The spires of St. Vincent De Paul's rose like gloomy watchtowers over the shotgun shacks of the Latin ghetto. In the waning light of day, the sun cast shadows on the gargoyles and flashed menacingly off the rose window. The parking lot was crowded for early evening Mass, but Joe found a spot near the edge of the lot and made his way to the heavy double doors. He stepped inside, pausing a moment so his eyes could adjust to the dim light of the vestibule. In the main chapel, he could hear the priest intoning the words of Communion.
The familiar words about drinking the blood of Christ gave Joe an uncharacteristic shiver, but his business wasn't in the main chapel. Quietly slipping his keys into his pocket, he turned toward the smaller devotional chapel, dabbling his fingers in the holy water and crossing himself before entering.
The chapel was oppressive with incense, quiet and darkness, except for a faint bit of light coming from a side window and an array of candles in red glass votives clustered around the feet of a life-sized statue of the Virgin Mary. Joe took a few steps toward the statue but hesitated when he noticed an elderly woman in black kneeling in front of her, whispering a rosary.
He sat on one of the half dozen pews and waited for her to finish, closing his eyes and willing himself to relax. Finally the woman rose to her feet and made her way up the aisle, silent as a ghost. Had Joe not opened his eyes at just the right moment, he might not have noticed her departure.
Looking around to make sure the chapel was really empty this time, he made his way toward the saint again. First he stood at her feet looking up at her. Then he climbed the broad pedestal to examine her more closely. He spotted a few nicks on her hands and rubbed them thoughtfully, but other than that, he was satisfied. She was free of dust and the wood had been well cared for. Almost as an afterthought, he examined her velvet robes. From farther back in the chapel he had noticed silver spangles adorning her gown, but closer examination proved them to be little tin hearts, keys, cars, houses, animals, and just about anything else the pedestrian human mind could think of, pinned to her robe by adoring parishioners. She had become a Virgin of Lost Things.
Amused, Joe stepped down from the platform and turned as if to leave. But a few steps from the door, he stopped. He returned to the saint's feet and glanced around the empty room as if someone might have wandered in during the time he had been there. Then he solemnly lit a votive, knelt and bowed his head. After a few moments, he got to his feet. He cast a hopeful look at the face of the Virgin, then with a shake of the head at his own superstition, he turned again to leave.
This time he got into the vestibule before being stopped, this time by a real person. Mass was letting out, and as he worked his way through the crowd, someone called his name.
"Urgulano, is that you?"
Joe scanned the faces of the people milling around him.
"Over here!"
Joe spotted a thin, gnarled man in a worn leather blazer and he made his way over to him. "Chále!" he said, gripping the man's hand, "Or should I still call you Cholo? How are you, man?"
"Menos mal. What brings you back to the old 'hood? Once you get out, you're not supposed to come back. Didn't anyone ever tell you that?"
"Can't help returning to the scene of the crime, I guess."
"Hey, I heard that. How've you been? You're the last person I thought I'd see hanging around here."
"I'm in town on other business," Joe said vaguely. "I had a little time to kill and thought I'd check up on a couple of my statues." He motioned with his head toward the Virgin's devotional chapel. "But what about you? This church, or any church for that matter, is the last place I'd expect to find you."
Chále looked abashed. "Well, you know how women are. They have expectations and Inéz just loves the church. She'd be here for every Mass and probably start a few of her own if I gave her half a chance." He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and rocked back on the heels of his boots. "I come with her and the kids once or twice a week. Keeps the home life peaceful, if you know what I mean."
Seeking to avoid a discussion of home life, Joe made a show of looking around. "So where is Inéz?" he asked. "How's she doing?"
"She's picking the kids up from the nursery. She's doing great. Gonna have another kid in the spring."
"That makes how many now? Three?"
"Three?" Chále laughed. "You've been gone way too long, man. "We're up to five now, and the new one will make six."
"That's a lot of mouths to feed," Joe said.
"Sure is. And work isn't always easy to find, either."
"So things aren't so good?"
"Oh, they're all right I guess. Could be better, but hey, what couldn't?"
"True enough."
Chále scoffed. "'True enough.' Listen to you, Mr. Famous Artist! As if you'd know anything about that any more."
"I do all right," Joe said. "But just because a few people know my name doesn't mean I'm out buying yachts. I have my problems just like anyone else."
"Well, you sure don't look it." He gave him a playful punch on the arm. "You in town long?"
"I hope not. I'd like to leave tomorrow, if I can get my affairs wrapped up by then."
Chále's face fell. "That's too bad. I was thinking if you had a little time, we could go get a beer, hang out, maybe shoot a little pool. It would be like old times. That is, if you're not too fancy for your old friends."
Joe grinned. "I'll never be too fancy for my friends, and I could stand to take my mind off a few things."
"You free later on? I gotta get Inéz and the kids home, but after that I usually head to the ice house for a couple cold ones. Gotta wash away the taste of those communion wafers, you know."
"I'll meet you there. Just tell me when."
Chapter Twenty
Brent sat on the desk chair in Joe's room. "I don't think she called. She's making up a story to keep us here."
"It's plausible enough that Elise wouldn't want to see us right now. Besides, there's not a whole lot we can do. Cece is the only one who knows where she is and we don't have any other good leads. I don't think we've got much choice except to humor her unless we can track down that Perry Clyman guy, who gave her the fake ID."
"I’m going to do a web search on him, now that I have reliable wi-fi service, but in the meantime maybe Sylvia knows something. Maybe Elise told her where she planned to go next."
Joe scoffed. "As if that druggie friend of yours would tell us anything."
"It's worth a shot." Brent dug in his pocket and pulled out the blue post-it they found in Elise's office. "Do you want to call this number, or should I?"
"She's your friend, if you can call her that."
Brent took out his cell phone and punched in the number. He listened a little while, then hung up. "Went to voice mail."
"Well, if we're not going to see Elise tonight, it looks like I'll have to find something to do, or else spend the night stretching canvases for Cece."
"What's wrong with that?" Brent gave a little half-smile. "Since she's such a big fan of yours and has no interest in you in any other way, I would think you'd be glad to do her a favor. Maybe you can weasel some information out of her."
"Not likely. She'll just talk my ear off about the local art scene. Besides, maybe I can think of more exciting things to do on a night in my hometown than play with canvas and wooden frames, okay?"
Brent shoved his phone back in his pocket. "Sorry if you can't take a joke."
"I put up with you, don't I?"
Brent stood up. "I think I'll look up an old friend tonight, since it looks like we're stuck here. And who knows, maybe I'll get lucky and run into someone who's seen her."
Joe nodded. "I've got a couple churches I'm going to check on. It'll keep me busy to get out and see how some of my statues are doing. Better than hanging around this place."
"Especially since the hostess can't wait to jump your bones."
"Will you stop that? You're pissing me off even more than usual."
"Okay, but when she shows up at your door in the middle of the night wearing nothing but a negligee, don't say I didn't warn you." Brent shoved his hands in his pockets and left the room.
Joe reached for his jacket and keys. On his way out, he stopped to talk to Cece, who he found sprawled across a hulking green sofa, flipping through a book. She looked up when Joe walked in and removed her reading glasses. "Is there anything I can get for you?"
"No, everything's fine."
"Are you sure? You're welcome to watch TV, help yourself to anything in the fridge, whatever you want. And later, if you don't mind, I'd love to have your help with those canvases."
"I've got a few artworks I want to go check up on and I don't know what time I'll be back."
Cece sat a little straighter. "I'm often up late."
"We'll see."
Cece faked a smile. "If I learned anything from being married, it's that when a man says 'we'll see,' he means no." She sighed. "How late will you be out? I can have Lupe fix you something to eat or draw your bath when you get in, if you like."
"I don't want you or her putting yourselves out on my account. You've been very generous, and I appreciate it."
Cece waved a hand. "Friends should always be there for friends."
Joe frowned. "So do you think she'll really want to talk to me tomorrow, or was she just putting me off so she can get away again?"
"I think she means it. She's got some things she needs to sort out first. A woman's instincts are often right, you know."
"I think she's wrong in this case. She shouldn't have run away. It's not going to solve anything."
Cece shrugged. "It might solve more than you think. Even if it doesn't, it's what they do in her family and it's worked before."
"I'd hardly say that."
"Don't you think so? Cece's eyes widened in surprise. "It got her mother out of the trailer park and into a middle-class home with a reliable breadwinner."
"Yeah, real reliable. Abandoned his family to take off to God knows where."
"But it turned out okay. Her mother found herself another man. Elise may not have liked him, but at least he stuck around. And he did pay for all that dance training."
"As if that was the most important thing."
"It got Elise a scholarship so she could leave that hick town and go someplace where her talents would be appreciated."
"So she could get mixed up with weirdoes in a city she didn't hardly know," Joe pointed out.
"But it also got her to a place where she could build her own future. Here she had friends, even when they weren't the best influences. She found people who were willing to look out for her."
"If you can call it that."
"I do call it that. What about me? What about that dancer friend of hers, Lamia? What about you and Brent--"
"Don't remind me about him."
"I'm sorry," Cece said, her green eyes wide with sincerity. "That was tactless of me. But he did help her out in school, you know. And after she gave up her dance scholarship, it was Brent who got her that job at the art supply store so she could finish college. It was also because of him that she ended up in the passion play at the cathedral, or didn't you know that? If Elise hadn't ended up playing Mary Magdalene that night, you two might never have met. Please don't tell me I misremember."
"No, you're right. I had done some sculptures for the church, and they unveiled them during a big Easter celebration." He smiled, remembering. "I almost didn't go, even though I was the guest of honor. I don't like to go where people are going to fuss over me. But when I saw Elise playing the Magdalene that night I just knew she had to be the one to model my next statue."
"That girl is blessed with good bone structure," Cece admitted.
"I don't even think Elise realized she did so much for me. She thinks all she does is just stand under the lights in my studio, but it's more than that. She inspires me. I've had other models, but none like her. She never wanted things from me like all the other girls, and the funny thing is that the less she wanted from me, the more I wanted to give."
"So you see?" Cece said, returning to their original topic. "Running away from home did her a lot of good. If she hadn't, would she have met someone like you who would treat her right?"
"Maybe not. But we're talking about something different here. She's running away from people who love her. She's running nowhere."
Cece sighed. "You have a good point, but if you go pressuring her right now she'll just keep running."
"I know. It's hard, though."
"If there's anything I can do--"
"Thanks," Joe said. "But right now all I really need is to get out for a little while, check on my statues and clear my head a little."
"That's the best thing," Cece agreed. "Get a different perspective. If I go to bed before you get back, I'll tell Lupe to wait up for you."
"That won't be necessary."
"Don't be ridiculous. I pay her very well not to mind."
"Thank you, then. I'll try to be quiet when I come in."
Cece laughed. "Make as much noise as you want, Joe. It's good to have a man around the house for a couple of days. Noise comes with the territory." She picked up her book and settled back into the depths of the sofa. "You just go on and amuse yourself, and don't worry about putting us out. That's what we're here for."
"It's plausible enough that Elise wouldn't want to see us right now. Besides, there's not a whole lot we can do. Cece is the only one who knows where she is and we don't have any other good leads. I don't think we've got much choice except to humor her unless we can track down that Perry Clyman guy, who gave her the fake ID."
"I’m going to do a web search on him, now that I have reliable wi-fi service, but in the meantime maybe Sylvia knows something. Maybe Elise told her where she planned to go next."
Joe scoffed. "As if that druggie friend of yours would tell us anything."
"It's worth a shot." Brent dug in his pocket and pulled out the blue post-it they found in Elise's office. "Do you want to call this number, or should I?"
"She's your friend, if you can call her that."
Brent took out his cell phone and punched in the number. He listened a little while, then hung up. "Went to voice mail."
"Well, if we're not going to see Elise tonight, it looks like I'll have to find something to do, or else spend the night stretching canvases for Cece."
"What's wrong with that?" Brent gave a little half-smile. "Since she's such a big fan of yours and has no interest in you in any other way, I would think you'd be glad to do her a favor. Maybe you can weasel some information out of her."
"Not likely. She'll just talk my ear off about the local art scene. Besides, maybe I can think of more exciting things to do on a night in my hometown than play with canvas and wooden frames, okay?"
Brent shoved his phone back in his pocket. "Sorry if you can't take a joke."
"I put up with you, don't I?"
Brent stood up. "I think I'll look up an old friend tonight, since it looks like we're stuck here. And who knows, maybe I'll get lucky and run into someone who's seen her."
Joe nodded. "I've got a couple churches I'm going to check on. It'll keep me busy to get out and see how some of my statues are doing. Better than hanging around this place."
"Especially since the hostess can't wait to jump your bones."
"Will you stop that? You're pissing me off even more than usual."
"Okay, but when she shows up at your door in the middle of the night wearing nothing but a negligee, don't say I didn't warn you." Brent shoved his hands in his pockets and left the room.
Joe reached for his jacket and keys. On his way out, he stopped to talk to Cece, who he found sprawled across a hulking green sofa, flipping through a book. She looked up when Joe walked in and removed her reading glasses. "Is there anything I can get for you?"
"No, everything's fine."
"Are you sure? You're welcome to watch TV, help yourself to anything in the fridge, whatever you want. And later, if you don't mind, I'd love to have your help with those canvases."
"I've got a few artworks I want to go check up on and I don't know what time I'll be back."
Cece sat a little straighter. "I'm often up late."
"We'll see."
Cece faked a smile. "If I learned anything from being married, it's that when a man says 'we'll see,' he means no." She sighed. "How late will you be out? I can have Lupe fix you something to eat or draw your bath when you get in, if you like."
"I don't want you or her putting yourselves out on my account. You've been very generous, and I appreciate it."
Cece waved a hand. "Friends should always be there for friends."
Joe frowned. "So do you think she'll really want to talk to me tomorrow, or was she just putting me off so she can get away again?"
"I think she means it. She's got some things she needs to sort out first. A woman's instincts are often right, you know."
"I think she's wrong in this case. She shouldn't have run away. It's not going to solve anything."
Cece shrugged. "It might solve more than you think. Even if it doesn't, it's what they do in her family and it's worked before."
"I'd hardly say that."
"Don't you think so? Cece's eyes widened in surprise. "It got her mother out of the trailer park and into a middle-class home with a reliable breadwinner."
"Yeah, real reliable. Abandoned his family to take off to God knows where."
"But it turned out okay. Her mother found herself another man. Elise may not have liked him, but at least he stuck around. And he did pay for all that dance training."
"As if that was the most important thing."
"It got Elise a scholarship so she could leave that hick town and go someplace where her talents would be appreciated."
"So she could get mixed up with weirdoes in a city she didn't hardly know," Joe pointed out.
"But it also got her to a place where she could build her own future. Here she had friends, even when they weren't the best influences. She found people who were willing to look out for her."
"If you can call it that."
"I do call it that. What about me? What about that dancer friend of hers, Lamia? What about you and Brent--"
"Don't remind me about him."
"I'm sorry," Cece said, her green eyes wide with sincerity. "That was tactless of me. But he did help her out in school, you know. And after she gave up her dance scholarship, it was Brent who got her that job at the art supply store so she could finish college. It was also because of him that she ended up in the passion play at the cathedral, or didn't you know that? If Elise hadn't ended up playing Mary Magdalene that night, you two might never have met. Please don't tell me I misremember."
"No, you're right. I had done some sculptures for the church, and they unveiled them during a big Easter celebration." He smiled, remembering. "I almost didn't go, even though I was the guest of honor. I don't like to go where people are going to fuss over me. But when I saw Elise playing the Magdalene that night I just knew she had to be the one to model my next statue."
"That girl is blessed with good bone structure," Cece admitted.
"I don't even think Elise realized she did so much for me. She thinks all she does is just stand under the lights in my studio, but it's more than that. She inspires me. I've had other models, but none like her. She never wanted things from me like all the other girls, and the funny thing is that the less she wanted from me, the more I wanted to give."
"So you see?" Cece said, returning to their original topic. "Running away from home did her a lot of good. If she hadn't, would she have met someone like you who would treat her right?"
"Maybe not. But we're talking about something different here. She's running away from people who love her. She's running nowhere."
Cece sighed. "You have a good point, but if you go pressuring her right now she'll just keep running."
"I know. It's hard, though."
"If there's anything I can do--"
"Thanks," Joe said. "But right now all I really need is to get out for a little while, check on my statues and clear my head a little."
"That's the best thing," Cece agreed. "Get a different perspective. If I go to bed before you get back, I'll tell Lupe to wait up for you."
"That won't be necessary."
"Don't be ridiculous. I pay her very well not to mind."
"Thank you, then. I'll try to be quiet when I come in."
Cece laughed. "Make as much noise as you want, Joe. It's good to have a man around the house for a couple of days. Noise comes with the territory." She picked up her book and settled back into the depths of the sofa. "You just go on and amuse yourself, and don't worry about putting us out. That's what we're here for."
Chapter Nineteen
Cece breezed into the dining room as Petra was setting plates of roast beef sandwiches and potato salad in front of her guests. Her face fell. "You didn't want the shrimp salad? Well, roast beef is more manly, isn't it?" Her hand trailed across the back of Joe's chair as she passed behind him. "Petra!" she called after seating herself at the head of the table. "Bring me a cup of chamomile. Té manzanilla." She cast a glance toward the men as they wolfed down their sandwiches. "And are the cookies done? Galletas?"
Petra nodded.
Cece waved her hand, shooing her back into the kitchen. "Gracias, Petra."
After the maid scurried away, she rested her elbows on the table and cupped her chin in her hands. "So," she asked Joe, "What do you think of my studio?
Joe looked up from his sandwich and started to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth before remembering he had a napkin. "Very nice. Hard to beat something like that, with so much natural light. I like it."
Cece seemed pleased. "You know, you're welcome in there any time. In fact, maybe you can give me a hand. I need to stretch some canvases, and I could use some help."
"I've never made a canvas before."
"Really? Your wife never asked you to help with hers?"
"No, Elise likes to do things on her own. That way she's sure they get done her way."
Cece considered. "Well, I say why make a job harder than it has to be, although there's really not that much to it. It helps to be strong, so I know you'll be great help. Maybe tonight or tomorrow?"
Brent spoke up before Joe could answer. "We won't be here tonight or tomorrow. You're going to call Elise, remember?"
Before Cece could speak, Petra reappeared with a steaming cup of tea and a matching plate piled high with shortbread cookies. Cece directed her to put the plate in the center of the table and accepted her cup of tea, making a show of stirring and blowing on it so she wouldn't have to speak.
"So when are you going to call?" Brent asked, ignoring Joe's sharp kick under the table.
Cece turned wide green eyes on him. "Just when I said I would, and no sooner. You really don't need to be so anxious. She's not going anywhere right away."
"That's what she told you last night," Joe said in conciliatory tones, "But we wouldn't put it past her to change her mind, especially if she thinks we might be getting close to finding her." He pushed his empty sandwich plate out of the way and reached for a cookie. "It seems like whenever we get close, something happens and she gets away."
"And I don't have all the time in the world," Brent said testily. "I walked away from a job and a wife to come here. If I don't go back pretty soon, I may not be able to go back."
"Call and explain why you're delayed, if that's all you're worried about," Cece said. "This is a nice big house, plenty of privacy."
Brent hesitated. "That's not really the issue."
Cece reached for a cookie and dunked it in her tea. "Is it your accommodations, then? You're welcome to stay as long as you like, no pressure. Eat what you want, drink wine from my wine cellar, watch satellite TV, use my wi-fi...I'm a woman of substance, in case you hadn't noticed, and I want you to consider this your own home."
"We appreciate it," Joe said, not allowing Brent to respond. "But we really can't stay. We just want to know where Elise is so we can get her."
"Of course. She's a lucky woman to have two men who love her so much." Cece stifled a giggle as Joe and Brent exchanged quick, hostile looks. "Why don't I go upstairs right now and call? Then once we've got that behind us, maybe we can talk about more pleasant things." Cradling her teacup and saucer, Cece left the room.
Petra nodded.
Cece waved her hand, shooing her back into the kitchen. "Gracias, Petra."
After the maid scurried away, she rested her elbows on the table and cupped her chin in her hands. "So," she asked Joe, "What do you think of my studio?
Joe looked up from his sandwich and started to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth before remembering he had a napkin. "Very nice. Hard to beat something like that, with so much natural light. I like it."
Cece seemed pleased. "You know, you're welcome in there any time. In fact, maybe you can give me a hand. I need to stretch some canvases, and I could use some help."
"I've never made a canvas before."
"Really? Your wife never asked you to help with hers?"
"No, Elise likes to do things on her own. That way she's sure they get done her way."
Cece considered. "Well, I say why make a job harder than it has to be, although there's really not that much to it. It helps to be strong, so I know you'll be great help. Maybe tonight or tomorrow?"
Brent spoke up before Joe could answer. "We won't be here tonight or tomorrow. You're going to call Elise, remember?"
Before Cece could speak, Petra reappeared with a steaming cup of tea and a matching plate piled high with shortbread cookies. Cece directed her to put the plate in the center of the table and accepted her cup of tea, making a show of stirring and blowing on it so she wouldn't have to speak.
"So when are you going to call?" Brent asked, ignoring Joe's sharp kick under the table.
Cece turned wide green eyes on him. "Just when I said I would, and no sooner. You really don't need to be so anxious. She's not going anywhere right away."
"That's what she told you last night," Joe said in conciliatory tones, "But we wouldn't put it past her to change her mind, especially if she thinks we might be getting close to finding her." He pushed his empty sandwich plate out of the way and reached for a cookie. "It seems like whenever we get close, something happens and she gets away."
"And I don't have all the time in the world," Brent said testily. "I walked away from a job and a wife to come here. If I don't go back pretty soon, I may not be able to go back."
"Call and explain why you're delayed, if that's all you're worried about," Cece said. "This is a nice big house, plenty of privacy."
Brent hesitated. "That's not really the issue."
Cece reached for a cookie and dunked it in her tea. "Is it your accommodations, then? You're welcome to stay as long as you like, no pressure. Eat what you want, drink wine from my wine cellar, watch satellite TV, use my wi-fi...I'm a woman of substance, in case you hadn't noticed, and I want you to consider this your own home."
"We appreciate it," Joe said, not allowing Brent to respond. "But we really can't stay. We just want to know where Elise is so we can get her."
"Of course. She's a lucky woman to have two men who love her so much." Cece stifled a giggle as Joe and Brent exchanged quick, hostile looks. "Why don't I go upstairs right now and call? Then once we've got that behind us, maybe we can talk about more pleasant things." Cradling her teacup and saucer, Cece left the room.
Chapter Eighteen
Brent rubbed his eyes and looked around at the unfamiliar room. Light streamed in the window, suggesting that it was well past noon. His attention was drawn to his overnight bag and laptop by the small desk. Reassured, he stood up, remembering now where he was. He wandered over to his bag but found it empty.
He noticed the open closet door, his change of clothes on hangers and his shoes neatly shined. Scouring the room now, he located his underwear, socks and belt inside a dresser drawer. He found his comb, toothbrush and razor neatly laid out for him in the bathroom, along with a stack of fresh towels and a clean terry robe. Amused but pleased, Brent started the water for his shower.
After he had showered, shaved and dressed, he tapped on the door of the next room. Getting no answer, he pushed it gently. He found the bedclothes in disarray and Joe's few belongings unpacked. Brent headed down the stairs and found Joe in the kitchen drinking a cup of coffee.
"How'd you sleep?" Brent asked, sitting down.
"Fine."
"How long have you been up?"
"Not long."
A young Mexican woman, a different one from the night before, set a cup of coffee in front of him. "Thank you," Brent told her. "What's your name?"
The woman didn't answer and walked to the other side of the kitchen and began stirring something in a bowl.
"This one doesn't speak much English," Joe said.
"I see." Brent blew on his coffee. "Where's Cece this morning?"
"You mean this afternoon?"
He looked at the clock on the wall. Two o'clock. "Okay. Where is she?"
Joe shrugged. "I haven't seen her since last night."
"Does the maid know? I thought you spoke Spanish."
"I do."
"Then why don't you ask?"
Joe drained the last of his coffee and set the cup down with a thump. After casting an annoyed look at Brent, he went to where the maid was greasing a cookie tin. "Dónde está Cece?"
The young woman gestured toward the back door. "Está en el studio, segundo piso del edificio de atrás."
Joe thanked her and returned to the breakfast table. "Says she's in her studio. It's the upstairs floor of some building out back."
"Let's go have a look," Brent said, standing up.
Joe shook his head. "Didn't anybody ever tell you it's bad manners to go barging in on someone in their studio? She might not want to be disturbed. I know I sure don't want people just wandering in when I'm working."
"But she could be in there all day."
"Hey, I want to get this over with, too. I just also know I get pissed when people interrupt me when I'm working. I don't want her getting mad at us and refusing to help. This has to be handled carefully."
"Cece doesn't strike me as the kind of person who gets mad about much of anything," Brent said. He motioned with his head toward the door.
"I don't know how you've become the expert on women around here," Joe grumbled, following him out the door onto the patio.
"And I don't know why you're in such a bad mood today."
"I've got a lot on my mind, okay? You, of all people, should know that."
Brent looked around the back yard, taking in the shaded wrought iron benches and a few pieces of old and crumbling statuary amid dense shrubbery carved into vaguely animal shapes. A small building to the left caught his eye-- a tiny iron-columned replica of the main house, its spires and narrow diamond-paned windows glittering in the weak winter light.
When they got to the door, they found it locked. Joe pushed Brent aside and pulled on it hard. Finding that he couldn't open it, he looked around and spotted an outside staircase leading to a door on the second floor.
At the top of the steps, Joe tapped on the door and a woman shouted for him to come in. They stepped into a large expanse of wood flooring and paneled walls lit by windows and skylights. In the middle of the room sat Cece at her easel, dressed in cuffed jeans and a billowing man's dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She set down a sable brush and smiled. "Good morning, gentlemen. How did you sleep?"
"Just fine, thank you," Joe said. "I hope we're not disturbing you."
"Of course not." Cece stood and spread her arms in welcome. "I love having visitors to my studio. I get so few, especially persons with great artistic talent. I'm afraid my own mediocre efforts must suffer by comparison." She indicated with a sweep of her arm the canvases, finished and unfinished, hanging about the room and leaning against the walls.
Joe's lips curled in amusement. "I'm hardly some great talent. I've just been lucky." He walked over to a painting of hyacinths in a bowl, done in broad brushstrokes and vivid yellows and reds. "I sure can't paint."
"I bet you just haven't tried," Cece said, hovering at his elbow. "I'm surprised Elise didn't get you hooked on it. Someone with your ability to capture emotion in wood must be able to transfer that talent to other mediums."
When Joe answered with a disbelieving look, she put a hand on his arm and went on. "I've seen so much of your work, you know. That one at St. Catherine of Siena's took my breath away the first time I saw it. Such a fine, gentle expression on her face and such delicate features. It makes you think she loves you enough to pray you straight into heaven."
"That sounds a little sacrilegious," Joe said. "But I'm glad you like it."
"I've always been a fan of your work, even your early metal works. But I especially love your carvings. I'm on one of the committees at the contemporary arts museum, you know, and I've been trying for over a year now to convince them to add one of your pieces to the collection."
Joe, clearly flattered, was about to respond when Brent, who had been standing uneasily to one side during this exchange, cleared his throat. Cece glanced sharply at him.
"We were wondering," Brent said, "If you've had a chance to get in touch with Elise yet."
Cece blinked in surprise. "What time is it?"
"A little after two."
"Oh dear. Where does the time go? I meant to call at noon." She glanced around her studio as if looking for something. "I can't call from up here," she pointed out. "I refuse to bring my phone in here because I don't want any distractions." Her gaze fell on her palette of fresh oils and her dirty brushes lying on a rag next to a cup of linseed oil. "Why don't you two go inside and ask Petra to make you some sandwiches. There's some delicious shrimp salad that she made yesterday. I'll clean up here and be inside in a few minutes. I'll call Elise right after we eat."
After casting a quick warning glance at Brent, Joe gave a semblance of a shrug. "That'll be fine. We'll see you downstairs in a few minutes." They went down the staircase and made their way toward the house.
"She's stalling," Brent said.
"I know."
"Why didn't you call her on it?"
"What was I supposed to do? Demand she drop everything and take us to where Elise is staying?"
"That wouldn't be such a bad idea."
"Sure. And she either calls ahead and tips her off, or else gets pissed and refuses to help us at all." Joe gave a grim shake of his head. "Women stick together. If Cece was lying to us last night, we're out of luck, anyway. And if she was telling the truth that Elise is staying put for a few days, we'll have to play the game her way for awhile. Soften her up a bit."
Brent let out a chuckle. "Well, it won't take much. That woman is crazy about you."
"I don't know what you're talking about. If she seems friendly, it's just because she likes my work. A lot of people like it, you know."
Brent scoffed. "Enough with the humility bullshit, okay? As if I didn't know you've been featured in at least half a dozen magazines. Elise loves to brag on you, you know."
"No, I didn't know."
"Well she does. Did. Anyway, Cece has a lot more than art on her mind."
"She seems sincere enough."
"Oh, I don't doubt her sincerity," Brent said. "I just think that if I were you, I'd be a little more careful. If you'd given her half a chance she would've been all over you back there in the studio."
"Don't go judging other people by your own weak moral standards," Joe snapped. "She's just an old friend of Elise. Of course she's going to be nice. That doesn't mean she's the kind of woman who'd have designs on her friend's husband. I'm sure she's got better character than some people. People like you."
"All I'm saying is it looked like she might have a little more than art on her mind. This could be good, you know. Maybe you could use her interest in you to try and get her to tell us where Elise is."
Joe stopped. "You know, for all your brains, you can really say some stupid things sometimes. If Cece does like me as something more than a fellow artist, that would make her less likely to want to tell us where Elise is, don't you think?" He turned and started back up the path. "So it's a good thing she doesn't like me that way."
Brent's eyebrows flickered. "Whatever you say."
He noticed the open closet door, his change of clothes on hangers and his shoes neatly shined. Scouring the room now, he located his underwear, socks and belt inside a dresser drawer. He found his comb, toothbrush and razor neatly laid out for him in the bathroom, along with a stack of fresh towels and a clean terry robe. Amused but pleased, Brent started the water for his shower.
After he had showered, shaved and dressed, he tapped on the door of the next room. Getting no answer, he pushed it gently. He found the bedclothes in disarray and Joe's few belongings unpacked. Brent headed down the stairs and found Joe in the kitchen drinking a cup of coffee.
"How'd you sleep?" Brent asked, sitting down.
"Fine."
"How long have you been up?"
"Not long."
A young Mexican woman, a different one from the night before, set a cup of coffee in front of him. "Thank you," Brent told her. "What's your name?"
The woman didn't answer and walked to the other side of the kitchen and began stirring something in a bowl.
"This one doesn't speak much English," Joe said.
"I see." Brent blew on his coffee. "Where's Cece this morning?"
"You mean this afternoon?"
He looked at the clock on the wall. Two o'clock. "Okay. Where is she?"
Joe shrugged. "I haven't seen her since last night."
"Does the maid know? I thought you spoke Spanish."
"I do."
"Then why don't you ask?"
Joe drained the last of his coffee and set the cup down with a thump. After casting an annoyed look at Brent, he went to where the maid was greasing a cookie tin. "Dónde está Cece?"
The young woman gestured toward the back door. "Está en el studio, segundo piso del edificio de atrás."
Joe thanked her and returned to the breakfast table. "Says she's in her studio. It's the upstairs floor of some building out back."
"Let's go have a look," Brent said, standing up.
Joe shook his head. "Didn't anybody ever tell you it's bad manners to go barging in on someone in their studio? She might not want to be disturbed. I know I sure don't want people just wandering in when I'm working."
"But she could be in there all day."
"Hey, I want to get this over with, too. I just also know I get pissed when people interrupt me when I'm working. I don't want her getting mad at us and refusing to help. This has to be handled carefully."
"Cece doesn't strike me as the kind of person who gets mad about much of anything," Brent said. He motioned with his head toward the door.
"I don't know how you've become the expert on women around here," Joe grumbled, following him out the door onto the patio.
"And I don't know why you're in such a bad mood today."
"I've got a lot on my mind, okay? You, of all people, should know that."
Brent looked around the back yard, taking in the shaded wrought iron benches and a few pieces of old and crumbling statuary amid dense shrubbery carved into vaguely animal shapes. A small building to the left caught his eye-- a tiny iron-columned replica of the main house, its spires and narrow diamond-paned windows glittering in the weak winter light.
When they got to the door, they found it locked. Joe pushed Brent aside and pulled on it hard. Finding that he couldn't open it, he looked around and spotted an outside staircase leading to a door on the second floor.
At the top of the steps, Joe tapped on the door and a woman shouted for him to come in. They stepped into a large expanse of wood flooring and paneled walls lit by windows and skylights. In the middle of the room sat Cece at her easel, dressed in cuffed jeans and a billowing man's dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She set down a sable brush and smiled. "Good morning, gentlemen. How did you sleep?"
"Just fine, thank you," Joe said. "I hope we're not disturbing you."
"Of course not." Cece stood and spread her arms in welcome. "I love having visitors to my studio. I get so few, especially persons with great artistic talent. I'm afraid my own mediocre efforts must suffer by comparison." She indicated with a sweep of her arm the canvases, finished and unfinished, hanging about the room and leaning against the walls.
Joe's lips curled in amusement. "I'm hardly some great talent. I've just been lucky." He walked over to a painting of hyacinths in a bowl, done in broad brushstrokes and vivid yellows and reds. "I sure can't paint."
"I bet you just haven't tried," Cece said, hovering at his elbow. "I'm surprised Elise didn't get you hooked on it. Someone with your ability to capture emotion in wood must be able to transfer that talent to other mediums."
When Joe answered with a disbelieving look, she put a hand on his arm and went on. "I've seen so much of your work, you know. That one at St. Catherine of Siena's took my breath away the first time I saw it. Such a fine, gentle expression on her face and such delicate features. It makes you think she loves you enough to pray you straight into heaven."
"That sounds a little sacrilegious," Joe said. "But I'm glad you like it."
"I've always been a fan of your work, even your early metal works. But I especially love your carvings. I'm on one of the committees at the contemporary arts museum, you know, and I've been trying for over a year now to convince them to add one of your pieces to the collection."
Joe, clearly flattered, was about to respond when Brent, who had been standing uneasily to one side during this exchange, cleared his throat. Cece glanced sharply at him.
"We were wondering," Brent said, "If you've had a chance to get in touch with Elise yet."
Cece blinked in surprise. "What time is it?"
"A little after two."
"Oh dear. Where does the time go? I meant to call at noon." She glanced around her studio as if looking for something. "I can't call from up here," she pointed out. "I refuse to bring my phone in here because I don't want any distractions." Her gaze fell on her palette of fresh oils and her dirty brushes lying on a rag next to a cup of linseed oil. "Why don't you two go inside and ask Petra to make you some sandwiches. There's some delicious shrimp salad that she made yesterday. I'll clean up here and be inside in a few minutes. I'll call Elise right after we eat."
After casting a quick warning glance at Brent, Joe gave a semblance of a shrug. "That'll be fine. We'll see you downstairs in a few minutes." They went down the staircase and made their way toward the house.
"She's stalling," Brent said.
"I know."
"Why didn't you call her on it?"
"What was I supposed to do? Demand she drop everything and take us to where Elise is staying?"
"That wouldn't be such a bad idea."
"Sure. And she either calls ahead and tips her off, or else gets pissed and refuses to help us at all." Joe gave a grim shake of his head. "Women stick together. If Cece was lying to us last night, we're out of luck, anyway. And if she was telling the truth that Elise is staying put for a few days, we'll have to play the game her way for awhile. Soften her up a bit."
Brent let out a chuckle. "Well, it won't take much. That woman is crazy about you."
"I don't know what you're talking about. If she seems friendly, it's just because she likes my work. A lot of people like it, you know."
Brent scoffed. "Enough with the humility bullshit, okay? As if I didn't know you've been featured in at least half a dozen magazines. Elise loves to brag on you, you know."
"No, I didn't know."
"Well she does. Did. Anyway, Cece has a lot more than art on her mind."
"She seems sincere enough."
"Oh, I don't doubt her sincerity," Brent said. "I just think that if I were you, I'd be a little more careful. If you'd given her half a chance she would've been all over you back there in the studio."
"Don't go judging other people by your own weak moral standards," Joe snapped. "She's just an old friend of Elise. Of course she's going to be nice. That doesn't mean she's the kind of woman who'd have designs on her friend's husband. I'm sure she's got better character than some people. People like you."
"All I'm saying is it looked like she might have a little more than art on her mind. This could be good, you know. Maybe you could use her interest in you to try and get her to tell us where Elise is."
Joe stopped. "You know, for all your brains, you can really say some stupid things sometimes. If Cece does like me as something more than a fellow artist, that would make her less likely to want to tell us where Elise is, don't you think?" He turned and started back up the path. "So it's a good thing she doesn't like me that way."
Brent's eyebrows flickered. "Whatever you say."
Chapter Seventeen
The door opened a crack and a heavy-set Mexican woman peered out.
"We're looking for Cecilia Kirk," Brent said.
"She's asleep. What do you want?"
Joe stepped forward. "We're actually looking for Elise Riddisee. Ms. Kirk picked her up at St. Jude's hospital earlier this morning. I'm Elise's husband, Joe Urgulano."
The maid's eyes widened. "Wait here."
A few minutes later the door opened again and a curvy woman with green eyes and a head of thick blonde curls stepped out. "Good morning, gentlemen." She smiled in a way that suggested their arrival was not unexpected. Her gaze fell on Joe, and the smile became more genuine. "How nice to see you again, Joe." She extended a hand.
He took her hand cautiously. "I'm sorry, I don’t remember..."
"I was at your wedding, although I'm not surprised you don't remember me. You only had eyes for Elise that day."
Joe nodded slowly. "I think I remember you. Her friend from the theater, right?"
Cece beamed. "Yes, Elise and I became friends during my brief, and I'm afraid rather futile, attempt at community theater." She laughed. "She was always so helpful to me, no matter how bad I was. My husband used to say that I should stick to theater patronage rather than theater performance, but Elise had faith in me." She noticed Brent was shivering. "Are you gentlemen cold?" She opened the door wide. "Please come in. You woke me out of a dream, and I've completely forgotten my good manners."
The two men stepped into an entrance of dark wood paneling and black marble floors. They looked around, taking in the high ceilings bordered with intricately carved molding. A wrought iron chandelier hung from the center of the small room, but was unlit, the primary sources of light being the faintly glowing wall sconces and the soft light of early morning filtering through the windows on either side of the door. Cece looked the men up and down. "You two boys look like you've been up all night."
"We have been," Brent said.
"And who are you, dear? I didn't catch your name."
"Brent Conner. We're sorry to have woken you up."
Cece gave a catlike smile. "This seems to have been a bad night for getting any rest."
"So we're at the right place then? You did pick Elise up from the hospital?" Joe asked.
"Yes, poor thing. She always hated hospitals. She said it has something to do with a bout of anemia as a child and those hospital vampires drawing blood all the time."
"So she's here now?" Joe craned his neck, trying to look behind her.
"Good lord, no." Catching the expression Joe's face, she tried to reassure him. "I did my best to convince her. I certainly have enough room for her and I thought for sure our old friendship would prevail." Cece pushed a curl out of her eyes. "But she was very emotional and would have none of it. She told me to take her to someone else's place. She said that she felt safer there than with me. Can you imagine?"
"Where did you take her?" Joe demanded. "Back to Sylvia Lobo's place?" He had slipped his keys into his jacket pocket, but he took them out and looked ready to make a dash for the door.
"With all those wild people? No, she was adamant about that-- there were too many people in and out of there for her taste. From the sound of it, I don't think I would've taken her there even if she wanted me to."
"So where did you take her?"
"I'm afraid she asked me not to tell."
"Oh, hell!" Joe slapped his forehead. "Everywhere I've gone tonight I've run into people who know where she is and won't tell me." He took a step toward her. "Please. I'm tired. I'm hungry. Elise is going to have a baby, and I don't even know where she is. I won't say it was you who told me. Just tell me where she is so I can go talk to her."
Cece gave him a reassuring smile. "I’m so sorry. I had no idea it was you who might be looking for her, or I would've tried harder to make her come here, but she swore you knew about all this."
"If you can call finding a note on the kitchen counter 'knowing' about it."
"That was a dirty trick, wasn't it?" Cece agreed. "Elise is planning to stay where I took her for at least a couple of days. Why don't you come in the kitchen and let Lupe fix you some breakfast? I've got several guest rooms, each with its own bathroom. You can take showers, get some sleep, and when you wake up I'll call her. I’m sure we'll be able to straighten this whole mess out. So how about it? It would be an honor to have a famous artist and his friend as guests in my home."
The men looked at each other. "How do we know you're not going to scare her into running away again?" Joe asked.
Brent nodded. "It would really be better if we just wrapped this thing up right now. Better for her, better for you, and just better all around."
Cece gazed at them solemnly. "I'm on your side, believe me, but based on my conversation with her, I don't think this is the right way to go about it." She smiled as if seeking to calm a couple of agitated children. "I'll handle this very discreetly. I won't even tell her you're here. I'll tell her I threw you completely off track and that there's no way you'll be finding her without my help. But of course, I'll tell her she should reconsider what she's doing. I'm sure she'll come around. I can be very persuasive." She put her hands on her hips and sighed. "So come on. I would love the honor of having you as my guests."
The two men gave each other dejected looks, their resolution faltering. "Well," Brent said, "Since we have no other good leads at this point, I guess you've got yourself some house guests."
Joe nodded wearily. "But there's no need to feel honored. Really, I'm the one that's honored. You've got a nice place here, Cece."
Cece clapped her hands. "So you'll stay? Oh, good." She turned toward one of the three pointed archways leading out of the foyer and motioned the men to follow her. They walked past oil paintings in gloomy Old Masters style, dark bookcases full of dusty tomes, and bunches of dried grasses and flowers in heavy silver vases while she kept up a cheery monologue about how lonely the house had been since her husband died. "So few of our old friends want to come and see me," she said as they entered the kitchen. "And the ones who do drop by seem to think I'm not properly sorry he's gone. You don't know who your real friends are until someone dies."
The maid had followed them into the room, and now Cece turned to her. "Lupe, dear, make up a pot of coffee for these gentlemen, and fix them..." she turned to Joe and Brent. "What would you like? It's morning, so omelets would be good. But maybe you'd prefer French toast? And Lupe makes delicious cinnamon apple pancakes." She turned to Lupe, who had begun spooning coffee into the coffee maker. "Do you have everything you need to make those cinnamon pancakes?"
Lupe nodded without looking up from her work.
"Good." She turned back to the men. "You two just sit back and relax. Lupe will take good care of you." She headed back toward the hallway. "I'll go upstairs and make sure the guest rooms are presentable. Do you have any bags with you?"
Brent stood up. "I'll bring them in." He held his hand out to Joe for the keys, then let Cece lead him back to the front door.
Cece watched while he brought in the bags, then directed him up the stairs. "There's three rooms on your right," she instructed him. "Pick one for yourself, and Joe can have whichever of the others he likes."
Brent trudged up the stairs and looked around. The first room was decorated in blue, with an iron frame bed and walls covered in scenes of ships being tossed about in storms. It had a window overlooking the street and after admiring the view for a moment Brent set the computer on the desk, dropped his bag beside the bed and sat down. He bounced on the mattress a little, then threw himself backward onto the feather pillows and closed his eyes. After a few minutes he got up, exhaustion weighing heavier on him for having rested a moment, and went to put Joe's duffel bag inside the doorway of the next room, larger than his own, full of dark mahogany furniture and paintings of bloody hunting scenes. Satisfied, he made his way down the stairs.
The smell of French roast coffee hit him as he entered the kitchen and he sat down at the breakfast table to find a steaming mug already waiting for him, with cream, sugar, and silver spoons set out on a tray in the center of the table. Joe was sipping his coffee, exchanging a few quiet words with Cece. They barely glanced up as Brent sat down. "I picked a room for you," Brent said. "It's green. But if you don't like it, there's another one down the hall."
"If it's got a bed, it'll do."
"Oh, you'll like the green one," Cece told him. "It's the largest guest room I have, although the one at the end of the hall is closer to mine, which could be more convenient."
"Like I said, I don't much care, so long as I have a place to lie down."
"There could be advantages to being closer to my room." Cece's eyes lit up as if she was about to make a pert remark, but Brent interrupted.
"Breakfast smells delicious. Nice of you to go to all this trouble for us."
Cece made a terse reply about the duties of a hostess, then stood up. "I suppose I should be off to bed. Make yourselves at home and sleep as late as you like. If there's anything you need, just ask." She made as if to touch Joe's shoulder then seemed to think better of it and headed down the hall.
"Did I say something wrong?" Brent asked.
"I thought you knew better than to interrupt someone, especially when they're doing you a favor."
The warm aroma of cinnamon and apples drifted from where Lupe was working over the skillet. Finally she brought two plates over. "If you want more, let me know."
"Thank you," Joe said, reaching for his fork.
"This looks delicious," Brent added.
Lupe said nothing and went to the sink where she began washing the cooking utensils.
The men dove into their pancakes, pausing only to let Lupe refill their coffee. When there was no longer even syrup residue on their plates, Joe leaned back in his chair and rested a hand on his stomach. "Best breakfast I've had in a long time."
"Thank you, Lupe," Brent said. "It was delicious."
Lupe looked up shyly from scrubbing the skillet. "Are you going to bed now? Is there anything you want?"
"No," they reassured her, and Brent added, "I think for right now, at least, we have everything we need."
"We're looking for Cecilia Kirk," Brent said.
"She's asleep. What do you want?"
Joe stepped forward. "We're actually looking for Elise Riddisee. Ms. Kirk picked her up at St. Jude's hospital earlier this morning. I'm Elise's husband, Joe Urgulano."
The maid's eyes widened. "Wait here."
A few minutes later the door opened again and a curvy woman with green eyes and a head of thick blonde curls stepped out. "Good morning, gentlemen." She smiled in a way that suggested their arrival was not unexpected. Her gaze fell on Joe, and the smile became more genuine. "How nice to see you again, Joe." She extended a hand.
He took her hand cautiously. "I'm sorry, I don’t remember..."
"I was at your wedding, although I'm not surprised you don't remember me. You only had eyes for Elise that day."
Joe nodded slowly. "I think I remember you. Her friend from the theater, right?"
Cece beamed. "Yes, Elise and I became friends during my brief, and I'm afraid rather futile, attempt at community theater." She laughed. "She was always so helpful to me, no matter how bad I was. My husband used to say that I should stick to theater patronage rather than theater performance, but Elise had faith in me." She noticed Brent was shivering. "Are you gentlemen cold?" She opened the door wide. "Please come in. You woke me out of a dream, and I've completely forgotten my good manners."
The two men stepped into an entrance of dark wood paneling and black marble floors. They looked around, taking in the high ceilings bordered with intricately carved molding. A wrought iron chandelier hung from the center of the small room, but was unlit, the primary sources of light being the faintly glowing wall sconces and the soft light of early morning filtering through the windows on either side of the door. Cece looked the men up and down. "You two boys look like you've been up all night."
"We have been," Brent said.
"And who are you, dear? I didn't catch your name."
"Brent Conner. We're sorry to have woken you up."
Cece gave a catlike smile. "This seems to have been a bad night for getting any rest."
"So we're at the right place then? You did pick Elise up from the hospital?" Joe asked.
"Yes, poor thing. She always hated hospitals. She said it has something to do with a bout of anemia as a child and those hospital vampires drawing blood all the time."
"So she's here now?" Joe craned his neck, trying to look behind her.
"Good lord, no." Catching the expression Joe's face, she tried to reassure him. "I did my best to convince her. I certainly have enough room for her and I thought for sure our old friendship would prevail." Cece pushed a curl out of her eyes. "But she was very emotional and would have none of it. She told me to take her to someone else's place. She said that she felt safer there than with me. Can you imagine?"
"Where did you take her?" Joe demanded. "Back to Sylvia Lobo's place?" He had slipped his keys into his jacket pocket, but he took them out and looked ready to make a dash for the door.
"With all those wild people? No, she was adamant about that-- there were too many people in and out of there for her taste. From the sound of it, I don't think I would've taken her there even if she wanted me to."
"So where did you take her?"
"I'm afraid she asked me not to tell."
"Oh, hell!" Joe slapped his forehead. "Everywhere I've gone tonight I've run into people who know where she is and won't tell me." He took a step toward her. "Please. I'm tired. I'm hungry. Elise is going to have a baby, and I don't even know where she is. I won't say it was you who told me. Just tell me where she is so I can go talk to her."
Cece gave him a reassuring smile. "I’m so sorry. I had no idea it was you who might be looking for her, or I would've tried harder to make her come here, but she swore you knew about all this."
"If you can call finding a note on the kitchen counter 'knowing' about it."
"That was a dirty trick, wasn't it?" Cece agreed. "Elise is planning to stay where I took her for at least a couple of days. Why don't you come in the kitchen and let Lupe fix you some breakfast? I've got several guest rooms, each with its own bathroom. You can take showers, get some sleep, and when you wake up I'll call her. I’m sure we'll be able to straighten this whole mess out. So how about it? It would be an honor to have a famous artist and his friend as guests in my home."
The men looked at each other. "How do we know you're not going to scare her into running away again?" Joe asked.
Brent nodded. "It would really be better if we just wrapped this thing up right now. Better for her, better for you, and just better all around."
Cece gazed at them solemnly. "I'm on your side, believe me, but based on my conversation with her, I don't think this is the right way to go about it." She smiled as if seeking to calm a couple of agitated children. "I'll handle this very discreetly. I won't even tell her you're here. I'll tell her I threw you completely off track and that there's no way you'll be finding her without my help. But of course, I'll tell her she should reconsider what she's doing. I'm sure she'll come around. I can be very persuasive." She put her hands on her hips and sighed. "So come on. I would love the honor of having you as my guests."
The two men gave each other dejected looks, their resolution faltering. "Well," Brent said, "Since we have no other good leads at this point, I guess you've got yourself some house guests."
Joe nodded wearily. "But there's no need to feel honored. Really, I'm the one that's honored. You've got a nice place here, Cece."
Cece clapped her hands. "So you'll stay? Oh, good." She turned toward one of the three pointed archways leading out of the foyer and motioned the men to follow her. They walked past oil paintings in gloomy Old Masters style, dark bookcases full of dusty tomes, and bunches of dried grasses and flowers in heavy silver vases while she kept up a cheery monologue about how lonely the house had been since her husband died. "So few of our old friends want to come and see me," she said as they entered the kitchen. "And the ones who do drop by seem to think I'm not properly sorry he's gone. You don't know who your real friends are until someone dies."
The maid had followed them into the room, and now Cece turned to her. "Lupe, dear, make up a pot of coffee for these gentlemen, and fix them..." she turned to Joe and Brent. "What would you like? It's morning, so omelets would be good. But maybe you'd prefer French toast? And Lupe makes delicious cinnamon apple pancakes." She turned to Lupe, who had begun spooning coffee into the coffee maker. "Do you have everything you need to make those cinnamon pancakes?"
Lupe nodded without looking up from her work.
"Good." She turned back to the men. "You two just sit back and relax. Lupe will take good care of you." She headed back toward the hallway. "I'll go upstairs and make sure the guest rooms are presentable. Do you have any bags with you?"
Brent stood up. "I'll bring them in." He held his hand out to Joe for the keys, then let Cece lead him back to the front door.
Cece watched while he brought in the bags, then directed him up the stairs. "There's three rooms on your right," she instructed him. "Pick one for yourself, and Joe can have whichever of the others he likes."
Brent trudged up the stairs and looked around. The first room was decorated in blue, with an iron frame bed and walls covered in scenes of ships being tossed about in storms. It had a window overlooking the street and after admiring the view for a moment Brent set the computer on the desk, dropped his bag beside the bed and sat down. He bounced on the mattress a little, then threw himself backward onto the feather pillows and closed his eyes. After a few minutes he got up, exhaustion weighing heavier on him for having rested a moment, and went to put Joe's duffel bag inside the doorway of the next room, larger than his own, full of dark mahogany furniture and paintings of bloody hunting scenes. Satisfied, he made his way down the stairs.
The smell of French roast coffee hit him as he entered the kitchen and he sat down at the breakfast table to find a steaming mug already waiting for him, with cream, sugar, and silver spoons set out on a tray in the center of the table. Joe was sipping his coffee, exchanging a few quiet words with Cece. They barely glanced up as Brent sat down. "I picked a room for you," Brent said. "It's green. But if you don't like it, there's another one down the hall."
"If it's got a bed, it'll do."
"Oh, you'll like the green one," Cece told him. "It's the largest guest room I have, although the one at the end of the hall is closer to mine, which could be more convenient."
"Like I said, I don't much care, so long as I have a place to lie down."
"There could be advantages to being closer to my room." Cece's eyes lit up as if she was about to make a pert remark, but Brent interrupted.
"Breakfast smells delicious. Nice of you to go to all this trouble for us."
Cece made a terse reply about the duties of a hostess, then stood up. "I suppose I should be off to bed. Make yourselves at home and sleep as late as you like. If there's anything you need, just ask." She made as if to touch Joe's shoulder then seemed to think better of it and headed down the hall.
"Did I say something wrong?" Brent asked.
"I thought you knew better than to interrupt someone, especially when they're doing you a favor."
The warm aroma of cinnamon and apples drifted from where Lupe was working over the skillet. Finally she brought two plates over. "If you want more, let me know."
"Thank you," Joe said, reaching for his fork.
"This looks delicious," Brent added.
Lupe said nothing and went to the sink where she began washing the cooking utensils.
The men dove into their pancakes, pausing only to let Lupe refill their coffee. When there was no longer even syrup residue on their plates, Joe leaned back in his chair and rested a hand on his stomach. "Best breakfast I've had in a long time."
"Thank you, Lupe," Brent said. "It was delicious."
Lupe looked up shyly from scrubbing the skillet. "Are you going to bed now? Is there anything you want?"
"No," they reassured her, and Brent added, "I think for right now, at least, we have everything we need."
Chapter Sixteen
"Cecilia Kirk," the nurse said, reading from the computer screen.
"Do you have an address or phone number?" Joe asked.
"We don't collect that information."
"How am I supposed to find her, then?"
"Maybe she's in the phone directory, but I can't help you with anything like that. Even if we had that information, it would be considered confidential."
"So that's all you can tell me?"
Before the nurse could answer, Brent tugged at his sleeve. "We can find her, especially since we also have the name Elise is going by."
Joe jerked his arm away. "Ellen James? Maybe it's the right name, more likely it's not."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean you don't have to show ID in a public hospital. Why would she use a name that could endanger everything she's done so far to cover her tracks?" He gave Brent a contemptuous glance, then turned back to the nurse. "Have you got a phone book I can look at?"
Brent pulled out his smart phone. "That won't be necessary." He tapped his phone while Joe paced the floor, arms folded tightly across his chest. "Here she is," Brent finally said. "215 Rowan. I'm not familiar with that street. Judging from the telephone prefix, though, it's inner-city." He looked up. "Joe?"
"What?" Joe refused to look at him.
"Never mind," Brent turned to the nurse with a forced smile. "Could I get a piece of paper and something to write with?" When the nurse handed him a ballpoint and a post-it pad with the St. Jude Thaddeus logo on it, he thanked her and scribbled down Cecilia's phone number and address. He folded up the scrap of paper, put it in his wallet and thanked the nurse again. He turned to Joe. "What do you want to do? We could try calling, but that might not be as good a plan as just showing up. I have no idea where this street is, though."
"Neither do I," Joe said testily. He shoved his hands in his pockets and headed toward the exit without looking to see if Brent was following him.
Brent hurried to catch up. "We'll use my GPS," he offered. He pulled his coat tightly around himself as the wind blew trash, debris and other hazards across the parking lot. He tried to keep up with Joe, but couldn't follow his rapid, random weaving through the sea of parked cars. When they finally got to the truck, Brent was out of breath.
It took Joe several minutes to unlock the passenger door, then he started the engine and fiddled with the knobs controlling the heater and radio before unlocking Brent's door almost as an afterthought. When Brent finally got into the car, he was chilled and his nails were faintly blue. "Why are you being like this?"
Joe pretended to be absorbed in the mechanics of pulling out of the parking space. "As if you didn't know."
"What do you mean, 'as if I didn't know?'" Brent's voice was steady, but his hands shook. "I had no idea Elise was pregnant. I would've told you if I did."
"Like hell you would've."
"What do you mean? This makes everything make sense. Why would I have tried to hide it from you?"
"You know why."
Brent's eyes widened. "You think this is my baby? How do you know it's not yours?"
Joe pulled the truck out onto the street, picking a direction at random. "Why would she have left if it was mine?" He shook his head. "No, that's your kid. Any idea what you're going to name it? I wonder what your wife will say? Maybe she'll want to help raise it, do you think?"
Brent slammed a fist against the side of the door. "Man, you don't know it's not your kid. She probably doesn't know, herself. That's why she left-- I'm sure of it. To her way of thinking, this solves everything. Now it's no one's baby, and she doesn't have to explain anything to anyone. She can get an abortion, adopt it out, raise it herself, anything she wants, and there's no one she has to justify it to."
"She's not getting out of it that easy," Joe said, braking for a light. "She still has to explain it to me."
"Not if you don't know where you're going," Brent pointed out. "Do you even know where Rowan Street is?"
The light changed, and Joe stepped on the gas. "No."
"Then pull over while I look us up on GPS."
Joe cut the wheel and pulled into a gas station where he waited sullenly while Brent toyed with his phone. "Here it is," he finally said. "No wonder I never heard of it. Looks like it's only a couple blocks long."
"Let me see that." Joe jerked the phone out of Brent's hands. "Nice neighborhood," he observed. "That's over in Delphi Grove. I had no idea Elise had any friends rich enough to live there. What else don't I know about her?"
Brent sighed. "Maybe it's one of her dancer friends, made good. She has all kinds of friends. I don't know everything."
"Could've fooled me." Joe glared at Brent out of the corner of his eye as he pulled back out onto the street. "She has all kinds of friends, though, I'll grant you that. Drug dealers, woodcarvers, marketing directors...she seems willing to even make babies with marketing directors."
Brent turned around sharply in his seat. "Dammit, Joe! Stop it, okay? Just stop it. You and I have no idea whose baby this is, or even if she's really pregnant, for Christ's sake. What does that doctor know--those tests aren't always accurate. And like you said, she's not supposed to even be able to have a baby. So let's just forget the whole damn thing, okay? When we find her, if she's got something to tell us, let's let her do the telling, because I'm sure as hell not going to sit here arguing over who fathered a child that we don't even know exists."
"Oh, Elise is pregnant. I'm sure of it now. It's the only thing that makes sense. Explains why she was so moody and strange in the weeks before she left, asking me funny questions about whether I regretted never having kids. It explains why she left at all. Yeah, one of us is going to be a father."
"What makes you so sure it's not going to be you?"
"What makes you so sure it is?" Joe countered. When Brent didn't answer, he fell silent, his jaw clenched, his hands gripping the wheel tightly as he drove. As they were driving, the scenery had been changing from the tenements and run-down liquor stores near St. Jude's to more upscale shopping centers and apartment complexes. Now these gave way to tree-shaded museums, elegant tall churches, and stone-hewn private schools surrounded by crested iron fences and manicured shrubbery.
They turned onto a tree-lined boulevard shaded by oaks so tall the branches had woven together over the road. The sun was just beginning to turn the sky pink through the interlaced branches as they passed mansions of all description-- white-columned Georgians, red-tiled palazzos, and even a tiny castle of gray stone. After a few twists and turns, Joe found Rowan Street, a spur off a secondary street branching off the main road through Delphi Grove.
Brent leaned against the door, checking the street numbers. "There it is," he said. "The Gothic Revival up there on the left."
"The what?"
"The dark one with the pointy windows," Brent said testily.
Joe pulled into the circular driveway. "It would help if you spoke regular English."
"Gothic Revival is an architectural style."
"I never studied architecture, and you know it." Joe shut off the engine and rested his hands on the steering wheel, staring up at the twisting iron columns, casting gloomy shadows on the entryway in the pale morning light. "I hope they let us in, but at least we've found her."
Brent tried to smooth his hair. "I sure hope so, or that we can at least get some breakfast." He opened the door and jumped down, waiting on the steps for Joe to join him. Together they approached the ornately carved double door and after only a moment's hesitation, Brent rang the bell.
"Do you have an address or phone number?" Joe asked.
"We don't collect that information."
"How am I supposed to find her, then?"
"Maybe she's in the phone directory, but I can't help you with anything like that. Even if we had that information, it would be considered confidential."
"So that's all you can tell me?"
Before the nurse could answer, Brent tugged at his sleeve. "We can find her, especially since we also have the name Elise is going by."
Joe jerked his arm away. "Ellen James? Maybe it's the right name, more likely it's not."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean you don't have to show ID in a public hospital. Why would she use a name that could endanger everything she's done so far to cover her tracks?" He gave Brent a contemptuous glance, then turned back to the nurse. "Have you got a phone book I can look at?"
Brent pulled out his smart phone. "That won't be necessary." He tapped his phone while Joe paced the floor, arms folded tightly across his chest. "Here she is," Brent finally said. "215 Rowan. I'm not familiar with that street. Judging from the telephone prefix, though, it's inner-city." He looked up. "Joe?"
"What?" Joe refused to look at him.
"Never mind," Brent turned to the nurse with a forced smile. "Could I get a piece of paper and something to write with?" When the nurse handed him a ballpoint and a post-it pad with the St. Jude Thaddeus logo on it, he thanked her and scribbled down Cecilia's phone number and address. He folded up the scrap of paper, put it in his wallet and thanked the nurse again. He turned to Joe. "What do you want to do? We could try calling, but that might not be as good a plan as just showing up. I have no idea where this street is, though."
"Neither do I," Joe said testily. He shoved his hands in his pockets and headed toward the exit without looking to see if Brent was following him.
Brent hurried to catch up. "We'll use my GPS," he offered. He pulled his coat tightly around himself as the wind blew trash, debris and other hazards across the parking lot. He tried to keep up with Joe, but couldn't follow his rapid, random weaving through the sea of parked cars. When they finally got to the truck, Brent was out of breath.
It took Joe several minutes to unlock the passenger door, then he started the engine and fiddled with the knobs controlling the heater and radio before unlocking Brent's door almost as an afterthought. When Brent finally got into the car, he was chilled and his nails were faintly blue. "Why are you being like this?"
Joe pretended to be absorbed in the mechanics of pulling out of the parking space. "As if you didn't know."
"What do you mean, 'as if I didn't know?'" Brent's voice was steady, but his hands shook. "I had no idea Elise was pregnant. I would've told you if I did."
"Like hell you would've."
"What do you mean? This makes everything make sense. Why would I have tried to hide it from you?"
"You know why."
Brent's eyes widened. "You think this is my baby? How do you know it's not yours?"
Joe pulled the truck out onto the street, picking a direction at random. "Why would she have left if it was mine?" He shook his head. "No, that's your kid. Any idea what you're going to name it? I wonder what your wife will say? Maybe she'll want to help raise it, do you think?"
Brent slammed a fist against the side of the door. "Man, you don't know it's not your kid. She probably doesn't know, herself. That's why she left-- I'm sure of it. To her way of thinking, this solves everything. Now it's no one's baby, and she doesn't have to explain anything to anyone. She can get an abortion, adopt it out, raise it herself, anything she wants, and there's no one she has to justify it to."
"She's not getting out of it that easy," Joe said, braking for a light. "She still has to explain it to me."
"Not if you don't know where you're going," Brent pointed out. "Do you even know where Rowan Street is?"
The light changed, and Joe stepped on the gas. "No."
"Then pull over while I look us up on GPS."
Joe cut the wheel and pulled into a gas station where he waited sullenly while Brent toyed with his phone. "Here it is," he finally said. "No wonder I never heard of it. Looks like it's only a couple blocks long."
"Let me see that." Joe jerked the phone out of Brent's hands. "Nice neighborhood," he observed. "That's over in Delphi Grove. I had no idea Elise had any friends rich enough to live there. What else don't I know about her?"
Brent sighed. "Maybe it's one of her dancer friends, made good. She has all kinds of friends. I don't know everything."
"Could've fooled me." Joe glared at Brent out of the corner of his eye as he pulled back out onto the street. "She has all kinds of friends, though, I'll grant you that. Drug dealers, woodcarvers, marketing directors...she seems willing to even make babies with marketing directors."
Brent turned around sharply in his seat. "Dammit, Joe! Stop it, okay? Just stop it. You and I have no idea whose baby this is, or even if she's really pregnant, for Christ's sake. What does that doctor know--those tests aren't always accurate. And like you said, she's not supposed to even be able to have a baby. So let's just forget the whole damn thing, okay? When we find her, if she's got something to tell us, let's let her do the telling, because I'm sure as hell not going to sit here arguing over who fathered a child that we don't even know exists."
"Oh, Elise is pregnant. I'm sure of it now. It's the only thing that makes sense. Explains why she was so moody and strange in the weeks before she left, asking me funny questions about whether I regretted never having kids. It explains why she left at all. Yeah, one of us is going to be a father."
"What makes you so sure it's not going to be you?"
"What makes you so sure it is?" Joe countered. When Brent didn't answer, he fell silent, his jaw clenched, his hands gripping the wheel tightly as he drove. As they were driving, the scenery had been changing from the tenements and run-down liquor stores near St. Jude's to more upscale shopping centers and apartment complexes. Now these gave way to tree-shaded museums, elegant tall churches, and stone-hewn private schools surrounded by crested iron fences and manicured shrubbery.
They turned onto a tree-lined boulevard shaded by oaks so tall the branches had woven together over the road. The sun was just beginning to turn the sky pink through the interlaced branches as they passed mansions of all description-- white-columned Georgians, red-tiled palazzos, and even a tiny castle of gray stone. After a few twists and turns, Joe found Rowan Street, a spur off a secondary street branching off the main road through Delphi Grove.
Brent leaned against the door, checking the street numbers. "There it is," he said. "The Gothic Revival up there on the left."
"The what?"
"The dark one with the pointy windows," Brent said testily.
Joe pulled into the circular driveway. "It would help if you spoke regular English."
"Gothic Revival is an architectural style."
"I never studied architecture, and you know it." Joe shut off the engine and rested his hands on the steering wheel, staring up at the twisting iron columns, casting gloomy shadows on the entryway in the pale morning light. "I hope they let us in, but at least we've found her."
Brent tried to smooth his hair. "I sure hope so, or that we can at least get some breakfast." He opened the door and jumped down, waiting on the steps for Joe to join him. Together they approached the ornately carved double door and after only a moment's hesitation, Brent rang the bell.
Chapter Fifteen
Both men lapsed into silence, staring around them at the floor and the room without really seeing any of it. After several minutes, the swinging doors burst open and a man in dingy gray scrubs stepped out and looked around. Joe and Brent stood up and the doctor came over to them. Joe extended a hand. "Thanks for coming out here to talk to us, doctor," he said.
"No problem." He shook Joe's hand, then turned to shake Brent's. "I'm Dr. Claup."
"Brent Conner."
The doctor turned back to Joe. "And your name, again?"
"Joseph Urgulano."
"You say you're Ellen's husband, right?"
"Is that the name she gave you?" Joe asked. "Ellen?"
Dr. Claup frowned. "Let's make sure we're both talking about the same woman. Around midnight, a dark-haired woman came in here alone. Young, late twenties. She said she'd been at a friend's house and started having abdominal pains, and one of her friends insisted she get checked out, but didn't want to wait here for her. It was kind of a strange story, because she had an overnight bag with her."
Joe nodded. "That's her. We were at that friend's apartment a couple of hours ago, and they say she was talking to someone and started feeling bad."
"Okay," the doctor said. "So it sounds like we are talking about the same person, then." He frowned at both men. "But she told me her name was Ellen. Is that not right?"
Joe and Brent looked at each other. "She goes by Elise at home," Brent said. "But if she wanted you to call her Ellen, that's fine, too."
"What we want to know," Joe said, "Is if she's still here, and if she's okay."
"Oh, she'll be fine," Dr. Claup said, waving his hands. "There really wasn't much we could do for her. We checked her blood pressure, did a few tests, asked a few questions, but she seemed all right. We finally gave her some juice, observed her for an hour, and tried to reassure her."
"So she's okay, then?"
"Of course," the doctor said. "It's probably just something she ate. She didn't seem in any danger of losing the baby."
"Baby?" Joe's face grew suddenly pale. Brent sat down and gripped the edge of the seat.
Dr. Claup looked from one man to the other. "She hadn't told you she's expecting?"
"No," Joe said. "What... how long..."
"About eight weeks or so." Seeing the look of dismay on Joe's face, he patted his shoulder. "I'm sure she meant to tell you soon, herself. Some women are kind of shy like that, you know. Especially with a first child. They like to wait a little bit, make sure everything's okay before they go getting Dad's hopes up." He grinned.
"But that's impossible," Joe said. "She can't have children. A doctor told her that a long time ago."
"Doctors can be wrong."
"And you're sure you aren't wrong about this?"
"Oh, there's no shade of a doubt." He smiled again. "I'm sorry to spoil her news for you, but you must be very happy."
Joe sat down and buried his face in his hands. Brent glanced at him anxiously. "Where is she now?"
Dr. Claup frowned, displeased at the reaction he was getting. "We discharged her a couple of hours ago."
"How did she leave if she was alone?"
The doctor spread his hands in innocence. "I gave instructions that she be released into the care of a responsible individual, since she seemed anxious and needed to rest for a bit, but I have no idea who she left with."
"Who would know?"
The doctor appeared flustered. "The desk clerk should have all the papers on file."
"We had trouble getting anything out of her," Brent said. "Could you maybe talk to her, or have someone else help us? It's really important that we find Elise... Ellen."
Dr. Claup folded his arms across his chest. "Is there something going on here you guys aren't telling me? Is Ellen avoiding you for some reason? You aren't under any kind of restraining order, are you?"
Joe looked up, angry and incredulous. "I never did anything to her, okay? Why does no one want me to find my wife?"
Brent indicated to the doctor with a jerk of his head they should move out of earshot. "Listen," he said quietly. "We've been looking for this woman all night. We're tired, hungry and frustrated. We're not in any kind of legal trouble. Everything's just sort of tangled up right now and we need to find her and tell her it's okay to come home."
"Where do you fit into all this?" the doctor asked. "Are you her brother or something?"
Brent's ears reddened. "I'm a friend."
The doctor nodded slowly to himself, as if seeing how the different pieces of a puzzle fit together. "Are you the baby's father?"
Brent sighed. "I suppose it's a possibility."
I'll get the head nurse to look up Ellen's... uh, Elise's file. It might have the name of the person we released her to."
"Thanks."
"Just having the name might not be much help," Dr. Claup warned.
"It'll be better than nothing."
The doctor shook his head. "I wouldn't be in either of you guys' shoes for anything."
"No problem." He shook Joe's hand, then turned to shake Brent's. "I'm Dr. Claup."
"Brent Conner."
The doctor turned back to Joe. "And your name, again?"
"Joseph Urgulano."
"You say you're Ellen's husband, right?"
"Is that the name she gave you?" Joe asked. "Ellen?"
Dr. Claup frowned. "Let's make sure we're both talking about the same woman. Around midnight, a dark-haired woman came in here alone. Young, late twenties. She said she'd been at a friend's house and started having abdominal pains, and one of her friends insisted she get checked out, but didn't want to wait here for her. It was kind of a strange story, because she had an overnight bag with her."
Joe nodded. "That's her. We were at that friend's apartment a couple of hours ago, and they say she was talking to someone and started feeling bad."
"Okay," the doctor said. "So it sounds like we are talking about the same person, then." He frowned at both men. "But she told me her name was Ellen. Is that not right?"
Joe and Brent looked at each other. "She goes by Elise at home," Brent said. "But if she wanted you to call her Ellen, that's fine, too."
"What we want to know," Joe said, "Is if she's still here, and if she's okay."
"Oh, she'll be fine," Dr. Claup said, waving his hands. "There really wasn't much we could do for her. We checked her blood pressure, did a few tests, asked a few questions, but she seemed all right. We finally gave her some juice, observed her for an hour, and tried to reassure her."
"So she's okay, then?"
"Of course," the doctor said. "It's probably just something she ate. She didn't seem in any danger of losing the baby."
"Baby?" Joe's face grew suddenly pale. Brent sat down and gripped the edge of the seat.
Dr. Claup looked from one man to the other. "She hadn't told you she's expecting?"
"No," Joe said. "What... how long..."
"About eight weeks or so." Seeing the look of dismay on Joe's face, he patted his shoulder. "I'm sure she meant to tell you soon, herself. Some women are kind of shy like that, you know. Especially with a first child. They like to wait a little bit, make sure everything's okay before they go getting Dad's hopes up." He grinned.
"But that's impossible," Joe said. "She can't have children. A doctor told her that a long time ago."
"Doctors can be wrong."
"And you're sure you aren't wrong about this?"
"Oh, there's no shade of a doubt." He smiled again. "I'm sorry to spoil her news for you, but you must be very happy."
Joe sat down and buried his face in his hands. Brent glanced at him anxiously. "Where is she now?"
Dr. Claup frowned, displeased at the reaction he was getting. "We discharged her a couple of hours ago."
"How did she leave if she was alone?"
The doctor spread his hands in innocence. "I gave instructions that she be released into the care of a responsible individual, since she seemed anxious and needed to rest for a bit, but I have no idea who she left with."
"Who would know?"
The doctor appeared flustered. "The desk clerk should have all the papers on file."
"We had trouble getting anything out of her," Brent said. "Could you maybe talk to her, or have someone else help us? It's really important that we find Elise... Ellen."
Dr. Claup folded his arms across his chest. "Is there something going on here you guys aren't telling me? Is Ellen avoiding you for some reason? You aren't under any kind of restraining order, are you?"
Joe looked up, angry and incredulous. "I never did anything to her, okay? Why does no one want me to find my wife?"
Brent indicated to the doctor with a jerk of his head they should move out of earshot. "Listen," he said quietly. "We've been looking for this woman all night. We're tired, hungry and frustrated. We're not in any kind of legal trouble. Everything's just sort of tangled up right now and we need to find her and tell her it's okay to come home."
"Where do you fit into all this?" the doctor asked. "Are you her brother or something?"
Brent's ears reddened. "I'm a friend."
The doctor nodded slowly to himself, as if seeing how the different pieces of a puzzle fit together. "Are you the baby's father?"
Brent sighed. "I suppose it's a possibility."
I'll get the head nurse to look up Ellen's... uh, Elise's file. It might have the name of the person we released her to."
"Thanks."
"Just having the name might not be much help," Dr. Claup warned.
"It'll be better than nothing."
The doctor shook his head. "I wouldn't be in either of you guys' shoes for anything."
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