit. A glimpse around the corner showed the two guys sitting in their van, staring in the direction of the main entrance.

She’d met the mayor’s bodyguards, Dale and Bruce, a few times. The fellow sitting on the near side had cropped hair and a beefy nose, just like Dale. The other fellow’s bleached orange hair matched Bruce’s.

Caked mud obscured the license plate’s number. Considering that it hadn’t rained in months, Alli figured the men had hidden it on purpose, but now she knew who they were—for all the good that did.

Quietly, she withdrew. Adrenaline powered her up the rear stairs to her apartment, where she made short work of packing.

She’d completed the first step of her plan. Now came the hard part.

JUNE WAS A TIME for fresh beginnings: weddings, graduations and a new baseball season, during which the Anaheim Angels might just possibly, if heaven smiled and fish learned to fly, win another World Series.

It was also, Kevin had learned during his three years as a private eye, a time when spouses cheated and people on disability leaped about reshingling their roofs with the spryness of mountain goats. Cynicism firmly in place, he arrived at his office after a long day, his camera brimming with evidence.

Sometimes he wondered why he’d left the police department. He’d liked his position as a robbery-homicide detective and he’d enjoyed the give-and-take with fellow officers. But he preferred freedom, even when it meant long hours and unpaid accounts receivable.

When he’d decided to leave, another former officer had invited him to join his security firm. However, he’d decided to strike out on his own, and he’d never regretted it.

Kevin unlocked the front door of the small office building and, bypassing the elevator, mounted the stairs to the second floor. At this hour—nearly 7:00 p.m.—the accounting firm and escrow company that shared the premises had closed for the day.

He hoped his secretary had left as well. He’d informed Heloise in no uncertain terms that her day ended at five o’clock. He wasn’t paying overtime and he didn’t need her to babysit his phone messages.

But she sat at her desk, short blond hair revealing a hint of dark roots, acknowledging him with a smile as she adjusted her grip on her cell phone. “Betsy, it’s up to your sister to decide whether she wants another baby,” Heloise was saying. “I know it isn’t your fault you had triplets, but if you can manage three, why can’t she?”

“Mom!” Kevin said. “Would you please go home?”

“It’s your dad’s pizza and poker night, so nobody needs me,” his mother replied calmly. Into the phone, she added, “Your brother just got back. Darling, whatever happens, I promise to keep watching your kids on Saturday mornings.”

Kevin collected his mail and escaped into his private office. He’d had more than enough of his younger sisters’ jockeying for their mother’s attention. They were welcome to it. As the eldest child and only son, he received far too much.

Still, Mom made a great assistant. He knew before he even checked that his e-mail had been culled of spam, his clients billed and his phone messages screened so he could be notified of anything urgent.

During his first two years in business, he’d put up with a series of secretaries who ranged from inept to barely tolerable. Even the halfway-decent ones didn’t stay long. He knew his sharp manner had something to do with this, but who could blame him for losing patience with repeated screwups?

When his mother offered to fill in short-term, he’d agreed out of desperation. Although Heloise’s only previous paid experience had been decades ago as a preschool teacher, her experience as head of the PTA and other volunteer groups had made her a whiz at management.

They got along surprisingly well. She dismissed Kevin’s bouts of grumpiness with aplomb, claiming he’d been much worse as a teenager. She matched his obsession with neatness, and she kept her motherly instincts in check during regular hours.

After five o’clock, however, all bets were off. So it didn’t surprise him when she appeared in the doorway to ask, “Have you eaten?”