The Toddler's Tale

His thoughtfulness warmed her. “Thank you, Max. But I’m hoping she’ll be rescued long before I have to break my promise to Traci about leaving the baby alone.”

“Amen to that.”

He was gone in an instant.

Chelsea knew the man cared about people. She’d witnessed that concern and commitment on other cases. But just now the emotional intensity of his response led her to believe he’d been affected on a much deeper level by this crisis with Betsy.

She’d sensed that the circumstances under which Traci’s baby had come into the world had been as horrifying to him as to Chelsea. The fact that Betsy’s mother had been willing to face being murdered to save herself and her child from a fate worse than death proved what a remarkable parent she really was.

Some mothers didn’t have a clue.

Tears trickled down Chelsea’s cheeks as she remembered the wasteland of her own upbringing. Little Betsy had no idea how lucky she was to have a mother who loved her so much she would put her daughter’s welfare before all else, even her own life.

More than anything in the world, Chelsea wanted Traci to have the opportunity to raise her child in an environment of total love, not fear. Max wanted the same thing for them.

If either he or Chelsea had anything to say about it, Traci would be given that chance. Already Chelsea’s mind was filling with plans she would like to put into action once Max had restored Betsy to her mother.

While she waited for him to give her more directions, she ate the sandwich he’d brought her earlier. A few minutes later she noticed another fire truck roll up. Three more firefighters began unloading lights and heating equipment with their matchless expertise.

No matter what it took, Max would make the miracle happen. On that score Chelsea harbored no doubts. He was a man who lit his own fires. When she really allowed herself to think about it, there was no one to compare with him.

From her perch at the edge of the excavation, she followed Max’s progress to the utility truck. Behind it she spied a couple of television vans. It hadn’t taken them long. It never did, she reflected.

Before long the scene would turn into a media frenzy, but all she cared about was Traci’s little girl, who needed to be kept warm throughout her ordeal.

“Chelsea?” Max’s voice called a few minutes later. He had entered the pit. “Try talking to her, and then sing something.”

She spread the tarp on the ground, then lay down on her stomach so she could extend her head over the edge.

“Hello, little darling. It’s Chelsea. Come on out of there. Come on, sweetheart. Come to me and your mommy. That’s a girl. We’re right here. All you have to do is crawl closer. Show us what a big girl you are.”

Another song, “The Happy Wanderer,” came to mind. It was a tune she and her friends used to sing on their excursions into the Jura mountains above the Swiss vineyards.

“Did you like that, honey?”

“She’s imitating some of the sounds! Sing the song again! Maybe she’ll start crawling toward me!”

Encouraged, Chelsea did Max’s bidding. When she ran out of verses, she started again, then switched to “The Lonely Goatherd” from The Sound of Music.

“Well, well, well.” The familiar male voice came from the other side of the tape. “The boss is fuming because he hasn’t heard from you since you left for the Lord ranch ages ago. Unless this is a better story, you’re going to have some explaining to do.”

CHAPTER FOUR

CAREFUL, CRAIG. Your true self is emerging.

Chelsea continued with her medley, ignoring her ambitious colleague from “Tattle Today TV.” He’d never forgiven her for getting the top job in the show, but their boss, Howard, had been determined to offer it to Chelsea.

Chelsea had been flattered that Howard had flown to Los Angeles to woo her himself, but she’d only accepted his contract on the condition that he never reveal to anyone she was the daughter of the famous movie star Rita Maxwell. In fact, Chelsea had made him put it in writing in front of Sid Goldberg, the family attorney who’d always managed her finances.

Apparently Howard had told Craig McDermott that it was his job to show Chelsea the ropes. When she’d arrived in Austin fifteen months ago, she sensed right away Craig despised her. But it wasn’t because of her age—at twenty-seven, she was twenty years his junior—or because she was a woman. What he hated was losing out to a nonlocal, especially one from California. Hollywood had been Chelsea’s playground from birth, and she had proven herself a successful radio and television reporter. She knew how to mix spice and glitz with the news, making her a sought-after property not only on the West Coast.

She didn’t need the seven-digit salary Howard had promised. Money was the one commodity she’d always had in abundance. Her mother’s box office earnings had set her up for life.

No, it was Austin’s smaller market that proved to be the enticement. That and the fact that it was unfamiliar territory. In Texas there was nothing to remind her that the only person in the world who truly cared about her welfare was Erna, the family housekeeper. And Sid, of course. But it was Erna who knew everything about Chelsea’s life, the ugliness that had gone on behind closed doors. An ugliness Chelsea’s mother had chosen to ignore.

“Does the boss know you can sing, too?” Craig baited her. “Where’s your car? How did you get out here, anyway?”

Chelsea waved a hand to signal that she couldn’t talk to Craig right now. As long as Max needed her help, she refused to let him down.

Craig let go with some profanity that wasn’t very original. “Will you stop singing for five seconds and tell me the real story behind the baby-stuck-in-the-pipe story? That’s the sum total of what I got out of Officer Unfriendly back there.”

Since Craig didn’t intend to go away until he had answers, she ended the song. “There is no other story,” she called. “My car broke down at the Lord ranch.”

“Did you get pictures of Eckart’s ex?”

“No.” As for Jake Maitland, he couldn’t get rid of her fast enough. “I don’t think she was there. After Eckart was killed last night, it figures she and the baby were moved to another location.” Chelsea had glimpsed Camille at the cabin, hiding behind Jake, but Craig didn’t need to know that.

“Obviously Max Jamison was out at the Lord ranch to keep people away from the crime scene,” she went on. “He was only too happy to get rid of me by offering to run me to a garage for help. When we drove down this street, we saw a woman running toward us, crying for help. We found out her little girl was trapped in the excavation site.

“I was asked to stay and help because the rescue workers think a frightened child might respond better to a woman. Her mother’s too upset. Right now I’m supposed to be singing to the little girl until she’s rescued. That’s all I know.”

Afraid he would ask more questions she had no intention of answering, she began another song. She was glad he couldn’t step inside the tape. But that didn’t prevent him from glaring at her back before he stomped off to join some other members of the media who’d gathered behind the tape with their camcorders.

She’d barely breathed a sigh of relief when he came back ten minutes later to interrupt her singing once more. “Something fishy’s going on around here. There’s a police guard at the house next door, and no one’s talking. What’s happening, Chelsea? And don’t give me that drivel about not knowing anything.”

She finished the song, then turned. “The mother saw her little girl fall into the construction site and disappear. By the time Max returned from town after calling the police, she’d gone into shock. He helped her home and made her lie down. To my knowledge, she’s resting and can’t be disturbed.” Chelsea prayed she sounded convincing. “The person you need to interview is Max, but he’s working with those firefighters, trying to figure out a way to get the child to crawl out of that pipe.”

He ground his teeth. “A lot of good your singing’s going to do. Did you try to get in and talk to the mother?”

“I have a job here and wasn’t given a choice.”

“You mean Jamison didn’t give you one.”

“It wasn’t like that, Craig. Both the battalion chief and Max asked me to help calm the child. That’s what I intend to do.”

Even from a distance, Craig looked livid. “Neither of those men has the right to interfere with your business as a reporter. Jamison’s not even on the police force any more, so he can’t order you around. Come on. Let’s walk over by the house. Joining forces might convince the police to let us have a short interview for tomorrow night’s show. If that fails, I know a guy at Pettigrew Realty. He can get us the background information on the family living in that house, plus the reason for this deserted excavation site. Unfortunately he won’t be able to deliver the goods before midmorning. You know the boss goes into orbit when we don’t come up with any new facts on a breaking story.”