The Lost Girl (A Mickey Keller Thriller Book 1) Page 6

  She glanced over her shoulder to see Melissa waving at her. Amy turned and walked backward, smiling broadly and wriggling her fingers in response. She swung around and trudged along the grassy parkland, tears rolling down her cheeks.

  Reality hit her. Hard, like a slap to the face. Frustration and anger alternating with intense sadness.

  Goddam clinic. Maybe I should sue.

  11

  That night, ten minutes before closing, Loren stopped by the bakery to pick up an olive and walnut sourdough loaf for garlic bread she and Zach were making with dinner. She waited until Amy clocked out and got her coat on.

  “What’s wrong?” Loren asked.

  “See?”

  Amy turned to find Bobby behind her.

  He shrugged. “It’s not just me.” He held out his hand. “Bobby Macafree. I work with Amy.”

  “Loren Ryder. Amy’s sister-in-law.”

  Bobby gestured at Amy. “She’s not been right. I mean, ‘not right’ more than usual.” He snickered, then stepped around Amy. “Good to meet you, Loren. See you tomorrow, Amy.”

  Amy rolled her eyes and waited for Bobby to walk out of earshot. “Nice guy, but he can really grate on you.”

  Loren gestured with her chin toward the door. “Let’s step outside for a moment.”

  Amy pulled off her apron and hairnet, then followed Loren outside.

  “He’s right, Amy. I can see it on your face. What’s going on?”

  Amy shook her head and began walking. “Nothing. Just having a tough day.”

  “Bullshit.” Loren grabbed Amy’s arm.

  She turned and faced Loren. “Nothing I feel like talking about. Okay? Can you respect that?”

  “Actually, no. You’ve been doing better. I don’t want you crawling back in your hole again.”

  Amy took a deep breath, as if it took all her effort. “That girl. Melissa. I—”

  “What girl?”

  “From the lake. Our run.”

  “You know her name?”

  “She and her nanny go to the lake to feed the ducks and geese. I’ve met them a couple of times during my lunch hour.”

  Loren waited a moment, but Amy was lost in thought. “And?”

  “And—well, she reminds me so much of Lindy and I—I just feel great being around her.”

  “Good. I mean, I’m not a shrink, so I don’t know if it’s a good thing or not. Maybe you’re just torturing yourself, not letting yourself move on.”

  Amy nodded. “I’ve thought about that. But I can’t help myself. I haven’t felt good in years. I’m never excited to wake up in the morning. Now I am.”

  Loren looked at her a long moment. So long that Amy became uncomfortable and turned away.

  Loren buttoned her coat. “Let’s just say for the moment that you’re right, that this is a positive in your life. Why the long face and slumped shoulders?”

  Amy closed her eyes and put a hand to her forehead. “You know how Zach is always telling me to go back to Boston and have those embryos implanted?”

  “He and I disagree on that.”

  Amy drew her arms around her torso, warding off the chill. “Yeah, well, seeing Melissa, feeling happy again, it made me think that Zach was right. So I called the clinic. And…” Tears pooled in her eyes.

  “And what?”

  “And there was a fire. Took out part of the clinic and the embryos that were stored there. Mine and Dan’s were destroyed.” Her lip quivered and she began sobbing.

  Loren drew her close and hugged her, gently stroking her back. “I’m so sorry, Amy. Oh, sis…I’m so sorry.”

  AN HOUR LATER, AMY SAT alone in her apartment, having cleared the dinner plate and washed the pots and pans.

  Before leaving Loren, Amy had made her promise not to tell Zach about the fire. She needed to process it and let it sink in before her brother got on her case. He would probably make some comment about her waiting too long to implant the embryos; if she had done it years ago when he told her, it never would have been an issue. She did not want to hear it.

  For that reason, she declined to go home with Loren. She would not be able to disguise her state of mind. Zach would pick up on it and refusing to tell him what was bothering her would only result in an argument, even with Loren urging him to back off.

  Amy sat down in a recliner in the living room and pulled out her iPhone. She watched the video she had taken of Melissa. First she laughed. And then she cried.

  Seven hours later she awoke where she had fallen asleep, her cell just about out of charge and her mouth dry as cotton.

  Amy plugged in the handset and got ready for work. It was six in the morning, so she was in no rush, although she felt excited about the prospect of seeing Melissa later at the bakery.

  She had thought many times about the days when Lindy would be old enough to go to the office to see what she did, and then to the courtroom to watch her try a case. And then there would be career days at school, where she would get up in front of the class as her mom, a physicist, had done for her.

  Growing up, Amy was very proud of her mother. She used to think she was the only female physicist in the world, and when she got older and realized that was not the case, she still considered her the smartest…even though she had not met another before, or since.

  Amy wanted to be her mother, and she would have—if she had liked science. She discovered in junior high that she did not. Chemistry and calculus bored her. But standing up against an injustice, and holding the power to correct a wrong, that was something she salivated over. It was also a talent of her father’s. When she tried her first case he sat in the gallery beaming with pride.

  She smiled at the memories.

  Friends and colleagues encouraged her to run for office—and it was in her long-term plan. Ten years of practice, she figured. Sock away enough money, make partner, and then run for the state legislature. She was a good speaker—honed from law school and later pleading her case in front of juries, reading body language and faces, playing to the crowd. She learned to think before she spoke. She knew how to answer questions without answering them.

  More important, she had no problem going toe-to-toe with anybody who stood in her way.

  She had wanted to do all that, and more, for Lindy. That dream died, just like her daughter and husband.

  Damn car accident. Damn fire.

  Amy started to tear up again, then grit her teeth. “Stop it,” she said aloud. “Enough.”

  She went about making coffee, then scrambled eggs and sautéed onions. Thinking as she went. She turned off the stove and scooped the food onto a plate. As she chewed, an idea began to form.

  She set her fork aside and pulled open her laptop. Launched the browser and began googling for information. There was an article in the Herald detailing the extent of damage to the fertility clinic. And a quote from the lieutenant and supervisor of the Fire Investigation Unit—nothing significant, but now she had a name. A few keystrokes later and the Mass.gov website gave her the man’s contact information.

  I need some reason for him to talk to me.

  She thought a moment longer, then dragged a chair close to the wall where her iPhone was plugged in.

  As the line rang, she debated whether or not to use a fake name. Her caller ID likely displayed “Amy Robbins”—or did it merely show a phone number? At least it was a Boston area code.

  “Fire and Explosion Investigation Section.”

  “Yes, this is Ada Robinson and I’m calling from Equity Insurance. Can you put me through to Lt. Peter Gilbert?”

  “I think he just left. Shift’s over. But hold on, I’ll check. Can I ask what this is regarding?”

  “The fire at Boston Fertility Clinic a few years ago.”

  “I’ll see if I can catch him.”

  A long moment later, a
deep-voiced man took the call, his accent bringing a sense of familiarity. Amy had consciously lost hers—but could bring it back as needed. This was one of those times. Familiarity for her might mean the same for the lieutenant.

  “How can I help ya?”

  “Thanks for taking the call, lieutenant. Shift’s over, so I won’t take much of your time.” She told him the fire she was calling about—and he recalled it, having worked the case and filed the report.

  “I’m doing some follow-up for Equity Insurance. We’re a secondary carrier, and the original carrier has made a subrogation claim, and—”

  “Sub-what?”

  “Sorry, industry speak. When an insurance carrier pays out on a claim, they pursue reimbursement from another carrier. So if there’s secondary insurance, we can make a claim and get a portion of our money back. Kind of boring stuff, lots of red tape and paperwork…but money is money so, I’ve gotta run through the paces.”

  “Hate paperwork. Love my job, but—”

  “I hear ya,” Amy said. “Look, I know you’re off the clock, but one thing isn’t clear on the carrier’s documentation. I need to confirm that the clinic’s cryo storage rooms were affected. They’re making a claim for frozen embryos. Fertilized ova. And I just have to cross all the T’s. You know how this business is.”

  There was some clacking on a keyboard—it sounded like the old IBM kind that made loud noise with each click—and then he grunted. “Got it. Oh yeah, right. Lucky bastards. Minimal damage to a storage room and uh, the break room.”

  “Storage. You mean cryo storage?”

  “Uh, nope. Office supplies, that kinda stuff. Old files waiting to be entered into the computer, from what I remember.” More clicking. “Yep, looking at my photos. No high-tech equipment there—which obviously means no embryos. According to the plans we pulled from the city, the liquid nitrogen cryo storage freezer units were in a different area of the building. Another floor, actually.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Lookin’ right at the report, floor plan of the building ’n’ everything.”

  “Hmm. Interesting.” Not interesting. Odd. Strange. Fishy, even. But definitely not interesting.

  “Surprised your company’s even bothering with that subtraction claim.”

  She let the flub go. “Well, you investigated it. Clearly, it was big enough to get your attention.”

  “Had nothing to do with the amount of property damage. Onsite lieutenant thought it looked…ah…questionable.”

  “Questionable? How?”

  “Kinda like he thought it mighta looked like it was deliberately set. That’s the only reason we investigated.”

  “According to my paperwork,” she said, crumpling some pages of her legal pad for authenticity, “it was not classified as arson. Otherwise the original carrier wouldn’t have paid the claim. And I’m not seeing a police report in the file.”

  “Yeah, well, we couldn’t find any definitive proof. Actually, no real proof at all.”

  “But…”

  “But my lieutenant at the time, he and I been doin’ dis twenty-five years, ya know? You get a sixth sense about these things. Nothin’ that can be proven.”

  “Obviously—otherwise the carrier wouldn’t have paid out.”

  “Sometimes makes more sense to pay a small claim than to lay out the big bucks to do up a full engineering and fire analysis, ya know?”

  “Can’t argue that. But what was it that set off your alarm? Your sixth sense?”

  “Fire was supposedly started by a cigarette in the storage room. But smoking’s not allowed in any building these days. Especially a medical clinic. And it shoulda set off the smoke alarm. But the one in that room wasn’t working. The only one that wasn’t working in the whole building. Get my drift? Best I could tell, it wasn’t tampered with. So my antennas were up, ya know? But couldn’t prove nothin’.”

  “Thanks for your help, Lieutenant. Appreciate you filling in the blanks for me. Hey, can you email me a copy of the report? Just for my file so I can submit paperwork on time.”

  “’Course.”

  “Company email’s been down past few days. Never seen anything like it. Mind sending it to my Gmail address?”

  After they commiserated over tech snafus, he told her he would get the document to her as soon as possible.

  Amy hung up and sat there staring at the desk. Things were not adding up. But what were they adding up to?

  12

  The morning lumbered by. Amy was lost in thought, repeatedly having to stop and refocus on her task. Bobby finally nudged her.

  “Hey, I can cover for you here and there, but you’re really off your game today.” He nodded at the cake batter. “You forgot the sugar.”

  “Huh?”

  “Birthday cakes have sugar, Amy. Kind of a necessary ingredient.”

  She looked down at her countertop and began to cry.

  Bobby drew his chin back. “I’m sorry. I—I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just sugar. We can mix it in now. Here, let me help.” He reached up to a canister, but Amy grabbed his forearm.

  “I’ve got it. Sorry, I’m—” She sniffled. “I’m just having a tough time.”

  “No shit. You wanna talk?”

  She dabbed her eyes with a sleeve, taking care to keep her hands away from her face.

  “Not really. I’ve got friends coming by at noon. I’m going to show them how we bake bread.”

  “You clear it with Ellen?”

  “Of course. But I need to get this cake done and in the oven so you can decorate it.”

  “You’ve got plenty of time. C’mon, Amy, talk to me. It’ll help. You’ll feel better.”

  She did want to tell him all about what she was going through. But it was more than a quick conversation. And when you shared your problems with someone you worked closely with five days a week, when you opened your soul and exposed your fears, there was no going back.

  Bobby was the closest thing she had to a non-family friend in the Bay Area—which was not saying much—so if she were going to spill her guts to anyone, it made sense it would be him. Then again, it should be Loren. Loren was her relative, but more than that, she was her best friend and confidant. She could be trusted not to share it with Zach unless it was okay to do so.

  An argument could be made that her confidant should be Zach. They had been there for each other through some tough times growing up. But her depression had dragged on so long that their relationship had become strained and he had reached a threshold of sorts. Her inaction or apathy or fear or sorrow or melancholy—the list was too long, and that was the problem—it all frustrated him greatly. He lost patience with her.

  By the time Giselle and Melissa walked in, Amy had composed herself and was ready for their visit. Amy took their coats and hung them on hooks in the break room. She handed a hairnet to Giselle and helped Melissa fold her thick blonde locks under the elastic band.

  “Ow,” she said.

  “Sorry. Did I pull your hair?”

  But then Amy saw a bruise on the back of the girl’s neck—two, one purple and one light brown. Amy turned to Giselle.

  “Melissa was playing in the kitchen and a bowl dropped from the cabinet,” Giselle said.

  Amy pursed her lips in sympathy then led them on a brief tour through the modest-sized facility that occupied a quarter of a block—land Ellen and Bobby had purchased before Bay Area property made like a NASA rocket rising into the stratosphere.

  “And this is where I work.” Amy took Melissa by the hand and led her to the area where all her baking supplies and equipment were located.

  “What’s that?” Melissa asked, pointing at large canisters filled with powders that ran the color palette from bright white to wicker and chocolate brown.

  “Those are my ingredients. Oats, brown sugar, conf
ectioner’s sugar, white flour, almond flour, wheat flour and—”

  “Can I make something?”

  Amy brought both hands to her cheeks. “What a great idea. Why didn’t I think of that? Would you like to make pumpernickel or cupcakes?”

  Melissa put an index finger to her lips, then jumped a couple of times in place. “Um…cupcakes!”

  “Chocolate?”

  “Yes please.”

  Amy brought over a step stool as Giselle helped Melissa put on thin clear plastic gloves.

  They went about mixing the ingredients, spooning the batter into the baking tray and pushing it into the oven.

  “That’s gonna take a little while. Bobby here will take them out at the right time. Right?”

  Bobby grinned and gave a thumbs-up. “I won’t let you down.”

  Amy untied her apron. “Let’s go eat lunch.”

  As they neared the area where they usually set up camp, an older woman came lumbering by on a red electric scooter. Her scarf was flapping behind her in the breeze and a teen was standing on the rear, along for the ride around the lake.

  Giselle and Amy unfurled the blanket and set out the picnic basket. “Can I feed the ducks?”

  “Of course.” Giselle handed her a bag of food and Melissa skipped about fifteen feet away, tossing seeds as she went.

  “She’s precious. Is her mom as beautiful as her daughter?”

  “Christine’s attractive, but no—she looks nothing like Melissa. I overheard them talking one night. They were arguing about something. I got the impression Melissa was adopted.”

  Amy watched as Melissa tossed some food at the ducks. A flock waddled over to scoop up the morsels. The girl cackled and threw another handful. “Looks like she lives a charmed life. I’m guessing her parents are well-off.”

  Giselle harrumphed. “I think the Ellises are going to make a lot more money very soon. I heard them talking in the kitchen one night. But about Melissa being lucky…” Giselle shrugged.