Cause For Alarm (27 page)

“W
elcome back, Kate!” Blake, Marilyn and Tess called in unison as she walked in The Bean's front door early Monday morning. The maternity leave she had given herself was officially over and although she had continued managing from a distance and had even worked an occasional day here and there over the past six months, today marked her first day back full-time.

Kate stopped dead, surprised and overwhelmed. Her employees had strung a banner above and behind the counter area that announced She's Baaack! A Mylar balloon decorated each table, a bouquet of them bobbled beside the register.

Her three employees hurried across to greet her. Marilyn took Emma, Tess grabbed the overflowing diaper bag and Blake took her arm. “Come on in, honey,” he said. “The surprises have only just begun.”

They led her to the back of the café. They had turned the furthermost corner into a play place for Emma, cordoned off with accordion-style baby gates and filled with bright-colored toys. The tile floor had been covered with a big patchwork rug; above the area hung a sign that read Baby Central in primary colors.

All three of her employees starting talking at once.

“We all went together—”

“Some of the regulars, too—”

“—and bought the baby gym, fun saucer and Johnny jump-up.”

“I made the sign,” Tess said.

“We wanted to do something for you and Emma and thought this way—”

“Working would be so much easier—”

“For both of you.” Marilyn beamed at her. “We're so happy you're back, Kate. We've really missed you.”

Kate turned to her employees, tears stinging her eyes. “I don't know what to say. You guys are the best.”

“Glad you think so,” Blake said, grinning, “because we're not done yet.” He caught her hand. “Now, for your office.”

“My office,” she repeated weakly.

Giggling like kids, they led her to her office. There, they'd installed a portable crib and a big, old rocking chair.

“The chair was my sister's,” Marilyn murmured. “She said you could use it as long as you like.”

Kate shook her head. “This is too much, guys. Really, it is.”

“Richard helped us.”

“He knew about this?”

“Oh yeah.” Tess laughed. “He gave me and Marilyn carte blanche at the baby store. It was
really
fun. I was born to spend other people's money.”

From out front came the sound of knocking. Then a call of, “Hello. Anybody here?”

Blake looked at his watch. “Oh, man, look at the time. We opened ten minutes ago.”

“Should have opened ten minutes ago,” Kate corrected, already heading for the front of the café. “Please tell me the menu boards are done and that the coffee's already made.” They weren't. From that moment on, they played catch-up. As the day progressed, many of the regulars made an appearance to welcome Kate back and make a major fuss over Emma. Deliveries ran late, the cappuccino machine went on the fritz, and a mother-and-toddler group came and let their children run amok.

In other words, business as usual. Kate decided it was really good to be back.

When they had a quiet moment, Marilyn sidled up to her. “How are things with Richard?”

Kate considered all of her employees friends, but she and Marilyn were particularly close. They often discussed their lives, using one another as a sounding board. Some time back, Kate had confided to the other woman that Richard was having trouble adjusting to parenthood.

Kate smiled, happy that she could honestly answer that things were good. Though he had been gone from home a lot—frantically busy between securing support for his bid for D.A. and handling several weighty cases at the firm—when he was home, he was attentive and loving. To her
and
Emma. She had found it heartening to see him finally responding to his daughter. Being affectionate with her. More often than not he came home with some trinket for the child, a stuffed toy or bow for her hair, a rattle or picture book. Kate smiled to herself. He had even taken to bringing his wife a little something—flowers, a special bottle of wine or dessert she enjoyed.

It was as if their last, awful fight had changed not only his attitude but in some fundamental way, his feelings as well. He was like a new man.

“I'm so glad,” Marilyn said when Kate finished. She gave her a quick hug, then grinned wickedly. “Nothing like a guilty conscience to straighten a man right up.”

Blake wandered over, a carton of napkins hooked under his arm. He caught the last of Marilyn's comment. “Straighten a man up?” he repeated, his expression deadpan. “Honey, you're entitled to your orientation, but don't go and ruin it for the rest of us.”

“Why is everything with you always about sex?”

Blake smiled. “You know what they say, girlfriend, everybody's good at something. I just happen to be the prince of peni—”

Kate held up her hands to stop them. “No doubt about it, I'm back now.”

“Then you're ready to be brought up to speed?” He stowed the carton under the buffet, then turned back to the two women. “It's been a regular Peyton Place around here.”

“Peyton Place, huh? Since we're in a lull, fill me in.”

“Ralph and his wife split,” Tess said, referring to one of the regulars. “She got custody of the Jeep and the cat.”

“He was devastated,” Blake added. “He loved that vehicle. And he'd just made the last payment, too.”

They went on to tell her about a surprise pregnancy, that their resident writer finally sold a book, and that Big Burt Beals had lost twenty-five pounds on the Sugar Busters diet. “Not to mention,” Blake added, “Tess's five new love-of-her-life boyfriends.”

“It was six, I think.” Marilyn laughed.

“I heard that.” Tess bopped up behind them, carrying Emma. Obviously fascinated by Tess's blond hair, the infant had a fistful of it. The young woman seemed not to notice. “Can I help it if so many guys are fatally flawed?” She turned to Marilyn and Blake. “Did you tell her about the new guy?”

“She's referring to our newest regular,” Marilyn offered from the counter where she had gone to take an order. “Actually, we have three.”

“All men,” Tess murmured. “Though only one's a hunk-a-hunk of burning love. Nick Winters.”

Kate freed Tess's hair and took Emma from the other woman. “Tell me about them all. Nick Winters first.”

“He's really cute.” Tess crossed to the counter to help Marilyn, took an order, then glanced back at Kate. “And single.”

“And too old for you.” Marilyn rolled her eyes. “But she's right about him being attractive. He's rugged but also an intellectual. Up until recently he was a professor of philosophy at Cleveland State College. He inherited some money, sold everything he owned and hit the road.”

“What's he doing down here?”

“Just one of his stops on his Tour of America.”

“Then there's Steve Byrd,” Blake said, “my personal favorite. A real flashback to the sixties kind of guy, complete with a ponytail. He followed the Grateful Dead for the past twenty-five years, making a living selling Dead paraphernalia at the concerts. Says since Jerry Garcia died, life has no meaning.”

“I don't think there's much doubt that this guy all but fried his gray matter with drugs.” Marilyn shuddered. “I never could understand that whole scene.”

“Sounds like he'll add a little color to our motley crew.” Kate laughed. “So, what about our last new guy? You said there were three.”

Her employees exchanged glances. Blake cleared his throat. “He's a little scary. Ex-military. Doesn't talk much. Comes in every day and glares at Steve. And everyone else who looks a little counterculture. Including me and Beanie.” Blake shuddered. “He's got gay-basher written all over him.”

“What's his name?” Kate asked.

“Don't know. I told you, he doesn't talk much.”

“I tried,” Tess said. “He was really ugly to me, so I backed off fast.”

“For once I agree with Blake,” Marilyn said. “Something about this guy is as cold as ice.”

As cold as ice.
Kate frowned, unsettled. Why would someone like that even choose to hang around a place like The Uncommon Bean? She couldn't think of any reason except one—he was looking for trouble.

She would just have to make sure he didn't find it.

J
ohn sat on a park bench, the October day bright and mild. Before him lay Lake Pontchartrain, its diamond surface broken by the occasional swoop of a gull diving for food. Above him, the branches of a centuries-old live oak spiraled toward the sky, a majestic and awe-inspiring work of nature.

A beautiful scene, John thought. Magnificent, calming. At any other time. But not now.

He breathed deeply, working to control his rage. He had followed Julianna. He knew where she worked, her hours, that she didn't associate with any of the other employees. He had learned that she'd given birth to a girl and that she had given her up for adoption. He knew to whom.

He knew everything.

He lifted his gaze to the perfect, Easter egg blue sky.
Everything.

Julianna was fucking someone else.
His
Julianna. His special girl. He flexed his fingers, understanding now the drawer full of cheap undergarments, picturing her in them, writhing under the man's hands.

Like her mother, she had become a whore. She had forgotten his lessons about loyalty and commitment.

A
whore.

Fury choked him. He had thought she was different. Special, more worthy than other people.

She had been. Once upon a time.

A sound slipped past his lips, low and feral, like an animal in pain. A sound of grief, of mourning. For the girl he had known. For the purity and light that had been lost.

He closed his eyes, seeing her with his mind's eye, as she had been that first day, radiating goodness, an innocence that had touched the cold places inside him, warming them.

John brought his hands to his face, shocked at how they trembled. How could he have been so wrong about her? He dropped them to his lap. And now, how could he say goodbye?

A mother and her daughter strolled past. The little girl looked to be about the age Julianna had been when they first met. The child peered flirtatiously over her shoulder at him as they drew away, already the coquette.

He stared back at her, unmoved. She didn't have Julianna's inner light. Her beauty of spirit that made her different from others. No one did.

He hadn't been wrong about his Julianna.

John sucked in a sharp breath. She was special. But she was also young, still a child—if not in years then in her heart. Her youth made her reckless, easily influenced.

She hadn't been raised to take care of herself. In confusion, she had turned to this Richard, this
nothing.
Without John to guide her, she had succumbed to the ways of her mother.

John stood. Above, a gull shrieked and circled, then dove for its prey. The man was to blame. The baby. The woman.

One complication had become three. The complications would have to be eliminated.

And once eliminated, he would know if Julianna was as worthy as he had thought her to be.

T
he next few days were busy and exhausting for Kate. Being back at The Uncommon Bean after so many weeks at home was a major adjustment. For Emma, too. The constant noise and parade of new faces overstimulated the infant, which led to fussiness, especially at night. By the time Kate got her daughter rocked to sleep and tucked into her crib, all she had the energy to do was change into her nightclothes and fall into bed.

Add to that all manner of small annoyances that she'd had to deal with on the home front—crackling on the phone line and the repairman who'd shown up needing to check the inside wiring; lack of rain necessitating constant watering of her lawn and flower beds; a refrigerator that had decided after only six years to call it quits.

But even with all that, something Marilyn had said kept tickling at the edges of Kate's thoughts.

Nothing like a guilty conscience to straighten a man right up.

Did Richard have a guilty conscience? Kate wondered as she bussed The Bean's outdoor tables. Was that why he was being so attentive? So thoughtful? Was that what the constant stream of gifts had been about?

She could understand if he felt bad about the things he had said to her. About Luke. And Emma. She supposed he cringed when he remembered how he'd tried to force himself on her that night. She still did.

But was there something else? Something more?

She cleared the table, collecting the used napkins, empty sugar packets and creamers, stuffing them into an empty coffee cup before she wiped the top down with a damp cloth. She was being paranoid. Letting her imagination run away with her. She had been ever since the day Old Joe had seen the girl on their swing.

The girl on the swing.
Kate didn't know why, but it always seemed to come back to her.

As if her thoughts had conjured him, Kate looked up to find her neighbor approaching, his Shih Tzu prancing ahead, tugging at the end of its leash.

She held a hand to her eyes to shield them from the sun and waved with the other. “Joe,” she called, “come have a cup of coffee with me.”

He waved back and started up The Bean's front walk. Several minutes later, they were both seated at one of the tables on the porch, coffees in front of them and a bowl of water at their feet for the panting Beauregard.

They exchanged pleasantries for a few moments, then Kate got right to the point. “I've been wondering about the young woman you saw on our swing. Do you remember what she looked like?”

Joe appeared unsurprised by the question. He scratched his head. “Now, let me think,” he murmured. “It's been a while, and she and I weren't eye-to-eye, you know.”

He looked at Kate, forehead wrinkling in thought. “She had hair the color of yours, cut in about the same style. She was youngish, like a college girl. And she was wearing a short skirt.”

He shook his head and snorted with disgust. “She had no business swinging in an outfit like that, if you know what I mean?”

Kate agreed that she did. “Is that all you remember about her, Joe? Was there anything else about her appearance or behavior that struck you as odd or outstanding?”

He thought a moment, then shook his head. “Sorry, Kate. Wish I could be more help.”

They chatted a few moments longer, then he thanked her for the coffee and left. Kate stared after him, her thoughts whirling with the little bit he had told her.

Brown hair. Medium-length page boy. Youngish. That description could belong to hundreds of women in the Mandeville area. It also matched the one Citywide had given them of Emma's birth mother.

Dear God, Emma's birth mother.

Even as she told herself she was once again letting her imagination run away with her, she jumped to her feet and hurried to her office. She picked up the phone, dialed Citywide's number and asked for Ellen. A moment later, the woman was on the line.

“Ellen,” Kate said, sounding breathless even to her own ears. “It's Kate Ryan.”

“Kate,” she said warmly, “it's nice to hear from you. How's the baby?”

“Wonderful. She's getting so big, you wouldn't recognize her. She rolled over yesterday, and she was so proud. Just beaming, the little stinker.”

“Bring her by, we'd love to see her.” The social worker's tone changed, becoming all business. “I'm guessing you didn't call to talk about Emma's many accomplishments. Am I right?”

“Right.” Kate cleared her throat, nervous about how to approach this. She didn't want the social worker to think she was paranoid or to start having doubts about the stability of the couple who were now Emma's parents. But she had to know if she thought Emma's birth mother could be having second thoughts about giving her baby up. If she couldn't have somehow found them.

“I was wondering…have you heard from Emma's birth mother?”

“No,” Ellen responded, “not at all. Why do you ask?”

“I'd still like to meet her. We both would.”

“I'm sorry, but she was adamant about keeping the adoption completely closed.”

“I see.”

“I know you're disappointed, but hang in there, she may change her mind yet.”

She wouldn't, Kate knew. Maybe that was just her paranoia thinking for her, but she didn't think so. She had this awful feeling the woman didn't want to meet them because…what? She had plotted some diabolical scheme, one designed to ruin their lives?

Right. That kind of scenario didn't happen in real life—only in Hollywood screenplays.

Even as she told herself she was losing it, Kate asked, “This may sound crazy, but is there any way Emma's birth mother could have found us? Could any of our identifying information been inadvertently included in our profile packet?”

“Absolutely not.” Ellen drew a cautious sounding breath. “Is something wrong?”

Kate sighed. “It's silly, but I…I have this terrible feeling that—”

“Emma's birth mother has changed her mind and wants to steal Emma away from you.”

“Yes.” Kate brought a hand to her chest, both relieved and horrified. “That's it. How did you know?”

The social worker laughed lightly. “Because it's such a common fear among adoptive parents, especially ones involved in a closed adoption. In a closed adoption, the birth parents remain big question marks. The adoptive parents don't understand why they gave their baby up. They wonder, how could they? After all, to them the baby is the most wonderful, perfect creation in all the world, and they love her so much, they can't image life without her.”

She had wondered those things, Kate acknowledged. In just that way, too many times to count.

“Actually,” Ellen continued, “your fear of losing Emma shows me how completely you've bonded with your daughter. You're a family now and the thought, even unfounded, that someone might have a claim to a piece of that family is, well, it's terrifying. As time passes, it'll get better.” Kate heard the smile in the woman's voice. “I promise.”

Kate laughed self-consciously, somewhat comforted, but she couldn't help thinking there had to be something about Emma's birth mother that even Ellen didn't know. “She never expressed any second thoughts? She hasn't called and asked about Emma? Nothing?”

“Nothing. Kate, I promise you, Emma's birth mother was totally committed to placing Emma. She was as at peace with her decision as any birth mom I've worked with. Trust me on this, you will not be hearing from her.”

Moments later, Kate hung up the phone, the social worker's reassuring words ringing in her ears. But even so, Kate couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that it was too late—they had already heard from her.