Cold Comfort (20 page)

Officer?
Claire wondered what Riley's identification said, but if it got them the information....

"Do you know where we can find her? Or anyone who might know?"

"Let me check with the section where she worked. Someone might remember her." The woman left them in a tiny waiting room.

Claire was glad she hadn't eaten much. Her stomach churned with nerves. She watched Riley, who appeared totally relaxed as he flipped through an outdated issue of
Smithsonian
. She made an effort to concentrate on a travel article, thinking how thrilled her mother would have been if she'd seen the Mistletoe sidebar in the
Southern Living
article on Williamsburg. Blanche had been so proud of her daughter. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Claire forced back tears.
Oh, Mother, I would have loved you no matter what. Why didn't you tell me about my father?

When the efficient assistant returned, Claire couldn't remember what she'd been reading about.

"Mrs. Baker is in a nursing home just outside Georgetown. The floor supervisor keeps in touch with her." She handed a slip of paper to Riley. "Here's the address."

"Thanks. I appreciate your help," Riley said. He steered Claire out of the office and toward the lobby. "I hope she's all right and no one else found her. I'd feel better if Clary's personnel records hadn't been tossed."

The address led them to a main road headed inland. Claire read the few numbers displayed on the businesses they passed. They soon left the town behind. "It should be on the right, somewhere along here." Her heart pounded in her chest.
Would the woman remember? Could the answers be so near?

"There—see the sign? SeaCrest Eldercare." Riley's derisive snort told her what he thought of the name. "No water in any direction."

"Maybe they have a pool." She slid from the car before he turned off the engine.

He caught up with her at the sidewalk. "Slow down and take a deep breath. You don't want to make these people nervous."

"You're right. You talk
—
you're good at it. Officer," she added, quirking an eyebrow. But he was right. She better keep quiet for now
—
she couldn't guarantee what would come out of her mouth. "I'm getting scared. Who on earth is my father? Why would he murder an innocent old man? Do you think this woman will know?"

"She may know something, but it's unlikely she'd know the whole story."

Claire forced herself to stand calmly, resisting the mantra running through her head
—hurry, hurry, hurry—
while Riley spent a few minutes at the desk. Finally Claire saw the receptionist nod and then summon a young woman.

A thin orderly, his hot, dark eyes focused on Claire, hovered nearby. "I can take them to Mrs. Baker. I know where she is." He turned and led the way without waiting for an answer. "Are you family?"

"No." She wouldn't discuss her business in front of this sly man who ignored Riley but watched her intently. He probably lived in a smelly little room and read magazines with plain brown covers. She stiffened to hide the shudder that ran up her back and deliberately focused on the surroundings.

Colorful paintings and handwork samples mounted above her head brightened the corridor. Out of harm's way, she guessed, imagining wheel chairs and walkers grazing the walls. They passed rooms more like studio apartments than a care facility. In one, a plant dotted with tiny tomatoes sat in front of a wide window. Quite pleasant, she thought, encouraged.

They entered a large, open area where upholstered furniture sat in small clusters and a huge television screen dominated one corner. Potted plants and small sturdy tables sat near the windows, giving it the appearance of a nice hotel lobby. Only the patterned vinyl flooring hinted at utility.

The orderly led them to a small, birdlike woman near the television. "Mrs. Baker, you have some visitors."

This time Claire took the lead. She introduced herself and Riley and told the woman Edith Walters gave them her name. "She told us you used to work for Dr. Clary."

The little woman turned her head, angling her left ear toward Claire. "Yes. Such a tragedy, his death. This community will miss him." Her face fell for a moment, then she smiled at Claire. "But what can I do for you, dear?"

Several people watched a talk show, with the television loud enough to be distracting. Claire didn't want to disturb them, but Mrs. Baker seemed to have a hearing problem. She raised her voice. "I'm trying to find out about the night I was born. All I know is, Dr. Clary delivered me in McClellanville." She explained what she knew. "There must have been
some kind of emergency or my mother would have gone to the hospital in Georgetown. I know it was a long time ago, but I'm hoping you'll remember something."

"Oh, dear. I'm sure it wasn't in the office or I would. I worked for him then
—
ever since he came here. We had one delivery at the office in all those years, a boy, shortly before Dr. Clary retired." She turned to the television as a picture of Senator Jennings being released from the hospital flashed across the screen. "I've always admired him. I'm so glad he's recovering. He needs to run for another term. I hope you vote, young lady."

"Um, yes, ma'am. I do." Mrs. Baker's abrupt loss of interest surprised and disappointed her. Maybe the elderly little woman had a shorter attention span than Claire realized.

A hand brushed across Claire's bottom. She stepped away and bumped into a wheel chair. "Oh, excuse me," she said, turning around to find the thin orderly inches away. He bustled around a rotund little man, making a show of pushing him closer to the television. She was sure he'd done it deliberately, but she didn't want to make a scene—certainly not in front of Riley. No telling what he'd do. When she glared at the man, he smiled at her, showing stained teeth
—
a perfect caricature of a nasty little deviant.

Riley must have noticed her expression, because he stepped around Claire and pointedly placed himself between her and the orderly.

MaryDell spoke again, drawing their attention. "The other man liked football. He watched the end of the Packers game with me. He said some very rude things when his team lost. He bet on the game." Mrs. Baker nodded at the big screen. "Barbara Walters has done well for herself, don't you think?"

Riley leaned closer to her. "What other man, Mrs. Baker?"

"Why, the one who wanted to know if we delivered any babies at the office in the seventies. He must have been asking about you. Is he a friend?"

"No, ma'am. Can you remember specifically what he asked?" He squatted down beside her chair, putting himself at eye level with the frail woman. "This is very important, Mrs. Baker."

"Oh." Her eyes rounded and focused on Riley. "He'd lost touch with his sister and was trying to trace her." She glanced at Claire. "But he was a large man, dark-complexioned. Nothing like you. I think he might have emphysema."

Over MaryDell Baker's white head, Claire caught Riley's frown. She thought of Joey Fortunato here among these defenseless people and her stomach turned. Thank goodness MaryDell didn't know anything about her birth.

A commercial featuring a Christmas tree glowing in a window came on the screen. A group of children gathered near, singing "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen."

Mrs. Baker frowned at the department store ad. "Did you say you were a Christmas baby?"

"Christmas Eve," Claire said, hope rising again.

"You know, I seem to recall something about a Christmas baby. Maybe an automobile accident." She tilted her head to one side, her finger on her cheek.

Riley and Claire froze, waiting for the fragile thread to connect.
Please
, Claire thought.
Please remember
.

"Now why does Tammy Wynette come to mind?" She hummed a few notes of "Stand by Your Man" in a quavery voice.

Claire's heart sank. "Can you remember anything else about the Christmas baby, Mrs. Baker?"

"Tammy, Tammy," she murmured, wrinkling her forehead. "Oh, I know. It's Tammy Burnside. Now why did I think of her? She works at the hospital in the maternity ward."

Riley laid his hand on her arm. "Did she have something to do with the baby?"

"I don't know. Her name just came to me." She turned back to the television and an ad for an old movie. "Oh, it's Paul Newman. Wasn't he the handsomest man?"

They left her sitting there, smiling at Paul in an ad for a rerun of
Message in a Bottle
. When they passed through the lobby, Claire noticed the creepy orderly hunched over the reception desk. He stopped talking as she passed, watching her and smiling, exposing his brown teeth. She suppressed a shudder, glad they were finished here.

On the steps outside the front door, they stopped. Rain fell steadily. "Wait here," Riley said. "I'll get the car."

"No, I'll walk with you." From a side pocket in her purse, Claire took an umbrella and opened it.

"Do you ever do anything without an argument?"

"Do you ever ask? Or is it always orders?"

He shook his head and took her arm, pulling her forward. "Will you
please
get moving?" He dodged the umbrella prongs and took it from her.

"Why, yes, of course." She smiled, keeping pace. "She described Joey Fortunato, didn't she? How did he find her?"

"Probably through Dr. Clary's files. He was killed on a Thursday, and the Packers played last Sunday, so it took Fortunato a little longer to track her down. He didn't have help."

"It had to be Joey. Is that enough of a lead for Ed Killian?" She wanted to kick something, preferably Joey Fortunato. Just the thought of him questioning these innocent people angered her. "MaryDell wasn't as clear as I'd hoped. I wonder if there really was an automobile accident. If so, it could explain the emergency. Is there anyone else from Dr. Clary's staff we might find?"

"Maybe, but I think we should concentrate on Tammy Burnside. Something triggered her name in MaryDell's memory." Riley sidestepped a puddle and opened the Tahoe door for Claire. "Let's go back to the hospital. How do you feel about cafeteria food? It's lunchtime."

"Anything but the stuff they serve to patients. Maybe they have a grill or something. This morning I saw some tables off the lobby."

They found a parking place not too far from the entrance, and Claire didn't bother with the umbrella. They ran through the rain. "It feels good. It must have been eighty degrees in that nursing home," she said, shaking water off her coat.

The same woman sat at the business desk. This time Riley gave her Tammy Burnside's name.

"Oh, yes. Tammy's on duty now. Maternity's on the second floor. Just ask at the nurses' station." Her phone rang, preventing further questions.

When they approached the station, Tammy Burnside, a handsome woman with skin the rich color of molasses, stood behind the counter reading a chart. Riley showed her his identification and asked if she knew Dr. Clary.

"Yes, I live outside McClellanville," she explained. "I heard about his death. I don't know how I can help you
.
I didn't know him well."

"We'd like to ask a few questions anyway. Is there somewhere we can talk?"

"Let's go down to the grill. I can take a break now."

"Maybe we shouldn't take your time, Ms. Burnside." If this woman didn't know Dr. Clary, Claire didn't see how she could help. She wanted to see the others on the list. Riley must not have shared her impatience, because he squeezed her elbow as they entered the elevator.

He asked Tammy about her work on the way down, keeping the conversation light, putting the woman at ease. In the grill, she accepted a cup of coffee, and Riley carried their tray to a corner table.

"Call me Tammy. Mrs. Burnside is my mother-in-law." She emptied two containers of cream into her cup and stirred. "How can I help you?"

"We got your name from MaryDell Baker, but it may have been a mistake," Claire said. She brushed her hair back from her face and turned to catch Tammy staring at her, a frown on her face. Surely she didn't look that bad. Her hair was wet from the rain, but how bad could it be?

Riley explained that they were checking into a birth connected with Dr. Clary, a baby he'd delivered some years ago.

"I never worked with him. He was a GP, and I've always worked in maternity." Tammy smiled. She obviously loved her work.

A strand of wet hair clung to Claire's cheek. She pushed it away. "This would have been over thirty years ago, possibly connected with an accident on Christmas Eve. Do you
—
"

"Oh my god—it's you! You're my baby. Oh, oh
—
" Tammy choked on her words and clapped both hands to her cheeks, wide-eyed. "Not Dr. Clary
—me! I
delivered you. I can't believe it, after all these years."

Claire stared at the woman, speechless. All the air left her lungs.

"Please, explain. Tell us what happened." Riley, watching Tammy, leaned across the table to cover Claire's hand with his.

"That's why you look so familiar—I'll never forget." Tammy wiped tears from her eyes. "Back then my family lived out by the highway. It was a terrible night, cold, with heavy rain and wind. We heard a crash, and before my tata—my father—could check it out, a second bigger crash sounded, and we heard a tree fall. My dad grabbed a flashlight and we all ran outside." She stared into her coffee, focused on the past.