Missionary Daddy (5 page)

“You’re thin.”

Sam didn’t go there. “I’ve always been thin.”

“So has she.”

Exasperated, she tried another angle. “A skinny teenager shouldn’t be counting the calories in a piece of watermelon. I heard her do that tonight.”

“This is out of my league, Sam. But just because she’s thin and had an upset stomach is no reason to put ideas into her head about anorexia. Sometimes I wonder if that’s how stuff like this gets started.”

“I’m not trying to put ideas into her head. She could already be in serious trouble.” She perched both hands on her hips and look skyward, scared to say too much but wanting him to realize the seriousness of her claim. “I’ve known models with eating disorders, Eric. I know what I’m talking about.”

“Are you sure you’re not overreacting because of that?” Silhouetted against the building, hands shoved into his back pockets, he looked mysterious and attractive.

Sam huffed out an annoyed sound. Why had she thought a man would understand?

“I thought she might listen to you or that you might know a counselor or someone that could help. But apparently I was wrong. Excuse me for bothering you with this.”

Feeling like a hysterical female, she shoved away from the wall and left him standing in the dark.

“A
nyone involved with Tiny Blessings could potentially be in danger.”

Ross Van Zandt tossed the latest edition of the
Richmond Gazette
onto Eric’s desk. Every inch a former New York cop, the private investigator’s usual wary expression was even more intense today.

“If you’re worried about Kelly,” Eric said, “I’ll keep an eye out when she’s here.”

He already did. With all the troubling undercurrents and two pregnant co-workers, he was taking no chances.

“After the threatening note Kelly received on the Fourth of July, I’m worried about everyone.” Ross offered a crooked smile. “Maybe a little more about Kelly since she’s my pregnant wife.” He tapped the letter to the editor. “Whoever we’ve upset by reopening all these old adoption cases is getting more agitated by the day. This latest demand for Jared to stop writing articles about the investigation is vehement.”

Eric scanned the scathing letter. “No kidding. Do you think we need to hire a security guard for the agency?”

“I’ve talked to Kelly about that, but she’s adamant. To her way of thinking, if we hire security or display a police presence, prospective parents will be afraid to come here.”

“She has a point. Kelly works hard to make the place inviting and comfortable for the families and the women who trust us to find homes for their babies.”

Besides the well-appointed rooms where adoptive parents relaxed on plush sofas and had refreshments while taking parenting classes, the agency provided a playground in back for foster kids in their program. The walls were lined with happy photos of children who had been adopted through the agency over the years. Kelly’s office even boasted a fireplace for those chilly winter days when a fire and hot cocoa made life seem a little brighter. The old building had intentionally been decorated to relax and reassure.

“I urged the Harcourt family to be alert, as well,” Ross said. “They have a good security system already in place but since we don’t know who we’re dealing with, we can’t be certain that’s enough.”

Eric rose from his desk and went to the window. The mention of anything concerning Sam made him jumpy. Last night he’d upset her and today he couldn’t get her out of his head. Ah, what was he thinking? He’d had Samantha in his head for over a year.

“I’m not sure why anyone would be worried about the Harcourts. Their part in this is long past.”

“That old mansion holds a lot of secrets, Eric. Maybe someone is afraid more will be uncovered.”

“Like Ben’s forged adoption records?” Eric asked softly.

Out on the playground beyond the patio, a swing moved gently in the summer breeze, a reminder that this building was about children. Forgeries and attempted murder seemed so out of place. Lately, he worried the agency’s problems would wing their way across the ocean and cause problems. Problems neither he, Matunde nor Amani needed right now. At those times, he questioned his decision to come here. Daily he prayed that nothing happened to stop the adoption of his boys.

“If one wall of the house secreted documents,” Ross said, “others could, too. The Harcourts need to be aware they might be sitting on a powder keg.”

Having never considered that Samantha might be in danger, Eric wondered why she didn’t go back to Chicago where she belonged. She claimed to be reevaluating, whatever that meant. But small, provincial Chestnut Grove held nothing for a woman like her.

“The Harcourts are nearly finished with the remodeling,” he said, turning to prop a hip on the windowsill. “But short of tearing the house down, how could anyone find out what else Barnaby might have hidden there?”

Ross took a stress ball from Eric’s desk and tossed it back and forth between his palms. “Lindsay Morrow would have burned the place if she thought she could conceal the truth about her husband’s indiscretions. Whoever wants things kept quiet this go-round could be just as demented.”

The issue with the mayor and his mentally deranged wife had happened more than a year before Eric had moved to Chestnut Grove. But Eric had been apprised of the former problems. Problems that wouldn’t go away even though Lindsay Morrow was now institutionalized.

Someone was still very determined to protect a long-ago secret.

An idea flitted through Eric’s head. Sam’s family was the original cause of the problems. Wouldn’t they have more to hide than anyone?

“What about someone in the Harcourt family?” he asked, reaching out to catch the stress ball in mid-toss. “Could they be involved in the cover-up?”

Ross thought about the question, weighing his answer like a good cop. “I don’t think so. This whole thing has them pretty shaken and Sam certainly wouldn’t want all this extra publicity. She came home for a break. Not to say we shouldn’t be alert to any possibility. A lot of adoptions went through this agency during the corrupt reign of Barnaby Harcourt.”

He held out his hand for the stress ball. Eric tossed it to him.

“Are you saying more than one person may want to keep the past buried?” Now
that
was a scary thought. Dealing with one sicko was bad enough.

“Possibly.” Ross tapped the spongy ball against his stubbled chin. “I lose sleep at night trying to figure this thing out. Some people will go to extremes when threatened. I was there the night Lindsay tried to kill Kelly. It was the most terrifying moment of my life.”

Eric had seen the steely-eyed detective turn to mush in the company of his wife. He had no doubt Ross would have taken a bullet for Kelly if necessary.

“Thank God no one was killed.”

“You got that right, buddy. I thank God every single day that we all came out of there alive.” Ross picked up the file he’d come for and started toward the door. “I don’t want things to get that crazy this time. We have to figure out whose cage we’ve rattled. The sooner, the better.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“Be alert and pray a lot.” With a grin, Ross tossed the stress ball. Eric one-handed it. “Other than that, we have to wait for this person to either act or reveal his identity.”

The notion of waiting for a nut to crack was about as comforting as sleeping with a python.

His intercom buzzed and a teenage volunteer reminded Eric of a four o’clock appointment.

“Sorry to run out on you, Ross, but I have a meeting with Rachel Cavanaugh.”

Ross frowned. “I thought Rachel was on bed rest until her baby comes.”

“She is, but apparently the woman can’t be stopped from working on Noble Foundation causes from her bedroom.”

“Eli must be going crazy about that.”

“She’s lucky to have a doctor for a husband.”

“Yeah.” Ross laughed. “If only she’d pay attention to him. Tell her I said hello.”

He executed a jaunty salute and disappeared down the hall toward the records room.

On the way to his meeting with Rachel, Eric tried to shake off the worries Ross had dropped on his desk. In Africa he’d dealt with tribal tensions, wild animals and limited water supplies. If Tiny Blessings’ staff were in danger, as the primary male employee, he’d have to keep his eyes and ears open.

Ross was right about one thing. He needed to pray a lot.

At the door of the charming older brick colonial the Cavanaughs called home, Eric was met by a scrub-clad nurse.

“Rachel’s holding court in the living room,” the young woman said, showing Eric into a beautifully restored room with wide-plank flooring and dentil molding. The rest of the house appeared to be in a state of progress. Eric liked the cozy feel instantly.

“Don’t keep her too long,” the nurse instructed. “Even though she protests, she tires easily.” She shot an affectionate look at her charge.

Rachel smiled back. “Thanks, Shelby. Would you mind bringing my guest something to drink?”

Eric waved her off. “Nothing for me, thanks.”

The young nurse smiled and disappeared, taking a pair of empty glasses and a magazine with her.

Eric seated himself. “How are you doing, Rachel?”

He and the Cavanaughs attended the same church and through additional work with the foundation had developed a budding friendship. Rachel came from a wealthy family, something that normally set his teeth on edge, but the Nobles used their money for good, unlike most of the rich folks he’d encountered.

“As you can well see, I am a fat but very happy woman. If only this little Cavanaugh were not quite so fussy at times.”

“What do the doctors say?”

“Well, Dr. Daddy doesn’t want me to move, much less work. But my OB doctors have approved a few hours a day from this spot as long as I take it easy. Believe me, I am taking it so easy I could scream.”

The picture of cool elegance even in her advanced state of pregnancy, Rachel had developed a simple system to keep her finger in the pies at the Noble Foundation. A laptop and a conference telephone were within arm’s reach without having to leave her bed. When she’d phoned Eric yesterday, her voice had held a hint of excitement.

Eric figured he could use a little good news.

“You’re on our prayer list at the agency.” Every morning the staff met for updates and prayer. They kept a running list of friends and situations that needed the Lord’s special touch.

“I appreciate that. And I have full confidence that the baby and I both will come through this preeclampsia thing with flying colors.” She shifted her very round body and asked, “So how’s your picnic committee coming along?”

At the reminder of the committee, Eric thought of Sam again. A knot formed in his belly. He still wondered why she’d come to him about Gina. He knew nothing about such things, but he couldn’t imagine a sweet Christian girl like Gina being so foolish. All teenage girls, he supposed, worried about their weight. His sisters had. They’d even gone on crazy fad diets a few times, but none of them had starved themselves to death. Didn’t that only happen in made-for-TV movies?

Well, whatever, Sam was annoyed with him. He didn’t like that. Not because it was Sam but because he didn’t like tension and trouble with anyone.

And now that the teens were playing their silly matchmaking game, he was really uncomfortable. How did he tell the kids, in a Christian manner, that Sam’s lifestyle and his did not mesh?

“Sam and the kids are working on the last-minute preparations today.”

And tonight he and Sam had a private meeting at the Starlight Diner to go over the end result. He still couldn’t figure out how that had happened. He shook his head. Teenagers. He’d been safer in the jungles of Africa.

“For the past three days my telephone at home and at the office have rung continually. The kids are all over this project with great enthusiasm.”

Rachel picked the silky ruffle on a throw pillow. “How are things working out with you and Sam?”

“Excuse me?”

Rachel laughed. “I meant with Sam as your cochair.”

Given the matchmaking thoughts streaming through his head, Eric was glad his skin was too dark to blush. “Fine.”

“Excellent. I knew she’d be great. Besides her obvious clout, Sam Harcourt is not afraid of hard work.”

He’d thought the same thing in Africa, but here he wasn’t so sure. Standing in front of a camera or discussing color swatches with her decorator wasn’t Eric’s idea of work. But, he had to admit she never missed a meeting with the committee and had carried her share of the load.

“I think everything is about ready with the other committees, too,” Rachel went on. “Andrew has worked hard, adding in these fresh ideas. I hate to miss it, but if the weather cooperates, we should have an excellent fund-raiser even without me there.”

“I hope so,” Eric answered, glad to be off the topic of Samantha. “Africa is a worthy charity.”

A smug smile crossed Rachel’s pretty face. “Africa is exactly why I’ve asked you to come by. And not just because of the picnic. I have some very exciting news.”

Right now the most exciting news Eric wanted was word that Matunde and Amani could be adopted. The African government was balking for reasons they had yet to explain.

Rachel pointed to an elegant burgundy briefcase next to an end table. “Would you get that for me please? I feel like such a helpless ninny, but I don’t dare bend or lift even something that small.”

“Not a problem.” Eric did as he was asked, placing the valise on the table next to her. She clicked it open.

“This has been in the works for a while, and I’ve been excited to share it with you, but we just now have the particulars ironed out.” She lifted out a folder. “Someone has made a substantial donation to the Noble Foundation to sponsor an orphanage in Africa. I thought, since you have the most experience in that realm, I would ask your help in deciding which one.”

Eric leaned back in the plush chair, pulse kick-starting. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

Now, this was something that raced his engine. “There are so many facilities that could use the help, but I’m partial to the baby hospital and Ithemba House. I’ve worked in and with both. They’re entirely donor funded and do an exceptional job with limited resources.”

Very limited.

“Isn’t Ithemba the orphanage you founded?”

Eric blinked. “How did you know that?”

Rachel gave a tiny smile. “I have my sources.” She removed a paper and handed it to him. “Will this sum be useful?”

Eric stared down at the amount. His mouth went as dry as dust. “Is this a joke?”

“I never joke about foundation funding.”

Excitement warmed his blood as possibilities streamed through his head. He couldn’t believe this.

“That’s not only enough to fund the basic needs for a year, we could even buy some new medical equipment for the baby hospital. The X-ray machine is a pitiful antique.”

A slow smile lifted from Rachel’s lips to her eyes. “I was hoping you’d say that. Will you serve as adviser on the project?”

“I’d be honored.” More than honored, he was floored. Someone had just donated enough money to make a difference for a lot of children.

“Who’s the donor? I want to send him a personal thank you.”

“The donor asks to remain anonymous.”