The Profiler's Daughter (Sky Stone Thriller Series) (45 page)

Bottom-heavy clouds crowded the landscape and the damp air smelled like bus exhaust.

Sky gnawed the biscuit and followed a path of herringbone brick until it branched like a candelabra in three directions. She set Tiffany down and the dog took the far right path in a beeline for Izzy’s herb garden. Stone lions with lavish manes crouched along either side of the entrance. One lion dozed, the other presented a protective snarl, but Tiffany pranced between them with her nose high. Like she owned the joint.

Sky followed.

The herb garden had been designed on the bias, a harlequin pattern of diamond-shaped beds edged in pink pavers. It was too early in the season for blooms, but Sky spotted a rash of fleshy daffodil leaves poking through the crusted soil like a promise. Tiffany relieved herself near a patch of winter savory. Sky picked up after her, tossing the bread bag in a trash barrel.

The throaty exhaust of Izzy’s ’59 Silver Cloud came from the direction of the garage. The black and gold Rolls Royce was one of her grandmother’s trademark possessions. The hood ornament was a custom design from Louis Lejeune, a bronze King Charles spaniel that guided the massive automobile through Boston traffic like the figurehead on a ship’s hull.

Sky scooped Tiffany up and hurried back to the house, slipping into the kitchen just as her grandmother entered from the hallway.

It took a moment for Sky to register the scene. Was this the same invalid she’d visited in the greenhouse three days ago, hunched under the Hudson Bay blanket?

Izzy stood in the blue Federalist kitchen freshly coifed, her silver hair pulled back in a smart French twist. She wore gray velvet trousers, a crisp white blouse with a high collar, and her favorite strand of Biwa pearls. The suggestion of jasmine and roses emanated.

Pearls and perfume?

Sky’s confusion evaporated when Raj appeared behind Izzy, fully loaded with shopping bags labeled
The Pampered Paw
.

“I mentioned the dog when I delivered her breakfast tray,” he explained with a shrug.

Is this all it took to bring someone back to life? Sky wondered. The promise of a tiny warm body?

“Where is she?” Izzy peered from hooded eyes. “Where’s that dog?”

Sky pointed her grandmother to a yellow Queen Anne chair in the corner and ordered, “Sit down.”

Izzy took an imperial pace to the chair and sat, but she reached out with childlike impatience.

Sky placed Tiffany in her grandmother’s lap and stood back.

“A Shih Tzu?” Izzy’s gnarled fingers moved over the dog like a surgeon’s. “A cobby body, ample bone. And pregnant, how lovely.” Izzy cupped Tiffany’s chrysanthemum face in both hands. “Nearly ready to whelp. You’ve brought her to me just in time.”

“How long?” Sky asked.

Izzy gently palpated the dog’s abdomen. “Her belly is soft, a few days yet.” She turned to Raj and ordered, “Scramble two eggs, no salt, a touch of butter.”

“I’ll make the eggs.” Sky was glad for the distraction. She unhooked a copper skillet from a rack above the kitchen island and pulled eggs and a dish of butter from the refrigerator.

“Empty those bags,” Izzy motioned to Raj. “Let’s see if that stupid shop girl remembered the vitamins.”

Sky stirred eggs and watched Raj pile a seemingly endless stream of canine paraphernalia on the table: leashes in shades of red, green and pink, brush and comb, a collar studded with candy-colored Swarovski crystals, ceramic dog bowls, red sweater, gold foiled bag of kibble, stuffed hedgehog, knucklebone in shrink wrap, and more.

When the eggs grew creamy, barely solid, Sky scraped them on a plate and set the feast at her grandmother’s feet.

“Her name?” Izzy demanded, putting the dog gently to the floor.

“Tiffany.”

“How banal.” Izzy arched a critical eyebrow. “Chinese names are customary for this breed.” She thrust a hand at Sky. “Give me her papers.”

“No papers.”

“What’s her lineage?”

“She’s a rescue dog. Abandoned.”

“No matter, my little dragon,” Izzy cooed at Tiffany, “we shall get to the bottom of things. My great aunt was very good friends with Lady Brownrigg.”

“Lady who?” Sky said.

Izzy cast a sneer in Sky’s direction. “Educate yourself.”

“Good idea.” Sky picked up the stuffed hedgehog and admired the beady eyes. “Tell me about the abduction. When I was two.”

The sneer evaporated and Izzy grew still.

Raj emptied another
Pampered Paw
bag but he’d perfected the household servant’s art of appearing invisible. Like a piece of furniture.

“I’m calling Mother,” Sky threatened.

“No!” Izzy grew shrill. “Why bring that up now, after all these years? How did you …” her voice trailed off.

“Tell me about the abduction.”

Izzy pinched at the crease on the gray velvet slacks. “A phone call came in the middle of the night. A man’s voice. He said, ‘Look in the nursery’.” Izzy paused. “Your crib was empty.”

“Who took me?”

“A young maid in my employ. And her boyfriend. Both Irish.” Izzy sighed. “She hadn’t been with me long. Monk said it was the boyfriend’s idea. He was IRA. Related to one of the hunger strikers, apparently.”

“IRA?” Sky didn’t get the connection.

“Irish Republican Army. It was May seventh, two days after Bobby Sand’s funeral. Margaret Thatcher refused to concede. All ten strikers died in prison, of hunger. Your abduction was a failed fund-raising effort. Money for the cause.” Izzy seemed to regroup. “Monk took care of it. You were gone for thirty-six hours, barely a day and a half. You came back healthy. Unharmed. That girl adored you.”

“Where did they take me?”

Her grandmother didn’t seem to hear. “Your mother was out of her mind. She blamed me, of course.” Izzy’s gaze turned to the window. “Monk and Jenny took you away. It was two years before you were in this house again. Two years is such a long time, at that age.” Gnarled fingers grasped at the pearls. “When you did come back, it was with a body guard. Around the clock. You were never without protection while you were here. Your parents insisted.”

“What happened to the maid?” Sky asked. “And the boyfriend?”

“I don’t know.” Izzy shook her head. “Monk took care of it.”

“You didn’t go to the police?”

“Monk said that would be like putting a target on your back.” Izzy lifted her chin. “Your picture in all the newspapers. Monk said you’d be known forever as the Winthrop Baby.” She paused. “Three years later two men walked out of the Isabella Stuart Gardener Museum with five hundred million dollars worth of paintings. Those have not been recovered. But Monk found you.”

Raj creased and folded a brown bag while Tiffany licked at the empty plate of eggs.

“What was the maid’s name?” Sky said.

“I don’t remember. I don’t want to remember. It was so long ago.”

Sky dropped the hedgehog on the floor and swept past Izzy.

“Where are you going?” Izzy demanded.

“Away. Take care of Tiffany while I’m gone.” Sky paused in the kitchen doorway. “And don’t get any ideas. She’s
my
dog.”

But Izzy’s attention had already shifted. Leaning down with great effort, the old lady brought the dog carefully to her lap and kissed the brindle head. Tiffany promptly collapsed into a coil and closed her eyes for a nap.

Good.

Sky raced down the central corridor trying to imagine the abduction. She climbed the curving staircase two steps at a time and pictured a young Irish maid with a baby in her arms. All Izzy’s maids wore the same uniform, a black double-breasted lapel dress with a white apron. Sky tried to conjure a face, but there had been so many through the years.

She reached her bedroom and jammed the zebra-print backpack with the laptap, the letter from Aunt Olivia, the freshly laundered clothes and her wallet. She transferred the rest of the items from her office into the black duffel bag and shoved it beneath the trundle bed. When she returned to the entrance hall, Raj was waiting with the Jeep keys.

“It is parked in the driveway.” He smiled his crooked smile. “I took the liberty of filling the tank.”

“I know you’ll take good care of things. Here’s my cell number, just in case.” Sky fished a business card from the backpack and put it in Raj’s hand. “I’ll be gone a day, maybe two.”

“Your destination?” Raj pulled the front door open for her.

Sky stepped to the portico and gazed across Beacon Street. Bare tree boughs shuddered behind the wrought iron fence of Boston Common.

“I’m looking for bluebonnets,” she said, walking past the fluted Greek columns into an arctic wind.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Sky stood in the Southwest Airlines boarding queue at Logan Airport behind a bottle blonde with a fussy toddler. The woman, somewhere in her mid twenties, wore pink velour sweatpants and a matching hoodie with rhinestone embellishments. She was chewing gum, and had two-inch purple fingernails, each painted with a tiny yellow flower.

The left shoulder strap of a faded corduroy jumper hung off the toddler’s tiny shoulder. Wispy strands of hair fell into the child’s brown eyes as she leaned into the woman’s calf and whimpered.

But the woman was preoccupied with the cell phone in her palm and ignored the toddler’s tug. Issuing a disapproving grunt, she jerked her leg and the child let go. The woman began texting, though Sky couldn’t imagine how, with those talons.

Sky watched the toddler wander away.

The child wove an unsteady path among passengers until she reached the boarding gate perimeter. She couldn’t be much older than ten or eleven months, Sky decided. Still a baby. A walking baby.

Sky glanced at the woman, who appeared oblivious to the child’s absence.

In fact, no one seemed to be aware that a toddler was on the loose.

It would be so easy to steal her, Sky thought. Just lean over and snatch her up. The girl was so tiny she could fit in the backpack on Sky’s shoulder.

Sky broke from the line and went after her.

The toddler teetered around the airport rope that cordoned off the gate, small fingers grasped at the polished chrome post for balance. But she was falling backwards.

Sky scooped her up and returned to the queue.

“Excuse me,” she tapped the woman’s shoulder. “Did you lose this?”

The woman turned around and gave Sky a shrug. “Take my advice,” she said with a drawl. “Never have kids.” She pulled the child onto her hip with a single arm and said, “Bad girl. You’re supposed to stay with Mommy.”

The woman’s voice carried no affection or warmth. As she spoke she gave an angry jerk of her arm that made the toddler’s head bob.

Life, suddenly, seemed terribly unfair to Sky.

“No.” Sky stepped up to the woman. “It’s not her job to stay with you. It’s your job to watch her. Children get abducted, it happens all the time.” Sky’s voice dropped to a breathy whisper. “To her, you’re a god. What kind of god do you think you are? A pretty fucking lousy one, I’d say.”

Pink Velour stared in stunned silence.

“I’ll take her.” Sky pulled a card from the zebra-print backpack and thrust it in the woman’s right hand. “If you don’t want her, I’ll take her. My lawyers can expedite the procedure. We can start the adoption now. Today.” Sky reached out. “Give her to me. Give her to someone who gives a shit.”

Pink Velour quit chewing and gaped at the card. Sky could see her tiny square teeth and the wad of gum at rest on her tongue. Abruptly, the woman clutched the toddler in both arms.

Sky continued. “And the next time you’re at Victoria’s Secret dropping fifty dollars on that polka dot push-up bra you want so bad? Buy your daughter a new pair of shoes instead.”

A sharp intake of breath came from Pink Velour at the mention of the polka dot bra. Fear registered in her eyes. “How did you know about that?”

How did Sky know about the bra? Sometimes she just knew things, it was impossible to explain. Or control.

The line was starting to move, they were boarding.

Pink Velour slipped a diaper bag over her free shoulder and looked straight ahead. Sky noted that both of the woman’s arms remained wrapped around her daughter. She’d lost interest in the Blackberry.

Good.

Pink Velour reached the head of the line and fumbled with her boarding pass and driver’s license. Flashing the documents at the flight attendants, she shot Sky a worried look and scurried down the accordion-pleated corridor with the toddler clutched to her chest.

TEXAS

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

It was a direct flight from Boston to Dallas. The pilot reached altitude and the seat belt sign blinked off. Sky opened her tray and spread out the Tempest information packet, but her thoughts returned to Pink Velour. Had Sky really asked for that toddler like she’d asked the hotel heiress for Tiffany?

Upon reflection, absurd. What triggered it? Was it her abduction – the long-held secret divulged by a stranger and confirmed by her grandmother? Was that what prompted the tirade against Pink Velour?

Staring out the window at the billowing cirrostratus clouds, Sky explored memories of her childhood through the lens of Izzy’s confession.

Certain things began to make sense.

Like the servants that dogged Sky’s heels during summers in Boston. Remote men with somber eyes. Bodyguards. Of course.

What about the time spent in South Dakota with her mother? Year after year, arriving in September and staying through late spring. Flannel shirts and the battered Chevy pickup her mother drove around Pine Ridge Reservation. The Badlands, two million acres worth.

Were they hiding?

Pine Ridge was a good place for it.

The jet landed at Love Field just after seven.

Sky had arranged a commuter from Love to an airport in Tempest called Baby Peach. A guy in Bermuda shorts was holding a placard with her name on it when she came through the arrival gate. They climbed into a golf cart and she accompanied him to a private hangar where a small Lear jet waited.

After a brief introduction to the affable pilot, Sky boarded. It felt odd to be without Tiffany in her arm, like she was always forgetting something.