Jo Leigh - Little Girl Found

He nodded, locked the dead bolt, then took off his jacket. After leaning slightly against the door, he rolled up his sleeves past his elbows. His arms were lightly dusted with dark hair. She could clearly see the road map of tendons and muscle on his forearms. Very masculine. He winced as he pushed off toward the kitchen, and she fought the urge to offer to help him. He wasn’t one of the children she tended, and besides, she remembered his angry reaction the first time. Still, it hurt, somehow, to watch him move across the room, leaning so heavily on his cane.

“What’s this?” he asked when he turned the kitchen light on.

“I hope you don’t mind. I couldn’t sit still.”

He grunted a noncommittal response, then poured himself a glass of water. She approached him as he drank, fascinated by his Adam’s apple, at the size of his thirst. When he finished, he wiped his arm across his mouth, his gaze on hers as if he’d known she’d been watching him. “Did you tell her?” he asked, keeping his deep voice low.

She nodded. “She was very brave. But it hasn’t really hit her yet. It’s going to take a long while for her to adjust to this. To accept that her father isn’t coming back.”

Jack moved to the kitchen table and sat heavily in a chair. His cane clattered loudly to the linoleum floor, but he didn’t even give it a glance. “Not only is he not coming back,” he said, “he wasn’t really here.”

“What?” She pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down, laying the pillowcase between them.

“Roy Chandler wasn’t his name.”

“Seriously?”

He answered her with a look that said he was dead serious.

“Who was he?”

“A charmer named Barry Strangis. From Oklahoma. Incarcerated twice for armed robbery, once in 1972 and again in 1980.”

“Oh, man.”

“Yeah,” he said. His gaze moved to something behind her, and at first she thought Megan had gotten up, but when she turned, she saw she was still sound asleep. He had looked at his chair in the living room. Looked at it with need.

She stood up, went to his television table and got his bottle of pain pills. After she put the bottle on the kitchen table, she took his glass and filled it once more with water. She handed it to him as she sat down again.

He didn’t seem pleased. His eyebrows furrowed and his lips pressed together tightly. Finally he said, “What are you doing?”

“Getting your pills. Water.”

“I know that, but why?”

“Because it’s time for you to take a pill.”

“How do you know?”

“From the look on your face. You seemed…pained.”

“I always look like this.”

She smiled, then tried to hide it.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, his voice even rougher than before.

“I’ve always admired a good curmudgeon,” she said. “George Bernard Shaw. Scrooge. They lend balance to the world.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

She nodded. “Yes, I am.”

“Well, knock it off.”

“Then take your pill.”

He glared at her for another long moment, but then he opened the bottle, shook a pill onto his palm and popped it into his mouth. He drank the entire glass of water, and once more, he wiped his mouth with his arm.

The movement should have been gauche, but it wasn’t. He reminded her of Marlon Brando in Streetcar. Rough and cruel, but only because it hid a vulnerability so deep he didn’t know where to turn.

“So what’s in the case?” he asked.

She shifted her attention to the pillowcase, dumping the contents on the table. The first thing she saw was a picture frame. She moved to pick it up at the same time he did, and their fingers brushed. The contact surprised her, and she jerked her hand back. He grew very still for a moment, then lifted the frame so he could see the picture. “Hmm,” he said.

“What?”

He turned it around.

“That’s Megan’s mother,” Hailey said. “Patricia.”

Jack looked at it again. “She was pretty.”

“Megan looks a lot like her. She’ll be a beautiful woman.”

“Do you know when this Patricia died?”

Hailey shook her head. “Not really. But I think it was after they moved here. I started working for Roy two years ago.”

“What’s that?” He pointed to a sheet of paper inside a plastic bag.

Hailey turned it over to find a recipe. For mulligatawny stew. Handwritten, stained. She passed it to Jack.

“Why would he give her this?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s all he has in his wife’s handwriting.”

Jack shook his head, then put the recipe aside. He picked up a bank passbook and opened it. “Four hundred and fifty dollars. In the name of Megan Chandler.”

“When was the last deposit?”

“At Christmas.”

She didn’t see much else of interest. Just clothes, which she proceeded to fold. There were jeans and sweatshirts, a few dresses, a jacket. Two pairs of shoes, a stack of panties and three sets of pajamas.

“He knew he was going to be gone awhile,” Jack said. “Or that he might never come back.”

“It appears so. But there’s something I’ve been wondering all morning. Why did he bring Megan to you, when I was just down the hall?”

Jack’s frown deepened. “The only reason I can think of is that he knew I was a cop.”

“So he must have guessed he was in trouble. Bad trouble.”

“Given the fact that he’s a corpse now, he guessed right.”

“And he didn’t say anything else?”

He looked at her, studying her closely. She thought he was going to say something, but then he just shook his head. She had the feeling he wasn’t telling her everything. Maybe that was for the best. She didn’t want to know anything that would get her into trouble. Not when she had to look out for Megan.

As if he’d sensed her protective thought, he nodded toward the living room. “We should call.”

Hailey caught his gaze and held it. “No, we’re not going to call.”

“We’re not?”

“No,” she repeated. “I want her here.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Maybe not. But I’m going to all the same.”

He leaned back in his chair, giving her a repeat of his unhappy face. It made him look dangerous in a way. Not spooky dangerous. Sexy dangerous.

“I promised her that she could stay with me,” she said. “She has no one else. And she’s too vulnerable to be taken away by strangers. It would make things infinitely worse.”

“The cops will find out he had a kid.”

“I don’t see that as an obstacle. I’m sure there are ways we could make them think Megan was away. I could tell Grace and a few other tenants. They’d help.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he looked back at her, he’d eased up on the frown. “For now,” he said.

“Fair enough.”

“But when things settle down…”

“We’ll talk about it again.”

“You design web sites? You should have been a lawyer.”

“Thank you.”

He leaned forward again, and she prepared for his retort, but instead, he frowned once more and nodded toward the living room. “Look who’s awake.”

Hailey turned to see Megan sitting up, clutching Tottie and sucking her thumb. “Hey, sweet pea,” she said as she left Jack and his scowl. “You slept a long time.”

Megan looked at her. “I want to go home,” she said.

“I know you do, honey. But I’m afraid we can’t go home just yet. Mr. McCabe and I are going to look after you, remember?”

She nodded slowly. Hailey thought she might start crying again, but she didn’t. “Tottie’s hungry,” was all she said.

“I’ll bet she is. And I’ll bet you are, too. Tell you what. You stay here with Mr. McCabe, and I’ll get us all lunch from my apartment and bring it back.”