31

 

Isobel didn’t do surprises well. A week had passed since they’d found the body. Authorities hadn’t yet confirmed her identity, but from the state of the corpse they were able to approximate her date of demise—the day Isobel had found Mia. There was little doubt in Isobel’s mind that Mia truly was an orphan.

Liam had taken Isobel to the shops for some headache tabs. Throbbing pain had set in at the base of head and reverberated through the inside of her skull.

She massaged her temples with her forefingers as they pulled up outside home.

Mia chatted nonstop. About birds, the scraggy dog down the road—who was, according to Mia, lonely—Jesus, and why crabs pinch.

All Bel’s concerns about taking Mia back to the driftwood had proved baseless. The trip had in fact done the opposite. It seemed to have brought closure for Mia, and the little girl had grabbed life with both hands and was running at full, joyful speed.

Isobel rooted in her bag for fickle house keys.

Liam reached past her and unlocked with her spare which he’d attached to his key ring. She frowned at that, but her head was too sore to push the point.

A lounge full of craft club ladies was the last thing she expected. Squealing with excitement, Kez dragged her through to see their hard work. Pink It’s a Girl balloons bobbed across the ceiling, ribbons trailing down in curly waves. Mia ran in circles, jumping up to try catch them. Lilac-iced cupcakes, brownies with almond flakes, and sausage rolls covered the coffee table. For Mia there was a special party pack, her name in sparkling glitter.

Bel’s eyes misted over, the pain in her head unbearable.

The ladies gathered around, taking turns to hug her.

“What is this?” She forced herself to smile.

Savannah rolled her eyes. “Your baby shower, silly!”

Jules was standing behind a chair they had draped with gold fabric. “Here’s your throne, queen mother. Come sit.”

Bel stepped carefully through a forest of presents gathered around the base of the chair. The ceiling closed in as she sat on soft cushions.

Mischa put a plate of nibbles in her hand. Everything they had done, all the celebratory pink, hammered the truth home.

Mia was not hers. Everything was not resolved. Her heart remained on the chopping block. “I’m sorry, ladies. I can’t do this.”

 

****

 

Isobel checked her watch, shifted to get comfortable on the metal chair in the warden’s office. He walked in carrying folders in his arms, looking harassed. Dumping them on his desk, he sighed. “What can I do for you, Miss Carter?”

“Is it possible for me to speak to Roric MacAllister? Aah, sorry. I mean Greg Smethers. I have questions that need answers.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

Bel had known that this was not going to be easy. She had scraped together her courage to get this far and didn’t intend to be put off at the first no.

“You don’t understand. I need to speak with him. I have issues that need resolving, and he is the only one who has the answers.” Smethers knew Mia’s mother. Only he would know if she had family…if Mia had a family looking for her.

Isobel’s appeal did little more than crease his forehead. “It won’t be possible as he is no longer here. Released on bail this morning.”

The roof seemed to dip as she clung to her chair, fighting through the swimming blackness. She pushed off the chair to force herself onto her feet. Her gut had been right all along. There was no time to waste. She had to get back home, finish packing, and get out of Scottburgh. In the parking lot, she reached out, key in hand, to unlock the car. Anger bubbled to the surface, a pot left too long on the stove, or rather a volcano crumbling to the pressure of hot lava too long in its belly. Running. She’d spent her life running.

Mia deserved more. More than a life of looking over her shoulder.

Resolve settled in the pit of Isobel’s belly as she turned back to face the warden. “All I need is his address.”

If patience were paper, the warden’s would be see-through, worn so thin. “Ma’am, I understand how you feel, but I must strongly advise you to stay away.” The man was grinding his teeth in an effort to stay patient. “The fact that some overworked judge decided he wasn’t a threat or a flight risk doesn’t necessarily make him safe.”

Isobel could see she was getting nowhere. There has to be a way.

Show me, Jesus.

The warden ushered her out of his office without another word. The door slammed shut behind her. A thin sliver of common sense kept her from kicking it.

The sun scooped low in the sky, trailing long shadows through the reception window.

A female officer shuffled papers at the front desk.

Bel halted, studying her for a moment before going close. Her hands moved efficiently, left hand ring finger showing a faint white circle—a trace of where a wedding ring used to be. It was nearly enough to make Bel smile.

“I wonder if you can help me?”

The officer paused, papers suspended between punch and file.

“The man who has just been released on bail, Greg Smethers. I need to know where to find him.”

The papers landed in the file. “I can’t help you.”

“I need answers. Only he can help.” The moisture in her eyes was not part of the act. “I thought I loved him, but all he wanted was to kill me and steal my baby. I just want to hear some things from his mouth.”

Papers shuffled. Silence.

Bel held her ground. A quick dab at her eyes with the back of her hand.

“I’m not allowed to give you that information.” She met Bel’s eyes for the first time since the start of the conversation. Hands shuffled through folders on her desk, and she pulled a slim one out and lay it open on the counter top. “Excuse me for a moment.” Index finger tapped on the yellow page. “I’ll be right back.”

Bel took her cue, scanning for the address. There!

She jotted it down on the back of her hand, closed the folder, and left with a heart heavy, as if someone had draped it in liquid lead.