twelfth. … Good-bye.”
Henry shook his head sadly as he replaced the phone in its cradle.
“What was that last part about?” Meghan inquired, curious.
Henry eyed her for several seconds distractedly, then confided, “This poor Ramsey fellow is off his rocker. When he first contacted me, he also asked for the name of a reliable investigator for a personal problem he was having. I gave him Macklin’s name and number and told him Macklin was the best.
“About a month after that, Macklin called me and wanted to know what I knew about Ramsey. Apparently Ramsey met a woman the last time he was here, and somehow lost contact with her. Macklin didn’t tell me all the details, but he did say that all Ramsey gave him to go on was a composite sketch of the woman, her first name, and a few vague leads.
“When Macklin reported to him that he wasn’t able to find her, Ramsey told him to check everywhere, including the underworld, because there could be a chance the woman was in some sort of danger. It seems he met her under a strange set of circumstances, and poor Ramsey was worried sick about her. Macklin didn’t want to take unnecessary chances in the dirty money circles if Ramsey were some sort of nut who went around finding homes for lost women or something, so he called me for a reference.”
Henry sat quietly, obviously thinking about the hopelessness of Ramsey’s quest.
“Well? Is he?” Meghan asked, burning with curiosity about her newest client.
“Is he what?” asked Henry, returning his attention to the conversation.
“Is he a nut?” she specified.
“No. I don’t think so,” he said reflectively. “I think he just wants to find this woman.” Henry laughed suddenly, and in answer to Meghan’s expectant expression explained, “He said that when he did find her, he was going to wring her neck for disappearing and putting him through all this. Now, does that sound like a nut to you?”
That evening when Meghan got home, Mrs. Belinski was still there waiting for her.
“I leave your supper in di oven. You eat now. Will not be too done,” she said after Meghan had hung up her coat and turned to the woman, puzzled.
Mrs. Belinski wiped her clean, dry hands nervously on her apron, then went into the kitchen to retrieve Meghan’s dinner. After Meghan was seated at the breakfast bar, her meal before her, the older woman cleared her throat several times before she spoke.
“I don’t ask anything when di paper with di fuzzy ducks come. I don’t ask anything when di lovely rocking chair come. But I think I should now.” She hesitated briefly, then got to the point. “You be with di baby, yah?”
“Yes, Mrs. Belinski,” Meghan stated calmly.
The silence was deafening. Mrs. Belinski obviously had a million questions she didn’t know how to ask, and Meghan was dreading them. “Now that you know, Mrs. Belinski, will you be staying on or would you rather not,” Meghan asked, her pride shielding her from the woman’s reaction.
“Yah. Yah. I stay. I tell you always I love di little ones,” she said cheerfully. “I ask something?” With Meghan’s silent consent she asked, “When does di baby come?”
“The first of April,” the mother-to-be supplied, waiting for the next question.
Her eyes twinkling, the older woman asked, “You wish for di little boy or di little girl?”
Hiring the housekeeper for the baby, arranging the leave of absence, preparing the spare bedroom for the baby, and keeping her pregnancy under wraps were all part of phase two of Meghan’s grand plan.
With Mrs. Belinski’s acceptance, Meghan felt relatively content and happy that all was going well.
Four
M ID-NOVEMBER FOUND New York colder and more windy. It had snowed the night before, but by the morning, the soft, fluffy whiteness had turned to gray-black slush in the streets and on the sidewalks. Michael surveyed the mess from the window of Henry Alderman’s office.
“Macklin hasn’t turned up anything
Henry shook his head sadly as he replaced the phone in its cradle.
“What was that last part about?” Meghan inquired, curious.
Henry eyed her for several seconds distractedly, then confided, “This poor Ramsey fellow is off his rocker. When he first contacted me, he also asked for the name of a reliable investigator for a personal problem he was having. I gave him Macklin’s name and number and told him Macklin was the best.
“About a month after that, Macklin called me and wanted to know what I knew about Ramsey. Apparently Ramsey met a woman the last time he was here, and somehow lost contact with her. Macklin didn’t tell me all the details, but he did say that all Ramsey gave him to go on was a composite sketch of the woman, her first name, and a few vague leads.
“When Macklin reported to him that he wasn’t able to find her, Ramsey told him to check everywhere, including the underworld, because there could be a chance the woman was in some sort of danger. It seems he met her under a strange set of circumstances, and poor Ramsey was worried sick about her. Macklin didn’t want to take unnecessary chances in the dirty money circles if Ramsey were some sort of nut who went around finding homes for lost women or something, so he called me for a reference.”
Henry sat quietly, obviously thinking about the hopelessness of Ramsey’s quest.
“Well? Is he?” Meghan asked, burning with curiosity about her newest client.
“Is he what?” asked Henry, returning his attention to the conversation.
“Is he a nut?” she specified.
“No. I don’t think so,” he said reflectively. “I think he just wants to find this woman.” Henry laughed suddenly, and in answer to Meghan’s expectant expression explained, “He said that when he did find her, he was going to wring her neck for disappearing and putting him through all this. Now, does that sound like a nut to you?”
That evening when Meghan got home, Mrs. Belinski was still there waiting for her.
“I leave your supper in di oven. You eat now. Will not be too done,” she said after Meghan had hung up her coat and turned to the woman, puzzled.
Mrs. Belinski wiped her clean, dry hands nervously on her apron, then went into the kitchen to retrieve Meghan’s dinner. After Meghan was seated at the breakfast bar, her meal before her, the older woman cleared her throat several times before she spoke.
“I don’t ask anything when di paper with di fuzzy ducks come. I don’t ask anything when di lovely rocking chair come. But I think I should now.” She hesitated briefly, then got to the point. “You be with di baby, yah?”
“Yes, Mrs. Belinski,” Meghan stated calmly.
The silence was deafening. Mrs. Belinski obviously had a million questions she didn’t know how to ask, and Meghan was dreading them. “Now that you know, Mrs. Belinski, will you be staying on or would you rather not,” Meghan asked, her pride shielding her from the woman’s reaction.
“Yah. Yah. I stay. I tell you always I love di little ones,” she said cheerfully. “I ask something?” With Meghan’s silent consent she asked, “When does di baby come?”
“The first of April,” the mother-to-be supplied, waiting for the next question.
Her eyes twinkling, the older woman asked, “You wish for di little boy or di little girl?”
Hiring the housekeeper for the baby, arranging the leave of absence, preparing the spare bedroom for the baby, and keeping her pregnancy under wraps were all part of phase two of Meghan’s grand plan.
With Mrs. Belinski’s acceptance, Meghan felt relatively content and happy that all was going well.
Four
M ID-NOVEMBER FOUND New York colder and more windy. It had snowed the night before, but by the morning, the soft, fluffy whiteness had turned to gray-black slush in the streets and on the sidewalks. Michael surveyed the mess from the window of Henry Alderman’s office.
“Macklin hasn’t turned up anything
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