Rick Mofina - Whirlwind

“Yes, ma’am, I’m the one. Can I get your name and address, please?”

“Hazel Hill, 164 Briscoe Street, Fate, Texas.”

“You’re calling because you think you know where Caleb Cooper is?”

“Yes. He’s in my neighbor’s house.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I watched them arrive.”

“Who is ‘them’? And how do you know they’ve got Caleb?”

“I’ll tell you. I’ve lived next door to the Faulks’ house for forty-five years. Langston Faulk and his wife, Lillian, were our best friends. They took such loving care of it. Lillian’s roses were just beautiful. Then she died and a year later Langston died-”

“Yes. Excuse me, ma’am, but-”

“Then their nephew, a no good lowlife, took over and started renting it to riffraff, always coming and going and turning it into the monstrosity it is today. If my Royce were alive to see this, he’d tell you that it’s just a shame, a pitiful shame and a grave dishonor to Langston and Lillian.”

“I see, Hazel, but how can you be so sure the baby’s there?”

“Because I’ve seen him.”

“How are you certain it’s Caleb Cooper?”

“I’ll tell you. I know Lillian’s place like it was my own. I know when the gravel driveway crunches if someone is coming or going at any time of day or night. For about a month there’ve been two boys living there. They drink a lot of beer and eat a lot of pizza and chicken. I see their empty cans and boxes in the trash. But generally they keep to themselves. Then this pickup truck comes and a young man and woman with a little baby arrive.”

“Really?”

“They carried in bags and groceries like they were moving in.”

“Did you talk to them?”

“No.”

“Can you describe them?”

“Well, the woman had long blond hair.”

“Long and blond?”

“Yes, that’s what I said.”

A long, wordless pause followed.

“Ma’am, did you call the police?”

“Yes, but they never came, and I’m not surprised. It’s like the last time.”

“The last time.”

“I called them yesterday when I saw people in the trees outside my window.”

“People in the trees?”

“Yes, they had big heads and they were looking at me, and the day before that I saw a little man running in my yard and I called police. They said it was the same lawn ornament that I called them about before. But this time I saw it move. They don’t believe me. They never do.”

A few seconds passed.

“Ma’am,” Kate said. “This is a personal question, but do you take medication?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I see.”

“So when’re you coming to knock on their door?”

“I’m not sure. I can’t just yet. I’m helping with our coverage of the President’s visit today.”

“Oh my, yes, that’s important. I was watching him on TV. Oh, it was so beautiful. When he talked about the missing baby, it made me cry and I asked the Lord, what should I do to help?” Hazel looked at the framed poster of Jesus Christ in her bedroom. “He’s here with me and the Lord said, ‘Hazel, I spared you from the storm for a reason. You have to help get that little child back to its mother.’”

“We’re all praying for that, ma’am,” the reporter said. “Why don’t you leave this with me for now and I’ll see what I can do?”

“What’s your name again, dear? I’ll write it down with your phone number?”

“It’s Kate Page,” she said then recited her numbers, slowly, twice, and thanked her for calling.

After hanging up and reviewing the information she’d written down with such attention, Hazel saw that blonde lady in the backyard with Caleb Cooper. She whispered a prayer that someone would come soon.

Chicago, Illinois

Hedda Knight’s dream was slipping through her fingers.

Chelsea Drew-Flynn’s $750,000 offer and all that it entailed was getting further out of reach with each passing minute, like the sailboats drifting out of sight on Lake Michigan.

Where’s Remy Toxton? Where’s the baby?

Her worries robbed her of sleep and she’d come to the office early this morning. Sitting with her elbows on her desk in her seventy-fifth-floor law office, Hedda steepled her fingers, touched them to her lips and thought. Ed Bascom’s investigation had followed Remy’s trail to the Beau Soleil West Medical Center in Shreveport, Louisiana. A nurse had suggested to him that Remy had had the baby there. But the nurse- What was her name? It didn’t matter -was nervous. She’d refused money, given him no other details.

They’d hit a brick wall.

Why would Remy travel over one hundred miles to Shreveport to deliver when I was paying for all of her medical bills in Texas?

The most likely reason: she’d decided to keep the baby.

It happened, but rarely. Most of Hedda’s surrogates had children and no desire to raise more. They were motivated by different reasons: the money; the desire to help childless couples; and some liked being pregnant.

At a loss, Hedda glanced at her folded copy of USA TODAY on the edge of her desk. She’d already skimmed the story on yesterday’s visit to Dallas by the President. She’d also watched the live TV news coverage of the President’s speech at the memorial service and now she’d reconsidered the reference to the missing baby. This is the same case Bascom had mentioned to her. Thinking more on it, she flipped through USA TODAY and its related features on the toll of the tornadoes, including a small story on the missing Dallas baby, Caleb Cooper. As she looked at the FBI’s sketches of the persons of interest, an icy sensation began creeping up Hedda’s spine.

The sketch of the woman almost resembled Remy. The age and hair was similar and for a crazy moment Hedda wondered if- No, no, it can’t be them. No, not if Remy already had the baby in Louisiana. Besides, the baby vanished after a tornado destroyed a flea market in Dallas. Remy lives in Lufkin .

Hedda rejected the possibility that Remy was involved.

She searched the lake’s sparkling waves for a solution but was overwhelmed by reality. All she’d worked for, all she’d dreamed of, now rested on the actions of a supermarket cashier and her ex-convict boyfriend.

Ex-convict.

Hedda looked at the FBI sketches again.

But what if they were involved? What would it mean? No, that was insane. Okay, what if they were killed in the tornadoes? That would end it all. But they live in Lufkin, and it was not touched by the storm. But what if they went to Dallas the day the storm hit and were killed? What would that mean, given the situation with Chelsea Drew-Flynn?

She was driving herself crazy with the what-ifs.

Hedda got up from her desk to go to her private bathroom to check her face. She’d reached the door when her cell phone rang. She returned to her desk. The number was not displayed. It rang a second time and Hedda answered.

“This is Remy Toxton.”

Stunned, Hedda kept her phone to her ear and sat down.

“Remy? Oh my God, are you okay? We’ve been watching the news reports on the Texas tornadoes and when we couldn’t reach you- We’ve been so worried. How are you doing?”

“I’m kind of okay.”

“What do you mean? Did you have the baby?”

Several long moments passed.

“Remy?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. That’s good. How’s the baby doing?”

“He’s fine. He’s healthy and he’s so big.”

“I’m happy to hear that. Where are you right now?”

“I don’t want to say.”

Hedda paused.

“Where did you have the baby? Because our nurse lost touch with you.”