Cradle and All (20 page)

“Even if I can snatch the kid when they’re not looking, they’re bound to figure out who did it and come after me,” Butz said.

“They don’t know your real name. I can afford to send you out of the country for a while until things cool down.”

“What if they come after you?”

“I’ll have an airtight alibi, and I won’t have the kid by then, anyway,” Shrubber said. “The Kendralls will be at their home in Spain—out of the country and out of reach. All they’ll have to say, if asked, is that their baby has been with them since his birth.”

“They’ll do that?” Butz asked.

“They want that kid so badly they’ll say anything I tell them to. They’ll have his birth record. And they’ll have him.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Butz agreed.

“No guessing about it. Possession is nine-tenths of the law. That priest and judge won’t be able to prove a thing.”

“There’s just one problem, Mr. Shrubber,” Butz said.

“What is it now?”

“The priest and judge left the Berkshires with the baby, and I don’t know where they went.”

“Well, find them, damn it!” Shrubber said as he picked up the paperweight and threw it across the room. “And you better make it fast. Or I swear you’ll be back to bouncing drunks.”

* * *

I
T
WAS
THE
MIDDLE
of the afternoon when Tom and Anne arrived in the South Boston neighborhood where George Shrubber’s second home was located. Tom parked across the street in the residential section as he and Anne studied the property together.

It was an older, two-story structure. The high, thick wall of shrubbery that surrounded it hid all but the uppermost portion of the second story.

“How is the property described on the assessor’s sheet?” Tom asked.

Anne referred to the record her friend Pat had provided.

“Multilevel Victorian home built in 1900. It has seven bedrooms, three full baths, one half bath, and is approximately forty-three hundred square feet,” she related. “And it, too, is paid for as of last April.”

“When did Shrubber buy it?” Tom asked.

“Two and a half years ago.”

“About six months before the home in Cambridge,” Tom said.

“It’s appraised at around a million dollars,” Anne said. “We know Shrubber didn’t get his wife’s money when they divorced. According to Pat, he only became a private adoption attorney three years ago. How did he come by so much money so fast?”

“And why would a divorced man with no kids want to acquire a house this large?” Tom added.

He spied an older woman coming out of a house a few doors down from the Shrubber property, a Labrador retriever on the end of the leash in her hand.

“Let’s see what the neighbor knows,” Tom said, unfastening his seat belt.

“You’re just going to walk up to a strange woman and ask her about Shrubber and his house?” Anne asked.

“No, we’re going to,” Tom said as he took off his clerical collar. “See that For Sale sign over there?”

Anne twisted in her seat to follow Tom’s pointing finger. She saw the sign in front of one of the houses farther down the street and nodded.

“Looks just like the kind of starter home a new family like ours might be looking for, doesn’t it?” Tom asked.

“You mean the kind of starter home we’re going to pretend to be looking for,” Anne said, catching on.

“All we have to say is that we saw the sign, then ask her if she can tell us about the neighborhood,” Tom said.

Anne shook her head as she unfastened her seat belt. “I should have known you wouldn’t lie. Still, you display an amazing aptitude for subterfuge, Tom Christen.”

“One of those good points of mine I forgot to mention earlier,” Tom said, grinning as he reached back to unstrap the baby from his car seat.

* * *

“I
T
’
S
A
NICE
,
FRIENDLY
neighborhood, like I told you,” Violet Fransen assured Tom and Anne over tea and cookies in her cozy kitchen.

It hadn’t taken much to maneuver the loquacious Vi with the silver hair and a face as lined as a roadmap to not only talk about her neighbors, but invite Anne and Tom back to the comfort of her home while she did it. For the past forty minutes they had listened patiently to the intimate details of nearly every family on the block.

Now, finally, Vi had gotten to the Shrubber house. “But I just don’t like what’s happening in that big old house on the corner.”

“Oh?” Anne prompted.

“The previous owners were such a nice young family,” Vi said as she poured more tea into all their cups. “Like you and your hubby, they had a cute new baby. They also had a toddler and a sweet six-year-old girl with a Great Dane puppy. Only they had to move up to New Hampshire when he got a job transfer. And now...”

Anne knew Vi wanted to talk about it. Was just waiting for the slightest encouragement. She was happy to give it. “Who owns the place now?”

Vi leaned across the table as though about to share a secret. “I don’t know, but the young women who go to live there are all pregnant! I’ve seen them through the hedge when me and Licorice, here, go for our daily walk. The hedge is one of his favorite spots. Isn’t it, Licorice?” She patted the gentle Labrador’s head as he sat next to her chair.

“How many young women?” Tom asked.

“Anywhere from eight to twelve,” Vi said. “Some aren’t even showing when they arrive, but in a few months, well, it’s obvious. Of course, the faces change as their time comes and they go off to deliver. But new ones keep arriving to replace the ones who leave. And always so young. I’ve even seen some of them on the yard swing playing with dolls. Can you imagine? Babies having babies.”

Vi shook her head.

“Doesn’t sound good,” Anne agreed. “Have you ever talked to any of the young women?”

“Once,” Vi said. “Last fall a pretty brunette—had to be seven, eight months along—was strolling down the street right outside my house and stopped to pet Licorice. We were having a nice chat about the weather when suddenly this chunky nurse comes barreling out of the gates of that old Victorian house and descends on us like a bad wind. ‘Get back inside,’ she yells at the girl. ‘You know you’re not supposed to be out here.’ Why, she talked to her just like a warden would a prisoner.”

“The girl returned to the house?” Tom asked.

“Like a little whipped puppy,” Vi said. “And that nurse locked the gate behind her. Yep, just like a jailer.”

“What do you think it all means, Vi?” Anne heard Tom ask with wonderful innocence as he bounced Tommy on his knee.

“Well, Mr. Christen, they’ve got to be girls who’ve gotten themselves in trouble and whose families have sent them away to have their babies,” the older woman said. “It’s what families used to do in my day.” She paused, then turned to Anne. “Although you’d think in this day and age, things would have become more tolerant. Those poor girls are living away from their families, kept out of school. It’s not right they should be so confined.”

Anne nodded, and not just because she knew Vi was looking for agreement. “Surely their parents visit them?”

Vi shook her head. “No, I’ve never seen anything but delivery trucks with groceries go inside. Oh, and the gardener, although I haven’t see him in a couple of months.”

“Some reason why he doesn’t come by anymore?” Anne asked.

“Just stopped showing up,” Vi said. “Which is a shame. He’s a nice young man. I used to chat with him when he trimmed the hedges around the place. Of course, he was a little shy at first on account of his scar.”

“Is the scar on his face?” Tom asked.

“Bad one on his right cheek,” Vi said, pointing to the spot on her own. “Accident when he was a kid, I think he said. But just as friendly as can be when you got to know him. I used to hear him talking to one of the girls behind the hedge, joking with her.”

“What’s his name?” Anne asked. “In case Tom and I need his services,” she quickly added.

“Benny.”

“And his last name?”

Vi shook her head. “Sorry. Never asked. I do my own gardening. But I think the name on the company van he drove was Sunny Gardens or something like that. Oh, I nearly forgot the doctor.”

“Doctor?” Tom repeated.

“He’s in and out of the place all the time,” Vi said.

“Well, at least the young women are getting medical care,” Tom replied conversationally.

“I suppose, but between you and me, I don’t like the look of him,” Vi said. “Tall, hard faced, parks that big, black Mercedes of his out in front and barrels through the gates carrying his small black doctor’s bag. I tried to say hello once and he just ignored me.”

“How rude,” Anne agreed with a shake of her head.

Tom and Anne chitchatted with Vi some more before thanking her for the tea and cookies and leaving. When Tom pulled the car away from the curb, he put into words what was on both their minds.

“Now we know why Shrubber bought this South Boston property. He’s using it to house pregnant teenagers until they give birth. This is where he’s getting the babies for his private adoptions.”

“I don’t like the way he’s keeping them locked up,” Anne said.

“Neither do I.”

“Tom, do you think he’s doing the same thing to them he did to Lindy?”

“You mean not letting them give birth under their own name,” Tom guessed.

“It’s totally illegal, of course,” Anne said, “but it would be a slick way to circumvent the need for a formal adoption.”

“First he instructs his client to pretend to be pregnant, and then when the baby’s ready to be born to the teenager, he has her deliver using the client’s name,” Tom said. “The birth record shows the client is the parent.”

“And no one is the wiser except the girl and her parents,” Anne agreed. “Although they can’t be very caring parents to allow their daughters to be locked up like that during their pregnancy and not even visit them.”

“Unless, like Lindy, their parents aren’t in the picture,” Tom proposed.

Anne shot up in her seat. “Are you saying you think all the girls could be runaways?”

“It would sure make it easier on Shrubber if they were,” Tom said grimly. “No parents to deal with. Far less chance the underage mother would change her mind and decide to keep her baby.”

“And he sends the burly Butz along to the hospital just to make sure they don’t.” Anne shook her head. “Tom, if those girls are runaways, that gardener, Benny, might be able to verify it. Vi said he talked to at least one of the girls.”

Tom nodded. “We’ll pull over at the next phone booth and check the yellow pages for Sunny Gardens and see what we find.”

* * *

T
OM
DIDN
’
T
FIND
a Sunny Gardens listed in the yellow pages. But he did find a Summer Gardens and a Garden of Sunny Delights. Tom called one using the pay phone, while Anne used her cell phone to contact the other.

“No luck with Summer Gardens,” Tom said when he returned to the car. “What about the Garden of Sunny Delights?”

“I’m not sure,” Anne said. “The person who answered the phone didn’t speak English very well. When I asked for Benny, he said, ‘No, so sorry,’ and hung up on me.”

Tom checked the address. “It’s only a few blocks away. Let’s drive over.”

When they arrived at the Garden of Sunny Delights nursery, they found it to be a small but beautifully maintained sea of green nestled within a block of brick-and-mortar buildings. In the lush greenhouse, spring flowers were in fragrant bloom.

Anne was fingering the velvet petals of some peach-colored tulips when a smiling Chinese-American man came out of the back and approached. “May I help you?” he asked.

“We’re looking for Benny,” Tom said.

The proprietor lost his smile. “No work here no more.” He turned and started to walk away. Tom called out to him in Chinese. The man turned around, a look of pleasant surprise lighting his features.

But it was Anne who was the most surprised as Tom proceeded to carry on what sounded like a very fluent conversation in the other man’s native language.

When they were finished, he exchanged bows with the proprietor and took Anne’s arm to leave.

“Where did you learn to speak Chinese?” she asked.

“A friend taught me,” Tom said easily. “It seems Benny was dismissed from the employment at the Garden of Sunny Delights when a customer complained that he was getting too familiar with his daughters. Want to guess who that customer was?”

“Shrubber,” Anne said.

Tom nodded.

“Shrubber has no daughters,” Anne said. “He just wanted to get rid of Benny. Why?”

“Let’s go ask Benny,” Tom said. “The very accommodating gentleman gave me his address. It’s just a couple of miles from here.”

“Shouldn’t we call first?” Anne asked.

“He doesn’t have a telephone.”

* * *

T
HE
RESIDENTIAL
SECTION
where Benny lived was full of older, small family homes not particularly well kept. Young kids played kick ball on the street. On the far corner, several teenage males bunched together, smoking cigarettes and laughing as they listened to loud rock music.

Tom pulled to the curb in the middle of the block, in front of a graying clapboard house that had once been white. A junked car rusted where the lawn used to be.

“This is it,” Tom said.

He put his clerical collar back on before he got out of the car and circled to the passenger side to open the door for Anne. Then he lifted Tommy out of his car seat and handed him to her.

“Stay close beside me,” he said softly.

“You don’t expect trouble?” Anne asked.

“Not really,” he said as he closed the car door. “Just a precaution.”

When Tom didn’t go up to the front door, but led Anne down the narrow dirt driveway toward the back, she became confused.

Tom read the expression on her face. “Benny’s parents live in the main house. Benny’s in a converted garage at the back.”

It wasn’t large, but the converted garage didn’t look quite as dilapidated as Anne had anticipated. There were curtains at its two small windows. And around its periphery was a recently fertilized garden with healthy-looking shrubs and even some early spring flowers.