Clotilde may view this as a gift from God, the long-legged humanoid who brought this baby here is soon going to view me as the avenging angel. Okay, here’s Eleanor. She’ll know what to do to keep the little whippersnapper from crying so.
MEL HASKIN leaned against the wall and took in his surroundings. Enough food for an army lay deserted on buffet tables where chilled bottles of champagne still resided in ice buckets. Yes, this was one party that had come to a screeching halt. And all for the little bundle that a handsome, dark-haired couple hovered over.
Eleanor Curry taped the diaper into place and then relinquished the baby to Rose Johnson.
“I’m a veterinarian, not a pediatrician,” Peter Curry said, “but that baby isn’t more than ten hours old. He’s been well taken care of.”
“There’s a note, officer.” Eleanor glanced at the woman with the infant as she picked up the note and read aloud. “‘His name is David. He has the power to slay Goliath, and you must protect him from his enemies. Keep him safe and always remind him of his mother’s love and her sacrifice to protect him.”’
“I will protect him. We will.” Rose Johnson cradled the baby in her arms and looked up to meet her husband’s gaze. He nodded firmly.
“Rose, a crime has been committed,” Eleanor reminded her. “You can’t keep this baby.”
“Watch me,” Rose said. She settled on the sofa with the child in her arms and the beautiful calico cat purring at her side. “Even Clotilde thinks he belongs to us.”
Mel gingerly took the note that Eleanor Curry offered him.
“I’m afraid it’s been handled by quite a few people,” Eleanor said apologetically. “When Familiar found the baby, we all became a little excited. We passed the note around the party. It’s just that…well, we weren’t actually thinking of the baby as a crime at the time.”
“No one saw the drop?” Mel asked. He personally was avoiding the baby. It wasn’t that he didn’t like children. In fact, one day he hoped to have a couple. But with the work he did, he viewed babies and small children as victims. They had no voice, no way to protect themselves against whatever rotten deal their worthless parents happened to hand out to them.
Just like the baby in this case. So what if the mother had named him—the Biblical name of a young man who slew a giant? And so what if she’d left him on the doorstep of a wealthy home—a place where he was obviously wanted and would have every advantage?
None of that made a difference. Not to him. No matter how the facts were dressed up, the story was the same. Some young woman had gotten herself pregnant and had the kid. Then because the kid would inconvenience her life, she’d dumped the responsibility on someone else.
In Mel’s book, that was a crime that deserved prosecution. And he was just the man to do it.
“Meow.”
He was pulled from his thoughts by sharp claws in his shin. He looked down into the green eyes of the sleekest black cat he’d ever seen.
“Meow.”
“What?” He looked around to make sure no one had heard him talking to the cat.
The cat turned quickly and went to the basket, which had been put beside the sofa. With one expressive black paw, the cat patted the basket.
Mel picked it up and examined it. His fingers brushed against the blanket the baby had been wrapped him. Soft. Very soft. He pulled the pale blue wrap out of the basket and shook it out. He’d never felt a baby blanket so soft. His fingers rubbed the texture. Cashmere! Incredible.
And the cat was tipping the basket over to indicate a tag. He looked at it. Not just an ordinary wicker basket—this one was signed. A handmade basket. Now that was a clue. As discreetly as possible he returned the blanket to the basket.
“I’d like to take these items as evidence,” he said.
“I’d prefer that you didn’t,” Rose Johnson said quickly. “Those may be all this little boy has to remember his mother by. I’d like to hold on to them and give them to him when he’s older.”
Mel sighed. He was going to have his hands full now. In her mind, Mrs. Johnson had adopted this child. She was already planning his future.
“The baby will have to be taken to DHR,” he said as gently as he could. “It’s the law, ma’am.”
“Surely we can work something out, detective,” Preston Johnson said, stepping forward. “We’ll assume complete responsibility for this child.” He put his hands on his wife’s shoulders. “We’ll hire a full-time nurse, if that would help. We’ll start a college fund.”
Mel held up a hand. “I don’t doubt that you’d make the most wonderful parents in the world. But that’s not up to me to decide. I’m only a detective. The Department of Human Resources handles all of these cases. All I do is follow the procedure.”
He saw the frown pass over Preston Johnson’s face and knew these weren’t people who gave up easily. Too bad the baby’s mother hadn’t wanted him one-tenth as much as these strangers. He felt a flush of fury. At a strange woman. At the cruelty of fate.
“Detective, I don’t mean to usurp your authority,” Preston said carefully. “Would it offend you if I made a call to Judge Patterson? I believe he handles these cases, and we’re old friends. If he said we could keep the child—just until Monday morning—would you feel comfortable with that?”
Normally, Mel knew the suggestion of going over his head to a judge would ignite his sense of outrage. But for some reason—probably because the Johnsons so obviously cared for this abandoned baby—he felt only hope. “Judge Patterson has the final say. If he gives me the green light to leave the baby, I’ll do it with a glad heart.”
Preston Johnson smiled. “I’ll make the call. While you’re waiting, could we make you some coffee? I’d offer champagne, since we had to hustle all of our guests out the door.” He chuckled. “But I know you’re on duty.”
“Coffee would be nice,” Mel said. Actually, he just wanted to get back to the department, where he’d left a stack of paperwork a mile high on the last case he’d finished. A double homicide. What he wanted more than anything was ten consecutive hours of sleep.
Everyone else in the room was so involved with the baby they failed to hear the disturbance at the front door. Curious, Mel slipped out of the room, down the hallway and to the front where the butler held firmly to the door.
“I’m sorry, miss, but no press was allowed to attend tonight. I don’t believe the Johnsons want to change that policy now.”
“I heard that someone dropped a baby.”
Mel recognized the crisp tones of the reporter and he stifled a groan. Lily Markey. She was a pitbull disguised as a fashion model. Of all the hundreds of reporters in Washington, D.C., Lily Markey was the one he dreaded most. She wasn’t unethical, and she wasn’t sensational—what she was was a pain in the butt because she was so ethical. She had a reputation for being tough but fair, and she lived up to it every day. In a city where law enforcement viewed most of the media as egotists and liars, Lily had everyone’s respect.
And
