Rock-a-Bye Bones Read online

  “The one that rang about two minutes ago. And rang again. And—”

  Before she could finish, the bell rang nine times in rapid succession. “What the hell?” I found a pair of jeans, pulled them on, then trotted barefoot down the stairs to the front door. Before I opened it, I turned on the light and stared into the empty night. There was no one on the porch.

  “Screw that,” I said, flipping off the light.

  “At least open the door,” Jitty said. She was suddenly right behind me.

  “There’s no one—”

  “Sarah Booth, please open the door. Right this red-hot minute.”

  Jitty seldom said please so I opened the door fast. I was in the process of slamming it closed again when what I’d seen registered on me. A white wicker bassinet had been pushed close against the front door. A pale pink blanket covered the basket, hiding whatever was hidden inside. More ominous was the pool of blood that seeped from the basket and slowly crossed the bitter cold boards of the porch.

  Before I could do anything, a vehicle’s engine fired and a dark-colored Ford pickup, older model, sped away from Dahlia House at breakneck speed.

  2

  “Call 911!” I commanded Jitty as I pushed back the blanket to reveal the still face of an infant. The newborn had been wiped clean, but the blood of birth still smudged its features. I couldn’t tell if the child was bleeding, or even if it was breathing. My bare feet seemed to have frozen to the gray porch boards, but I managed to pick up the bassinet and haul it inside. I ran to the kitchen, where the oven I’d heated earlier still warmed the room. Hands shaking, I lifted the blankets and examined the infant, who began to squirm and cry.

  “She’s okay,” I said aloud, as if to reassure myself. “Jitty, she’s okay.”

  Still wearing the black guise of Rosemary, Jitty leaned against the wall. “See why I had to wake you up? The doorbell rang several times, but you just hid under your pillow.”

  I had a vague recollection of the doorbell, but I didn’t have time to argue. I picked up the phone and called the Sunflower County sheriff’s office. While the baby wasn’t bleeding, someone surely was, and the pool of blood on the front porch told me that whoever had delivered the baby to my doorstep was badly injured. I wondered if the mother of the infant was bleeding out.

  When the dispatcher said she’d call Coleman and send him to Dahlia House, I called Doc Sawyer and then my partner in Delaney Detective Agency. Until help arrived, I bundled the infant in a blanket I warmed by the oven and pulled her into my arms and held her close. The small sounds of fretfulness stopped, and the baby was instantly asleep.

  “She likes you,” Jitty said, as if it were a miracle.

  “I saved her from freezing. Why shouldn’t she like me?”

  “That maternal instinct is kickin’ in.” Jitty tugged at her black mini-dress. “Time for a wardrobe change, and company is at the door.” In a little sprinkle of black confetti that disappeared before it hit the ground, she was gone.

  Before I could turn around, I heard Coleman Peters, the sheriff of Sunflower County and a man I had unresolved feelings for, call to me from the front door. “Sarah Booth, what’s all the blood at the door? Are you okay?”

  “In the kitchen,” I answered.

  He strode toward me, his footsteps loud on the hardwood floors. When he pushed open the swinging door into the kitchen, he stopped dead in his tracks. “Where’d you get a baby?”

  The tone of the question was wrong. “As if I couldn’t have one myself? There’s nothing wrong with my reproductive organs.”

  “Hard to do without having sex, and that hasn’t happened for a while,” he said drolly. “I know. I’m keeping score, as best I can.”

  I wanted to smack him, but I was holding the infant. “She was left on the front porch. Someone took off in a dark pickup, like maybe a 1990 model Ford, single cab, long wheel base.” I’d come to know my pickups because I’d been shopping for a used truck. A 1990 model was a little too used, but I liked the design.

  “Someone just abandoned her?”

  “I’d tell you in sign language, but I’m holding a baby.” I was aggravated and didn’t try to hide it.

  “I didn’t realize just holding an infant could send a body into hormonal fluctuation, but you’re sounding a might testy, Sarah Booth.”

  “Indeed she is.” Tinkie pushed through the swinging door and stopped beside Coleman. Instead of saying anything else, she merely held out her arms to the infant. “Give her to me.”

  “How do you know it’s a her?” I asked.

  “The blanket is pink. Don’t you know anything about babies?” Tinkie advanced and I put the baby in her arms. “Oh, my word, look at that hair! She’s got enough hair for a dozen babies.”

  “Is she okay?” Coleman asked. “There was a lot of blood on the porch.”

  “She’s fine, and Doc Sawyer is on the way. But someone is seriously hurt. We need to find the person in the truck before she dies.” I paced the kitchen. Who else would leave a newborn but the mother?

  “Good point. I’ll call the SO and put out an APB on the truck.” He kept staring at the baby as if he’d never seen one before. She was exceptionally pretty with that mop of red hair and pale complexion.

  “Who would leave a baby at your door?” Tinkie asked.

  “Is that some slur against my maternal abilities?”

  Tinkie’s laughter was like a delicate chime. “You are so sensitive! Of course not, but Dahlia House isn’t exactly on the beaten path. Why would a person drive all the way down your long driveway to leave a baby on the front porch? There are plenty of houses closer to the road.”

  She made a certain kind of logic. “Maybe they didn’t want to be seen.”

  “Or maybe this baby was left here especially for you,” Coleman said. “Sarah Booth, you haven’t been buying babies on the black market, have you?”

  “Have plenty of fun at my expense,” I said, pretending to still be aggravated. “What we need to focus on is finding the bleeding person. What if the mother is really hurt?”

  All humor was gone from Coleman’s voice as he put an arm around me. “We’ll find the mother, Sarah Booth. Now I’ll call child services and we’ll get this young lady into a foster home until—”

  “No!” Tinkie and I said together.

  “You can’t do that.” Tinkie had instinctively turned to shield the baby. “Sarah Booth and I will take care of her until we find the mother. It shouldn’t take long. She simply can’t go into the system.”

  Coleman frowned. “I can’t just let you take her. I have to turn her over to child services.”

  “If you do that, it could take months for the mother to get her back. These first few days are so important for the bonding process,” I said. I didn’t have a lot of experience, but I’d read articles. And I could lay a line of bullshit when necessary. “Failure to bond can be a very serious psychological issue. It could damage her permanently.”

  “That’s right.” Tinkie followed my lead perfectly. “If a child develops an attachment disorder it can ruin her life. Sociopaths and psychopaths start with attachment disorders. This baby needs love, security, the chance to bond.”

  “And you and Sarah Booth can give her that?” Coleman sounded more than a little skeptical.

  I looked at Tinkie and the way she held the baby cuddled to her chest. She’d always wanted a child. Fate had decreed she would never have one. “Tinkie and Oscar would be the best home,” I said. “She’ll have everything a baby needs to thrive. And it’s just until we find the mother.”

  “What if the mother doesn’t want her?” Coleman asked, and deep in his blue eyes I saw real concern. “What if she dumped the kid and took off? Or what if she wants the baby back but has issues of her own? Tinkie, you know you’ll have to give her up. I don’t think this is a smart move.”

  Tinkie inhaled slowly. “I know it’s emotionally dangerous, but I promise you, Coleman, I won’t fight the natural mother. T
hat wouldn’t be right. I just want to give the little girl a good start.”

  The debate halted as Doc Sawyer, a “retired” general practitioner who still ran the emergency room at the county hospital, entered the kitchen.

  “Well, well,” he said, eyeing the baby and all of us standing around the kitchen. “Looks like the stork came by and left a bundle of joy. Where’s the mother? Why am I here?”

  “Long story,” I said, “Tinkie will fill you in.”

  As Doc picked up the baby, I followed Coleman to the front door.

  “I don’t like this. There are a million ways this could go south and Tinkie is already too attached.” He opened his forensic kit to begin working the blood at the front door. “If this turns bad, Tinkie is going to be hurt.”

  He spoke with wisdom, but there were also dangers to the child. “The mother can’t be far away. The baby hasn’t even been properly cleaned. And you know as well as I do that once that baby is in the system, it could be devastating to her.”

  “I don’t disagree. Child services does the best job they can, but they have no budget and they have more cases than they can work.”

  “This fostering is temporary. I promise. Just for a day or two?”

  He nodded. “You’ve got forty-eight hours. After that, I’ll have to follow the law.”

  “Thanks, Coleman. Now let me throw on some boots and a jacket. Dawn will be here soon and I need to get to work on finding the woman who had that baby.”

  “There’s a lot of blood here, Sarah Booth. I’m no expert on childbirth, but this doesn’t look right to me, even if she delivered on your front porch.”

  He was right about that.

  “That baby could have frozen to death out here. How’d you know to look out the door at three in the morning?” Coleman took blood samples and photographs as he talked.

  “The person who left her rang the doorbell. Repeatedly. She waited in the driveway until I went out on the porch and picked the baby up. She made sure the infant was safe before she left.” And she had been bleeding heavily. It tore at my heart. “I think whoever left the baby was trying hard to make sure she was taken care of.”

  Coleman pushed his hat back on his head as he stood up. “The more I hear, the less I like it. It sounds like the person was desperate.”

  “And the question to ask is why? Why didn’t they just wait for me to help them once I’d taken the baby inside?”

  “Because they have something to hide.” Coleman’s frown said a lot. If it was the mother who’d left the baby and who was bleeding so profusely, she was in serious trouble. A woman who abandoned her child—but made sure it was safe and then ran away—had to be in a world of hurt.

  “You think she’s a criminal?” I somehow couldn’t put the mother of that beautiful child in the category of felon.

  “I don’t know, but she’s running from something or someone. The bigger question is why you, Sarah Booth? Why Dahlia House? You weren’t picked at random. The baby was brought here, specifically, to you.”

  “Because the mother wants someone to find her. That’s what I do. I find people and things.”

  “And you’re damn good at it.” He gathered his evidence and came to stand only inches from me. “I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  “Thanks, Coleman.” He’d helped me more than he knew. I hurried back inside before my feet froze to the porch.

  3

  “She’s one hundred percent healthy, with one tiny glitch,” Doc said after he’d examined the infant. “Born maybe three hours ago. Someone cut the umbilical cord and clamped it off. I’ve cleaned her up, but she needs some warm clothes.”

  “Shopping!” Tinkie almost squealed with pleasure. “I can’t wait. They have the most adorable, girlie dresses at that boutique on the corner. There is this pale pink and green frock that reminds me of sweet peas. Remember those vines that grew behind the football stadium, Sarah Booth? In the spring they smelled like heaven. Well, the dress has a pattern almost like those sweet peas, and—”

  “Hold on there, Betty Halbreich,” Doc said.

  “Betty who?” Tinkie and I asked in unison. We did that sometimes when we were channeling each other’s thoughts.

  “The world’s most famous personal shopper,” Doc said, proud that he’d gotten one over on Tinkie. “You’re the fashion queen of Zinnia and you don’t know Betty Halbreich?” He pretended dismay. “She’s dressed everyone from Lauren Bacall to Jackie Kennedy.”

  “How do you know this?” Tinkie’s eyes narrowed.

  “I was at the dentist office yesterday and had a long wait. I read a lot of magazines.”

  “Whew!” I dramatically wiped my brow. “I thought you’d gone rogue fashionista on us, Doc.”

  “Well, before y’all rush off to turn this darling infant into a prop for your clothes fetish, let’s talk some basic nutrition.”

  I felt the blood flush my neck and cheeks. I hadn’t even thought of food. I wondered if the baby had even had a chance to nurse. “I’ll go to the store. What should I buy?”

  “Too bad the whole business of wet nursing is gone,” Doc said. “Nothing like a mother’s milk to build a healthy immune system and give a child a jump-start.”

  “Don’t look at me,” I mumbled. “Just give me a list.”

  “We’ll start with this formula and see how she takes to it,” Doc said, writing down a mile-long list of things to get. “And when she’s settled and strong, we’ll talk about vaccinations.”

  “Hopefully, we’ll find her mother,” I said, aware that Tinkie was unnaturally quiet. She was kissing the baby’s fingers.

  “There is one more thing. She’ll need some surgery.”

  “What?” My heart thudded into my stomach. “Is she sick? She looks fine to me. She’s maybe a little hungry, but—”

  “As I was trying to tell you, the little girl is polydactyl.”

  “But you said she was one hundred percent healthy.” Tinkie’s face had gone ashen.

  “And she is.” Doc picked up her right foot. “See that extra toe? It isn’t anything but a vestigial digit. Best to have it removed when she’s a little older, but nothing to worry about right now. I believe the best clinic for this is in Massachusetts. Boston Children’s Hospital. This kind of surgery is a specialty of theirs.”

  “She’ll have to have surgery?” Tinkie was appalled. “She’s just a tiny baby. That’s too much!”

  “Hold on, Tinkie. It isn’t brain surgery. And, Sarah Booth, a lot of people might have overlooked it. But the good news is that it may help you find the mother. This is an inherited trait. Doesn’t mean the mother would have to be polydactyl, but she might be.”

  “What are the odds?” I asked.

  “I’ll have to conduct a bit of research. I don’t recall seeing another case of this in Sunflower County, but there are plenty of children I never see these days. Some go to Memphis or Jackson and some never see a doctor. Or her family might not be from around here at all.”

  “Is there an obstetrics clinic or facility near?” I asked.

  “This baby was born without benefit of a hospital,” Doc said. “But if the mother was bleeding as severely as was indicated, she’d have to get medical attention. I’ll call the local hospital. You might ask DeWayne to call the Memphis and Jackson hospitals. They won’t give any information to you because of privacy laws. They’ll be a lot more inclined to talk to Coleman or Deputy DeWayne.”

  “What about a midwife?” I asked. Doc knew a couple of old granny midwives and often worked with them to be sure of a healthy baby and mother.

  “I’ll make some calls, but I can tell you none of the midwives I work with would have let a new mother leave the premises bleeding that way.”

  “Anything could have happened,” Tinkie said. The baby was snuggled against Tinkie’s chest, dainty fists clutching empty air.

  “She needs food,” I said. I recognized those fist gestures. Puppies and kittens did the same to bring the milk dow
n.

  “I’ll be at the hospital,” Doc said.

  “I’ll make a run to the Pig.” I grabbed my coat and purse and a pair of boots from the mudroom and headed out with Doc. I wanted a word in private.

  He’d parked behind my mother’s old roadster, which I now drove. “Watch over Tinkie. She’s tough as nails, but this is her Achilles’ heel,” he said.

  “I know. But maybe if she and Oscar keep the infant for a little while, it will soften Oscar to the idea of adopting. Tinkie wants a child. I think Oscar does, too, but he has some kind of issue with adopting.”

  “It isn’t that.” Doc patted his wild white hair that reminded me of Albert Einstein. I couldn’t remember him with dark hair, though I’d known him all my life. “Oscar has his reasons. That’s all I can say. If Tinkie gets too engrossed in that baby, it could be calamitous. When she learned she couldn’t have children, she came very close to a breakdown.”

  I didn’t know the details of Tinkie’s past. She’d told me a few things—very private things. I knew she’d suffered, but I wasn’t aware of the true emotional toll. “Should I keep the baby? I let her do it because I was trying to help.”

  “You can’t take the baby back now, Sarah Booth. We have to let this play out. Just keep telling her that the mother will return and the baby will have to go home.”

  “Will do.” I put on a smile though my gut was writhing with anxiety. In trying to do a good deed, I may have put my partner on the line for emotional pain.

  Doc patted my shoulder. “Maybe this will work out as you anticipated. Oscar and Tinkie could give a child a wonderful, loving home. Maybe Oscar will reconsider once he’s exposed to the infant. Your intentions were noble, Sarah Booth.”

  “Road to hell and all of that,” I said.

  “Well, you’ll have plenty of company along the road, including me.”

  I blew him a kiss and watched as he drove away from Dahlia House. What would Sunflower County ever do if Doc really retired? What would I do?

  I pushed that thought away and jumped in the car. I had a hungry baby to care for. We’d need diapers and everything else on the long list Doc had written.