Willow Pond (32 page)

Erich glanced around the room. “This office is nicer than the one you have in New York. You do know how to live. You always have.”

“Thanks for the backhanded compliment.”

“You’re welcome. Okay. Well, there are three things we know for sure,” Erich said. “One is that Rudy Strauss was at Bacchanal at some time, because we found his signature on a piece of paper in your office. The second is that his fingerprints were on Todd’s toy. The third is that Todd was playing with that toy the day he was kidnapped. Now you tell me, Virginia. What you think that means?”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe you just don’t want to say.”

Virginia’s smile was demure. “Think whatever you want.” She turned to Laura and touched her arm, back to the caring aunt Laura had always known. “It’s wonderful to see you, Laura. Under any circumstances. Now I don’t mean to be rude, but I have a large party coming in tonight and I have to make some preparations in advance. Why don’t you stop by later on, and we’ll have dinner together?”

Laura smiled, desperate to believe her aunt, but unable to stop wondering about her possible connection to Rudy Strauss. She decided it might be a good idea to meet up with Virginia a little later on. She might have come up with new information by then. “I’d love to, but I’m tired. I just want to get back to the hotel and relax this evening. How about tomorrow? Maybe we could have lunch.”

“That sounds fine. You’re welcome to tag along, Mr. Muller. That is, if you can tolerate my company for an entire meal.”

On their way outside they argued about Virginia. Erich hailed a cab and held the door open for Laura, then climbed in the other side. All they way back to the hotel they argued about what Virginia’s connection to Rudy might or might not be.

They ordered tea and scones from room service and headed upstairs to their suite. Laura slipped her high heels off and put on a pair of slippers, and Erich removed his jacket and tie. By the time room service arrived they were both relaxing on the couch, arguments pushed to the side for now. Moments later they were sipping tea and munching on scones with cream and strawberry jam.

“We didn’t really come here about Virginia,” Laura said. “At least I didn’t. We came here to find Maggie Pierce.”

“Yes. That’s right. And we’ll go to the police tomorrow.”

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Maggie worked late on Tuesdays, so Dennis walked the two miles to Terri’s place to pick up Andy. Maggie’d asked him to bring the boy back to their flat. She’d also asked him to start dinner. He’d had to sell his car because he was so low on cash, and he wasn’t in the best mood, but he knew Maggie needed help and he liked her too much to refuse.

It started to rain a couple of blocks from her house, so he was glad to see the kid already waiting outside, wearing a slicker and rain hat. Terri stood beside him, holding his hand.

“Tell Maggie I’ll ring her tomorrow,” she said as Dennis departed with Andy.

They walked three blocks to the bus stop, and Dennis was glad he’d listened to the weather report before he’d left. He’d brought an umbrella with him and kept telling Andy to stay under it with him, but the child kept dancing around him, playing with the red and yellow yo-yo Terri had bought him.

The bus finally pulled up, and Dennis breathed a sigh of relief. He handed the driver a three-pence and the driver smiled down at Andy, who was still mostly interested in the yo-yo.

“Where’s your mate Andrew?” asked the driver.

“Home with his mommy.”

“Where’s your mommy?”

The little boy frowned. “Working.”

By the time they got home it had stopped raining, so Dennis helped Andy change clothes and sent him outside to play. Dennis lit the cooker and put chicken and potatoes into a roasting pan, then slid it all into the cooker. When he was done, he carried the newspaper with him to the living room couch.

The headlines were all about Winston Churchill having been elected prime minister. Dennis wasn’t interested in politics. He turned a few more pages and stopped at an article about a movie star named Phillip Austin.

“The actor is no stranger to tragedy,” it said. “It has been nearly a year and a half since Austin’s only son, nineteen-month-old Todd, was kidnapped from his estate on Long Island, New York. He and the boy’s mother, Laura Kingsley, from whom he is recently divorced, have never given up hope of finding their son. The actor’s publicist says the memory of their little boy remains painfully clear in their minds.”

Dennis and a couple of friends had actually talked about the Austin kidnapping a few days before. They all figured the baby was dead or else he’d have been found by now. They also felt certain the crime was connected in some way to Virginia Kingsley’s bootlegging activities. But as long as the child remained missing, the case would stay open.

A few minutes later he went into the kitchen to check dinner and heard the apartment door close. It was too early for Maggie to be home, so it had to be Andy. When Dennis finished in the kitchen he went back into the living room. There he found Andy sitting on the floor, holding the newspaper he’d just been reading. The little boy was staring intently at Laura Kingsley’s picture. Dennis knelt down next to him.

“Is something wrong, lad?”

Andy jabbed his finger at the photograph, but didn’t say anything. Dennis studied the photograph, then looked at the little boy.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” The boy’s eyes were creased with concern. Something about them looked amazingly familiar. A thought suddenly struck him and he stared at the paper, then the boy. Could there possibly be a resemblance? No. It couldn’t be.

Or could it?

***

Three days later, on a Saturday, Maggie had to work. Dennis dropped Andy off at his little friend Steve’s, then came back to Maggie’s flat to tend to the tomato plants in their tiny garden.

He’d forgotten his work gloves and thought he’d borrow hers, so he opened the bottom draw of her dresser where he knew she kept them. They were underneath some scarves, which he dug through. As he was about to close the drawer, an envelope caught his eye. It was marked Medical Diagnosis and was slightly yellowed with age. Dennis pulled the envelope out of the drawer, feeling a guilty curiosity. He didn’t want to snoop, but what if Maggie were sick? What if, God forbid, she were dying? He had to know. He sat on the bed and removed a single sheet of paper from the envelope.

“Re: Nancy M. Evans,” it read.

Who was Nancy M. Evans? Why did Maggie have a letter about her in her dresser? He read the letter, which was from one doctor to the other.

“The patient has been in a severe depression since the stillborn birth of her infant son on January 31, 1928,” the document said. “She has twice attempted suicide. Her depressed state has been compounded by the knowledge that the complete hysterectomy I had to perform following the infant’s birth has made it impossible for her to bear another child. She has been unable to accept this and I am referring her to you for treatment. She …”

Another small piece of crumpled paper had fallen onto the floor when Dennis had pulled out the first sheet. He leaned down and picked it up, then studied the signature at the bottom. Very strange. The signature looked just like Maggie’s writing, except she’d signed it “Nancy Evans.” Dennis had never been more puzzled. If Maggie were Nancy Evans and she’d had a dead baby more than eight months before Andy had been born, then how could she be Andy’s mother? Maybe the boy had been adopted.

He heard shuffling footsteps coming down the hall and stuffed the letter into his pocket. A moment later Andy stood by the door, keen eyes intent on Dennis.

“Why are you in Mommy’s room?”

“I came in here to get gloves for gardening. Do you want to help me with the tomato plants?”

“Yep. I want to eat them.”

“If any of them are ripe you can have one. I bet they’re bloody delicious.”

Andy giggled when he heard the word ‘bloody’. Maggie had asked Dennis many times not to swear around the child.

They walked outside to water the tomato plant, but Andy lost interest when his friend Janie called him. Dennis followed him to make sure they were busy playing, then went back into the flat with the letter still in his pocket.

He headed back into Maggie’s room and read the letter again, feeling utterly confused. What did it mean? Maybe Nancy M. Evans was Maggie’s sister. Then again, Maggie had never mentioned a sister. In fact, she had told him many times that she was an only child. Maggie had kept the letter well hidden, or so she’d thought, so he obviously wasn’t supposed to know about it. He couldn’t ask her what it meant, but someone must know.

What should he do? She’d be home in half an hour. He had to decide quickly. Should he put the letter back or keep it and take the chance that she might discover it missing? He didn’t have enough time to get to the doctor’s office and back before she got home. He decided if Maggie had to work the following Saturday, he could go see the doctor then. Otherwise he’d have to wait until the next opportunity presented itself, and he had no idea when that might be. Before he put the letter back into Maggie’s dresser drawer, Dennis copied down the name and address of the doctor and tucked it safely away.

***

The doctor’s office was in Knightsbridge, a short bus ride away. He’d checked the date before he’d set off, so Dennis knew the letter was only three years old. Because of that, he was optimistic the doctor would still have the same office. The office was three blocks from the bus stop. When he arrived, he was pleased to see the same doctor’s name on the shingle.

The nurse looked startled when Dennis walked up to the desk. She regarded him strangely then asked if he had an appointment. He told her he didn’t, wondering at her reaction. Then he glanced around the office. When he saw all the pregnant women, he realized it was an obstetrician’s office. He should have known, and he felt like a fool.

“I need to see the doctor,” he said quietly to the nurse.

“Is your wife a patient?”

“No. Well, she was once a patient of his. I have to see him. It’s important.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Why don’t you have a seat?”

Over two hours later, the doctor’s last patient left. The doctor emerged from his office and handed a stack of manila folders to the nurse.

“Please put these away, Miss Simmons. I have to get over to hospital. The Donnelly baby is on its way.”

“Yes, sir. But before you go, this gentlemen would like to speak to you. He’s been waiting quite a long time. It’s about his wife.”

“What’s the problem, Mister …? I don’t have much time.”

“Collins. Can we talk in your office?”

The doctor frowned, thinking. “Collins? Never had a patient by that name. I’m sorry. I don’t have time, anyway. You’ll have to come back next week.”

“No. It has to be now.”

“You can walk me to my car then. It’s the best I can do.”

When they got outside, Dennis handed him a picture of Maggie. “Was this woman ever a patient of yours?”

The doctor studied the picture for a moment then handed it back to him. “She looks familiar, but I can’t be sure. Why do you ask?”

“She’s my wife, and I’m worried about her. She’s been acting strangely lately.”

“In what way?”

“She’s been telling crazy stories about a dead baby who she can hear crying at night. I’m afraid she’s losing her mind.”

“What’s her name?”

“Nancy Evans.”

“Ah, yes. I believe she was one of my father’s patients. I took over his practice when he retired two years ago.”

“Where is he? Can I talk to him?”

“I’m afraid not. He’s suffering from dementia. He doesn’t even know who I am.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. But you recognized her, right?”

The doctor stood by his car, thinking. “When I have time I’ll check my father’s records, but I’m pretty sure she was a patient of his. If I remember correctly it was a tragic case. Poor soul. You need to get help for her soon.”

“I will. I promise.”

Dennis walked into the nearest pub and ordered a pint of ale. He stared at the drink, thinking hard and getting nowhere. He’d hoped the doctor would have had been able to tell him more. Was Maggie Pierce actually Nancy Evans? Was she really Andy’s mother? Because if she’d lost a baby eight months previously … Most importantly, as incredible as it seemed, could Andy possibly be the famous kidnapped boy, Todd Austin?

After he finished his beer, Dennis headed down the street, still thinking. He walked past a few little shops, then stopped dead outside the window of a book store. Displayed up front was the bestselling autobiography, Shattered Vows, by Laura Austin.

Dennis rushed inside and grabbed the first copy he could get his hands on. He turned the book over and studied at the photograph on the back cover. Andy really did look a lot like Laura Kingsley, with the same green eyes and the same mouth. Could it be possible that dear, quiet Maggie had been involved in the kidnapping? He walked toward the till, gripping the book tightly in his hands.

The clerk took it and looked at the price. “This should be interesting. Her aunt, Virginia Kingsley, lives in London now. She comes in here occasionally.”

Dennis paid for the book then walked quickly home, eager to start reading. He was expected at Maggie’s for dinner around seven. He grabbed a beer, laid down on the sofa, and opened the book to the first page.

“I was born in San Francisco two years after the earthquake of 1906,” it began.

Laura Kingsley went on to describe a happy childhood torn apart by the death of her parents. He read through her growing-up years quickly, even though he found it interesting. He especially enjoyed reading about all the boyfriends she’d had before she met Phillip Austin. He flipped through a few pictures, becoming more convinced all the time of her resemblance to Andy. She was gorgeous at age sixteen, wearing flapper garb and standing in front of Virginia Kingsley’s speakeasy, Bacchanal. Dennis sighed. Women like her never gave him a second glance.