Jingle Bones by Carolyn Haines

commanded Jitty as I pushed back the blanket to reveal the still face of an infant. The newborn had been wiped clean, but the blood of birth still smudged its features. I couldn’t tell if the child was breathing or if it was bleeding. My bare feet seemed to have frozen to the gray porch boards, but I managed to pick up the bassinet and haul it inside. I ran to the kitchen, where the oven I’d heated earlier still warmed the room. Hands shaking, I lifted the blanket and examined the infant, who began to squirm and cry.
    â€œShe’s okay,” I said aloud, as if to reassure myself. “Jitty, she’s okay.”
    Still wearing the black guise of Rosemary, Jitty leaned against the wall. “See why I had to wake you up? The doorbell rang several times, but you just hid under your pillow.”
    I had a vague recollection of the doorbell, but I didn’t have time to argue. I picked up the phone and called the Sunflower County Sheriff’s office. While the baby wasn’t bleeding, someone surely was and the pool of blood on the front porch told me the baby delivery person was badly injured. I wondered if the mother of the infant was bleeding out.
    When the dispatcher said she’d call Coleman and send him to Dahlia House, I called Doc Sawyer and then Tinkie. Until help arrived, I bundled the infant in a blanket I warmed by the oven and pulled her into my arms and held her close. The small sounds of fretfulness stopped, and the baby was instantly asleep.
    â€œShe likes you,” Jitty said, as if it were a miracle.
    â€œI saved her from freezing. Why shouldn’t she like me?”
    â€œThat maternal instinct is kickin’ in.” Jitty tugged at her black mini-dress. “Time for a wardrobe change and company is at the door.” In a little sprinkle of black confetti that disappeared before it hit the ground, she was gone.
    Before I could turn around, I heard Coleman Peters, the sheriff of Sunflower County and a man I had unresolved feelings for, call to me from the front door. “Sarah Booth, what’s all the blood at the door? Are you okay?”
    â€œIn the kitchen,” I answered.
    He strode toward me, his footsteps loud on the hardwood floor. When he pushed the swinging door into the kitchen, he stopped dead in his tracks. “Where’d you get a baby?”
    The tone of the question was wrong. “As if I couldn’t have one myself? There’s nothing wrong with my reproductive organs.”
    â€œHard to do without having sex, and that hasn’t happened for a while,” he said drolly. “I know. I’m keeping score, as best I can.”
    I wanted to smack him, but I was holding the infant. “She was left on the front porch. Someone took off in a dark pickup, like maybe a 1990 model Ford, single cab, long wheel base.” I’d come to know my pickups because I’d been shopping for a used truck. A 1990 model was a little too used, but I liked the design.
    â€œSomeone just abandoned her?”
    â€œI’d tell you in sign language but I’m holding the baby.” I was aggravated and didn’t try to hide it.
    â€œI didn’t realize just holding an infant could send a body into hormonal fluctuation but you’re sounding might testy, Sarah Booth.”
    â€œIndeed she is.” Tinkie pushed through the swinging door and stopped beside Coleman. Instead of saying anything else, she merely held out her arms to the infant. Without her saying a word, I clearly heard, “Give her to me.”
    â€œHow do you know it’s a her?” I asked.
    â€œThe blanket is pink. Don’t you know anything about babies?” Tinkie advanced and I put the baby in her arms.
    â€œIs she okay?” Coleman asked. “There was a lot of blood on the porch.”
    â€œShe’s fine, and Doc Sawyer is on the way. But someone is seriously hurt. We need to find the person in the truck before she dies.” Who