Dead Giveaway

then overdosed on shrimp and crab at Pappas Seafood Restaurant. It was a good distraction, one I needed.

My appointment with Molly Roth, the social worker who had worked Will's abandonment case, was for nine a.m. Monday, so I was on the Southwest Freeway heading toward Roth's office in Sugarland by eight-thirty. Houston freeways at that time of day? Basically a cuss-off with hand signals.

I'd researched Roth and discovered she'd left Children's Protective Services many years ago and currently ran a private agency that supplied parents with certified nannies—that according to the sales pitch Roth had insisted on delivering over the phone when I called her for an appointment. I wasn't even sure I'd convinced her I had no interest in hiring anyone from her agency unless they wanted to babysit a spoiled cat.

Her tenth-floor office was housed in a smoked-glass high-rise right off the freeway. When I entered suite 1012, a woman in her late fifties wearing glasses and a vintage navy suit with pale blue piping on the lapels flew into the waiting area the minute I arrived. She nearly tripped over a child-size table and chairs piled with books and puzzles.

'Hi,' I said, extending my hand. 'I'm—'

'You're late. You must never be late in this business. Now get in here.' She grabbed my wrist and pulled me through the waiting area into an office populated by enough stuffed animals, cartoon posters, dolls and toys to rival a Disney World gift shop.

The woman squinted at me through lenses so thick they magnified her dark eyes and made her look like a koala bear.

'What's happened to you?' she said. Her voice sounded like the Molly Roth I'd spoken with the other day but with the frantic button turned on. 'You did something different to your hair. And we talked about clothes. No clingy T-shirts like this.' She pulled at my pink V-neck and appraised the rest of me. 'The khakis are okay, but—'

'Ms. Roth, I think you've mistaken me for someone else. I'm Abby Rose. Remember, we spoke on the phone and—'

'You're not Julie?' She craned her neck and moved in so close we were practically nose to nose. 'God, you're not. Okay, you're new. Do you have a criminal background? And don't lie to me, because if I get you this job and find out later you lied, I'll—'

'We have an appointment, Ms. Roth,' I cut in. 'About a case you worked for CPS.'

Roth blinked, her jaw slack. Then came the dawn of realization. 'Oh. That's today?'

'Yes, ma'am,' I said.

'I really don't have time for you. A nanny hasn't shown and—'

A cell phone twirped from its resting place on Roth's cluttered desk. Papers went flying everywhere when she swooped down on the phone. She flipped it open and said, 'Julie? Where in heaven are you?'

I saw color rise up the woman's pale neck and scorch her cheeks. 'Oh. Yes. Of course. That's right. Thank you for checking in.'

Roth closed her phone and then her body went slack, her arms limp at her sides. 'Today is Monday. Did you know that?'

'Um, yes. That's when you told me to be here.'

'And Monday is not Tuesday.'

'Not last time I checked.' Why did I have the feeling I'd be getting absolutely nowhere with this interview?

Roth smiled, adjusted her glasses. 'But that's a good thing, Ms. Rose. No child is without their nanny because today is Monday. Now. How can I help you?'

'Um, could we sit down?'

'Yes, certainly. Absolutely.' She glanced around in what I assumed was her usual agitated fashion and scooped up a pile of folders and neon stuffed fish off the chair that faced her desk. Then she opened a closet to my left and tossed them inside, quickly shutting the door before the other thousand things inside fell out.

She gestured at the empty chair. 'There. Sit. Coffee?'

'No,' I said quickly. Besides the fact that I'd sworn off coffee, she might need a year to find the pot.

She took a seat behind her desk and started stacking papers, her nervous fingers less than effective at organizing them into piles. She finally shoved everything to one side and rested folded hands on the desk in front of her. 'Now, what are we here for today?'

'Do you remember our conversation last week when I called?' I asked.

'It's been so hectic, Ms. Rose. You sell yellow roses or something, right? I suppose if one of my nannies showed up with roses her first day on the job that would be a nice touch, so I'm listening.' She blinked and smiled and blinked those big eyes a few more times.

Definitely no one home in there. Funny how phone conversations just don't give you the full picture. 'Ac tually, I work for Yellow Rose Investigations. I'm a private detective who specializes in adoption cases. You once worked for CPS in Liberty County. My client, Will Knight, was in your care for—'

'The Knights! Yes! Sweet people. Good foster parents.'

'They ended up adopting a baby you placed with them. But you knew that, right?'

'Certainly I knew that.' But Roth looked more confused than a mosquito in a nudist colony. 'Why didn't we do this over the phone? I mean, it's not like I know much more than you seem to know.'

'You were busy when I called the other day and said you'd rather speak in person. Said you'd be able to recall the case better if I gave you some time.'

'That's right. Well... hmmm. Let me think.' She bit her lower lip.

'Did you happen to save any old notes?' I asked, so full of hope and so kidding myself.

She pointed at me and smiled. 'Yes. Old notes. I could have done that. Where would they be?'

Obviously this woman couldn't pour pee out of a boot if the instructions were printed on the heel. 'Maybe I could ask you a few questions and the memories will begin to flow.' I said this sweetly, rather like a nanny telling a bedtime story.

'Yes. That might work.' More blinking.

'A baby was left on a doorstep. A mixed-race child.'

'Right. The police called me, but I couldn't get out that night. My car wouldn't start. To this day I have a problem with the whole gas, oil change, maintenance thing. But I'm learning.'

'Burl Rollins, the officer you spoke to, took care of the baby overnight.'

'Yes. Nice man. His wife was a doll, too. We played bunko together. Did you know that?'

'Interesting,' I said. And irrelevant. 'Did you ever meet the Olsens, the people who discovered the child on their porch?'

She thought for a second. 'I did meet her. She came to my office, but, what was that about?'

'I'm hoping you can tell me,' I prompted.

Molly Roth squeezed her eyes shut, her expression pained. 'Recalling conversations from years ago is very difficult. Maybe you could tell me what Mrs. Olsen has to do with any of this, because she was never a part of that child's life aside from calling out the authorities. The baby was placed in foster care, adopted and gone from Bottlebrush quickly.'

'I hate to tell you this, but Verna Mae Olsen was murdered Friday night, right after she met with that now grown-up abandoned baby. She knew all about him—had for years, as matter of fact.'

Roth leaned back in her chair, her face blanching with shock. 'My heavens. What a way to start the week.'

'I'm working with the police on this case, and we really need your help. Please think hard, tell me everything you can recall.'

'Okay. Help me out. What year was the child abandoned again?'

'Late in 1987.'

She rubbed her index finger under her bright red lips. 'Hmm. What did Mrs. Olsen want with me that day she came to the office?'

'Did she want to talk about Will? Maybe learn where he would be placed?'

'No. Besides, I wouldn't have told her. Not that I was the best caseworker on the planet, but there were