Page 10 of No Offense

“Do you know he thinks that baby’s mother, whoever she was, abandoned it there in that bathroom?”

Joanne took a sip of her wine before answering, her gazenot meeting Molly’s. “Well, he’s probably right. I read that, before the safe haven law, there was something like ten thousand babies abandoned a year up in New York—”

“But that’s New York! I’m sure no one in Little Bridge would do something like that.”

Joanne quickly began stacking Molly’s canapés onto the tray with the rest of them. “Oh, honey, I know you’re new here and so you have kind of an idealized view of the place. That’s normal. Everyone falls in love with Little Bridge when they first get here. But let me tell you, crime happens here same as it does every place else. They’re just a bit—odderkinds of crimes. You’ve heard about this thief we’ve got over by the old high school—now the new library—who just waltzes into people’s houses and helps himself to whatever he likes? Which, shame on us, we’ve all got to learn to lock our doors. This isn’t Mayberry. And of course we’re fortunate that he’s never hurt anyone—no one’s ever even seen him, since he only seems to strike in the middle of the night while everyone is asleep. But what about our own former sheriff having a whole second family, and trying to pay for it out of our tax dollars!”

“But that’s different,” Molly said. “There are always going to be thieves, and men—and women—in power who try to take advantage of the system. All I’m saying is that it’s hard to believe anyone would deliberately endanger a child if there wasn’t some mitigating reason—”

“Listen to you.” Joanne chuckled as she lifted the tray of canapés. “Mitigating reasons. You really are Patty’s daughter, all right. She was always spouting off big words likethat when we were kids. I’m real glad to have you here, Molly. It’s like having Patty living next door again. I feel about fifty years younger. Now be a doll and grab those cocktail napkins over there, and let’s go get these people’s drink orders.”

“Sure, Jo.” Molly obediently seized a pile of the Lazy Parrot’s signature cocktail napkins, each depicting a brightly colored parrot snoozing on a perch in a palm tree, large letterZs coming out of its beak.

“And don’t you worry about that baby” were Joanne’s parting words to her as she backed her way through the swinging door from the kitchen out toward the pool. “If anyone can find the mama, it’s John Hartwell.”

Molly was glad her mother’s friend couldn’t see her grimace as she followed, muttering, “That’s what I’m worried about.”

Chapter Four

John

The last thing John felt prepared to deal with when he got home that night was mother-daughter drama. But that’s exactly what he encountered, even though his daughter’s mother lived one hundred and fifty miles away.

“Hi, Dad.” Katie was waiting for him in the dining room. This was a bad sign. If she was not in her room, on her phone, texting with her cousin Nevaeh, it meant something was wrong.

John, being a trained investigator and also a father, could tell that even more was wrong than usual, because Katie had cooked. Katie did not enjoy cooking and usually ate at Nevaeh’s house or waited for him to bring home takeout.

But tonight, she obviously wanted something from him, since she’d not only set the dining room table using all of their best china—his ex, Christina, guilt-stricken over leaving him with primary custody, had also left him withall of their wedding presents and all of the furniture they’d collected during their thirteen years of marriage—but also thrown something into the oven that smelled suspiciously like Katie’s go-to emergency healthy-dinner recipe, chicken marinated in salad dressing.

John realized it was going to be a long night and threw off his hat and tie, undid his belt, and went to the refrigerator for a beer.

“What’s up, Katie?”

“Dad.” Katie followed him into the kitchen. “I know you’ve had a busy day. I heard about the baby. Is he okay?”

“She. And the baby’s fine.”

John opened the oven door and glanced inside. Yep. There it was. Assorted chicken parts floating in store-bought low-calorie Italian salad dressing. Not that it wouldn’t be tasty, even if it was fairly healthy. It’s just that she only made it when—

“Well, that’s good. I heard people are calling her Baby Garbage Sacks—”

“What?” John cracked open his beer with more force than he’d meant to, startled by her words.

“Baby Garbage Sacks,” Katie said. “On account of her being found in the library in a garbage bag?”

“Of all the—” Now John was annoyed. “Where did you hear that?”

Katie shrugged her thin shoulders. “It’s all over Facebook.”

“Well, please inform your Facebook followers or friends or whatever they are that the baby was not found in a garbagesack but in a box, and—oh, hell.” He took a swig from his beer. “I’ll have Marguerite do it in the morning.”

In addition to being an excellent sergeant, Marguerite Ruiz also ran the sheriff’s web page, on which John kept the public up to date on important information such as who had been arrested for what lately. The discovery of this baby at the library would fall into that category. He couldn’t have misinformation floating around, especially given the fact that, upon pulling into his office earlier, he’d found his desk almost literally covered in boxes of diapers, pacifiers, and baby clothes and toys. And not just his desk, either, but the desks of his deputies, all of whom seemed to think the donations were a hilarious joke.

But it wasn’t a joke. The good people of Little Bridge—and even neighboring islands—were donating this stuff for the infant he now knew they referred to as Baby Garbage Sacks, or some such nonsense. They were donating the things out of the kindness of their hearts, of course, but it wasn’t necessary. The infant was in perfectly good hands at the NICU, and as soon as she was deemed healthy enough—which the doctors had assured him would be soon—she’d be transferred into foster care, probably with the Russells, who were damned fine people. There was no need for all this donated formula and Tickle Me Elmos. It certainly didn’t look professional around the office, especially since his deputies kept tickling them and setting them off for laughs.

“Well, that’s good, Dad,” Katie said. She was hoveringaround him as he pulled off his boots. “That’s really great to hear. I’ll be sure to let everyone know.... So, Dad, there’s this dance at school—”

“What’s his name?” John realized he was going to need a second beer. He tried to stick with only one per day on school nights, but if there was going to be a discussion about a boy taking his daughter to a dance, he might need two to get through it, depending on who the boy was.