Dead Giveaway

'Did he arrive in a box or a car seat or... what?' I asked.

'One of those plastic infant seats that you could buy anywhere back then. Officer Rollins took everything with him that night. Said he needed them for evidence. Evidence. Like it was a crime God left Will here with me.' Her eyes filled and she blinked hard to fight back the tears.

Explaining to this woman that child abandonment was indeed a crime back then, and still is if you don't drop the baby off at a hospital or other safe haven, would have done no good. I chose another direction. 'Did you hear anything about the baby in the days that followed?'

'Only that CPS got custody. Ridiculous arrangement. He already had someone to love him. But look at him,' she said, beaming at Will. 'He's turned out beautifully despite all those mistakes.'

She put her hand on Will's forearm and kept talking, rattling off stories about championship games he'd played in, starting with Little Dribblers. Little Dribblers, I learned, was not a team of bib-wearing toddlers but rather a youth basketball league.

Will and I may have been squirming before, but this was the Twilight Zone moment—when we realized she'd followed Will around, maybe even with a camera. 'And... how did you learn all these things about Will?' I asked. Because she shouldn't have known anything, not even his name.

She stared at me, color rising in her cheeks. 'Why does that matter?'

'Probably doesn't,' I answered quickly. Getting her more agitated than she already was did not seem like a good plan, so I decided to keep my thoughts to myself about how Will's adoption information should have been better protected.

'It's been very difficult since he went away to college, though,' Verna Mae went on. 'That drive to the university in Austin is simply awful.'

The drive to the university? She was still stalking him today, and right there I should have quit worrying about the woman's mainspring popping and pressed harder for how she got her information. But did I? No. Stupid me changed the subject, asked about how the town reacted to the excitement of an abandoned child. And that's where I failed as an investigator. She was practically admitting to stalking the kid, but the idea made my stomach do little flip flops, made my skin prickle. I moved on, asking questions that didn't provide us with anything new.

The Coke I'd been sipping had made my hand cold. I quit pacing and set the can on my coffee table. How I wish I'd probed further the other day, gotten past my own discomfort at Verna Mae's obvious obsession with a kid who, by law, was supposed to have remained anonymous to her. The only other thing I learned of value was the name of the policeman who took Will away—Burl Rollins—currently chief of police in Bottlebrush. My calls to him yesterday and today had not been returned, but maybe, with Verna Mae dead and a county deputy sent to hunt up her relatives, he might talk to me tonight.

Yes. That's what I could do now. Jeff didn't say anything about my contacting the police in Bottlebrush.

Diva followed me into my office—a converted study right off the front foyer. Once the cat was settled in my lap, I powered up my computer and within two minutes had Burl Rollins's home phone number. An unlisted number would have taken a little longer, but his was right there in the white pages.

A sleepy woman answered on the fifth ring.

'Is this Mrs. Rollins?' I asked.

'Yes, ma'am. And who might you be?'

'My name is Abby Rose, and I'm an investigator calling about a local woman named Verna Mae Olsen. Could I speak to Chief Rollins, please?'

'What kind of investigator?' she asked warily.

'Private. Unfortunately, Mrs. Olsen passed away this evening and—'

'Oh, I know she's dead, and so does the Chief,' Mrs. Rollins said.

'Terrible thing,' I said. 'I identified her body and... it was very... upsetting. I'm hoping to find out what happened to her, and maybe your husband can—'

'You identified the body and now you're asking me what happened? Somehow that doesn't compute. Had she hired you for some reason?' Mrs. Rollins asked.

'No. She was simply a person of interest in a case I'm working.'

'Person of interest? Aren't you slick with your cop lingo? Listen, Ms. Rose, you want to talk to Burl, you better be straight with me.'

'I would, except I'm not sure the Houston police would want me discussing what I saw tonight.'

'Burl tells me everything and the reporters will be saying plenty tomorrow, so why don't you just tell me what the hell happened?'

If I'd learned one thing in my short career as a PI, it's that you have to give to get. So I gave. 'Mrs. Olsen was severely beaten. That's all I know.'

'Beaten? My heavens, that is not a nice way to go. Who'd be mad enough at a middle-aged country woman to beat her up? And I'm not just asking to be nosey. Burl would be asking you the same question.'

'The police think she was robbed. I take it Mrs. Olsen was well-off?' I made it a question. It was her turn to give now.

'Listen, Ms. Rose. You're not getting another thing out of me until you tell me what's going on. What kind of case are you working on?'

I explained about Will, how he was the baby found on the doorstep so long ago.

'The baby? You don't say?' She sounded genuinely surprised and a whole lot friendlier all of a sudden. 'Now that's pretty interesting. I'm certain Burl would like to talk to you. Give me your number and I'll have him call you in the morning.'

'I-I'd kind of like to speak with him tonight.'

'You're out of luck. He's picking up the warrant to get inside Verna Mae's house. Deputy Sheriff called for his help about thirty minutes ago.'

'He's at her place?'

'He will be, I expect. Said he'd get the warrant and meet the deputy there.'

'From what Verna Mae said the other day, I assumed she lived alone. Why would he need a warrant?' I asked.

She yawned. 'Because Burl does things by the book. Now give me your number. When he gets home, I'll tell him you want to talk to him.'

I gave her my cell number and said, 'Sorry to have disturbed you' before I hung up.

My brain was swirling with questions, and I knew I wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight. Stroking the purring Diva, I wondered if I could reach Bottlebrush before Burl Rollins was finished at Verna Mae's house.

The drive took far less time than when Will and I had made the trip, partly due to a deserted interstate— though a speedometer hovering at eighty helped, too. I arrived before midnight and found a county sheriff's patrol unit parked in Verna Mae's curving front drive along with a dark-colored Land Rover.

I pulled up behind the Rover, killed the engine and slid from behind the wheel of my Camry. The air was rich with country smells—the sweetness of honeysuckle in the night breeze layered over the scent of new-mown grass. When I climbed the porch steps and passed the wicker furniture where we'd sat and chatted, I looked away. I didn't care to see that bassinet again.

The front door stood ajar, the entire lock removed and lying on the porch slats. I pushed the door wider with my toe and heard male voices in a far-off room.

'Hello?' I called.

No reply, so I stepped inside. The same overpowering gardenia smell I remembered from the other day about slapped me in the face. Verna Mae must have a punch bowl full of potpourri somewhere. I slipped off my still gritty sandals, suddenly feeling the need to respect her white carpet. Whoever had just come in had not done the same. I easily followed two sets of dirty shoe prints that led to two men standing in a study. I noticed a gigantic rolltop desk and wall-towall mahogany bookshelves. The men's backs were to me, looking in desk drawers. One wore a black police uniform.

I cleared my throat.