“It didn’t happen this time,” Samantha said. “I can’t see any other way to solve this mystery.”
“Well . . .” Barbara seemed to be thinking it over.
“Can you bring Julie to my apartment?”
“You’ll watch her?” Samantha asked. “What about your date?”
“He doesn’t get off until seven. You’ll be back by then, won’t you?”
“I should think so,” Samantha said.
“Then bring Julie on over,” Barbara said.
They agreed on a time, and hung up. Samantha immediately dialed Wil Sherer’s number and made arrangements to see him within the hour. Then she went downstairs. The television was turned off, and Julie wasn’t in the living room. Following the sound of running water, she traced the child’s whereabouts to the kitchen.
“I’m rinsing out my cup,” Julie said.
“That’s nice of you,” Samantha said. “Someone’s taught you good manners.”
Julie didn’t respond, as if she was growing bored of this mysterious “someone.”
“Can I go outside and play with the dogs?” she asked.
“Later,” Samantha said. “Right now, I have someplace important to go. Barbara Huston said you could stay at her place for a few hours.”
“She’s the doctor from the maternity ward?”
“The very same,” Samantha said. “Barbara’s very nice. You had a bad scare, so you didn’t really meet her.”
Julie nodded, her hands holding fast to the edge of the sink. “It was scary, where the tiniest babies were.”
“Can you talk about it now?”
Julie turned around. “I think so. I went up there looking for Dr. Huston, because you said she’d show me the babies.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my promise,” Samantha said.
“There weren’t many people there,” Julie said. “I guess everyone was busy eating lunch. I took a look around, and I found the nursery.”
She pouted. “They had the shades pulled down. I could hear crying, but I couldn’t see a thing. Anyway, then I saw a window open down the hall.”
She went on to tell how she’d crept into the preemie ward, but hadn’t found any babies right away.
“Then I heard crying, and I looked behind a curtain.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and shuddered visibly.
“It was terrible! I saw that baby in that glass box and I was so scared! It made me think of a bad thing, of being stuck in a glass box I couldn’t get out of!”
Chills ran through Samantha as she tried to imagine what had happened to the child to make her think of such a thing.
“That is frightening,” she said. “But don’t you worry. You see, I’m going to see a private detective today. He’s going to help us find out where you came from.”
“Really?” Julie said. “What if it’s a bad place? Will I have to go back?”
Samantha thought about this. The idea of giving Julie up was still too painful to contemplate.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But once we clear this up, someone is going to be in a lot of trouble. I don’t think anyone will make you live with people who play mean tricks like this.”
Julie put her arms around Samantha and gave her a big hug.
“Let’s get going,” Samantha said. “I have to be at the detective’s office in an hour.”
Actually, she was there in almost half that time. She found Wil Sherer’s address on Laredo Street, one of a row of renovated Victorian houses. There was a small patch of pebble-covered land in front, decorated with various species of cactus. Dustballs and bits of scrap clung to the needles, blown by the wind. Forgotten newspapers, tattered and soggy, lay to either side of the walk. Samantha wondered what land of detective kept his home in such disarray.
She climbed up the stone stairs onto a porch still strewn with last autumn’s leaves. She located a bell next to the dark green storm door and pressed. There was an L-shaped tear in the screen. Behind it, the inside door stood open, allowing a view straight back to the kitchen. A figure, silhouetted by backlight pouring through a rear window, stood at a refrigerator tacking up a piece of paper.
“Come on in, Dr. Winstead,” Wil Sherer called.
Samantha entered a small and dusky living room. The bare floor, patched with dull spots where the polyurethane finish had worn off, was littered with newspapers, clothing, and other domestic debris. Next to a television set stood a beautiful turn-of-the-century mission chair, its back resting in the rearmost notch of its arms. A slate-gray jacket had been tossed into it. The antique chair seemed out-of-place in this mess, as did the Shaker-style table that stood in front of it. A suitcase lay open and unpacked on the tabletop.