Merry Mary Page 6

  The baby’s vomiting subsided sometime around ten o’clock. Scottie planned to wait until noon before feeding the baby some formula. If everything went well, she would be on the road by two.

  She bathed the baby, then showered and dressed in jeans and a warm wool sweater. She’d just finished eating a bowl of tomato bisque and was preparing Mary’s bottle when Joyce Jackson led the noon news with yet another breaking story.

  “I’m standing at the iron fountain in Monroe Park where an eyewitness has come forth with some pertinent information in the missing baby case.” Joyce spread her arm out wide to the scene behind her where a group of bystanders were gathered around several police officers. “At least one eyewitness claims to have seen a woman in the park the morning the baby went missing. According to this source, the woman is no stranger to Monroe Park. Known to them as the camera lady, this woman visits with the homeless often, bringing with her hot food and provisions.”

  Scottie gasped. Her heart racing, she broke out in a cold sweat. She reached for the controller and turned the volume up.

  “Do you have a description of this camera lady?” asked Sylvia Sheldon, the buffed and polished newscaster in the studio.

  Joyce consulted her notes. “Attractive. Tall with blonde hair usually pulled back in a ponytail. Appears to be in her late twenties to early thirties.”

  “Have you received any information as to why the people of Monroe Park call her the camera lady?” Sylvia Sheldon asked.

  Joyce shook her head. “Only that she likes to take pictures of them.”

  Scottie clicked off the television. She was so screwed. Anyone who had been in her house—not only her friends but repairmen and delivery people as well—had seen the photographs of the Five. This new development changed everything. Once the police identified Scottie, she’d become a wanted person. If she took the baby on the run, she’d never be able to come home to Richmond. She’d never see her family or friends again. If she turned herself in to the police, she could go to prison for kidnapping.

  She knelt down in front of the baby, who was kicking her legs and swatting at the toys on her bouncy seat, playful for the first time in twenty-four hours.

  “We’ll just have to borrow more money from Will.” She lifted Mary out of the bouncy seat and hugged her tight. “We need to get on the road as soon as you’ve got something in your tummy.”

  Forcing herself to take deep breaths, she sat down at the island and reached for her cell phone. She clicked on Will’s contact information, but the call went directly to voice mail. A minute later, she received a text from him: At lunch with important client. Will call you when done.

  Her phone dinged again with a text from Brad: Keep me out of this, Scottie. I never saw that baby.

  “Fuck off, Brad,” she screamed and threw her phone across the room. It bounced off the carpet and landed in front of the Christmas tree.

  Scottie took several deep breaths, forcing herself to calm down. She figured she had at least a few hours before the police followed the bread crumbs to her front door.

  Mary was finishing her bottle when the doorbell rang. Every hair on Scottie’s body stood to attention. Placing the baby in the swing, she tiptoed to the front door and peeked through the peephole.

  Logistically, there was no way her mother could have seen the noon news, unless she’d been watching with one of Scottie’s neighbors. Will may have expressed his concern to their mother about the baby, but he was in a meeting. He didn’t know the police had identified the camera lady as a possible suspect. With any luck, Barbara’s timely appearance at her front door was merely a coincidence.

  Scottie threw open the door. “Now is not a good time, Mother.”

  Barbara held up a scrawny-looking Fraser fir wreath. “I bought you a wreath, but I see you already got one. This one’s pitiful looking anyway. It’s the only one I could find.” She tossed the wreath out into the yard and, brushing past Scottie, headed straight down the hall to the family room. “Whose baby is this?”

  “She’s mine, Mom. I found her.” Even to herself, she sounded delusional.

  “Oh, Scottie. What have you done?” The look of pity in her mother’s face unleashed the torrent of emotion she’d been holding back.

  “Oh God, Mom. I screwed up so badly.” When Scottie burst into tears, the baby started to cry as well.

  Barbara picked up the baby and jiggled her. “There, there, now. Everything will be okay,” she said to the baby, but her eyes were on Scottie. She sank to the sofa and pulled Scottie down beside her. “Sit, honey, and tell me everything.”

  Eyeing her mother’s St. John suit, Scottie handed Barbara a burp cloth. “She might spit up.”

  Barbara listened without interrupting as Scottie recounted her story from the discovery of the baby to the recent development broadcasted on the noon news. “I never intended to keep her, Mom. You’ve gotta believe me. All I could think about at the time was getting the baby to a warm house. I mean seriously, the poor thing was lying next to her dead mother. What else was I supposed to do?”

  “Actually, the autopsy discovered that Melissa Sabin had an undetected genetic heart defect that caused her death.”

  Scottie jerked her head toward her mother. “Wait, what? How’d you know that?”

  Barbara shrugged. “It was on one of the stations this morning.”

  So Melissa Sabin had a genetic heart defect. Does that mean Mary is at risk as well?

  “How long have you known, Mom?”

  “Your brother called me at daylight. I don’t think he slept a wink worrying about you.”

  Scottie sighed. She couldn’t very well be mad at her brother. After all, she was the one who’d ignored his texts. “That makes two of us. I was up all night with the baby. She has the stomach flu.”

  Instead of handing the baby back to Scottie—like she expected her mother to do in the event of possible contamination—Barbara held Mary even tighter. “The stomach flu is bad business. I hope you’re feeling better now.”

  Aside from her fussy ways, Scottie knew her mother would make an excellent grandmother. Who knew what would become of the baby Scottie was carrying, if she even carried it to full term? It was not uncommon for grandparents to raise their grandchildren in today’s world. But she couldn’t imagine her parents raising her child while she was in prison anymore than she could see Brad as a single parent. Would she be forced to put the child up for adoption after all she’d been through to have a baby?

  Scottie began to cry again, great wracking sobs that took her breath.

  Barbara secured the baby in the swing and went to comfort her daughter. She wrapped her arms around Scottie and held her close. “We’ll figure this out, honey. Don’t you worry.” She smoothed her hair and rubbed her back. “We’ll get you the very best help money can buy.”

  When Scottie’s sobs finally subsided, her mother held her at arm’s length. “How does Brad feel about all this?”

  “He doesn’t approve of me keeping the baby.”

  “Finally something Brad and I agree on.” Her mother fished her cell phone and a pocket-size pouch of tissues out of her bag. Handing the tissues to Scottie, she punched a number into her phone and held it to her ear.

  “Who are you calling?” Scottie asked, blowing her nose.

  “Your father, of course.”

  Scottie snatched the phone away from her mother. “You mean he doesn’t already know?”

  Barbara shook her head. “Will made me promise I wouldn’t tell your father until I knew for sure what we were dealing with. We’re in deep trouble here, sweetheart. We need your father to call in the troops.”

  12

  For the next hour, Scottie begged and pleaded with her mother not to call her father. “Please, Mom. Just lend me some money. Give me my Christmas check early. Anything. I’ll pay you back, I promise. Once I get settled in Canada.”

  “In Canada? Listen to yourself, Scottie. You’re talking crazy.”

  “No
I’m not. Except for the money part, I’ve got it all figured out. I’ll drive up to New York tonight. Once I find someone to forge a fake passport for me and a birth certificate for Mary, we’ll cross the border into Canada and disappear.” Scottie dropped to her knees in front of her mother. “Don’t you see, Mom? I can’t give Mary up now. This is the only hope I have of keeping her.”

  “There must be another way. I’m sure your father’s legal team can come up with something to get you out of this mess.”

  “They’ll take the baby from me and lock me away at Tuckers. Or worse, send me to prison.” Scottie got to her feet and dropped her mother’s cell phone on the cushion beside Barbara. “If that’s what you want for me, go ahead and call Dad.” She lifted Mary out of the baby swing. “Before you do, though, you should know that I’m pregnant. Do you really want your grandchild born in prison?”

  Barbara took in a sharp breath as her hand flew to her chest. “I’d say this complicates the situation.”

  “You think?” Scottie scooped up an armful of bottles and formula from the kitchen counter. “Since you’re not willing to help me, I’m going upstairs to call Will.”

  Scottie locked herself in the nursery. She knew she was acting like a spoiled child threatening to run away if she didn’t get her way. But she didn’t care. Merry Mary was a part of her now. If she had to fight to keep her, so be it. She had nothing to lose. If they caught her, she was going to prison.

  Her mother would call her father, regardless of what Scottie wanted. He would drop what he was doing and rush right over. She imagined the disappointment in his cornflower eyes that were so like her own. The concern for Scottie’s well-being—her mental stability and the strong likelihood that his baby girl might go to prison—would be etched in the lines in his face.

  Just as Will was a mama’s boy, Scottie had always been her father’s little princess. “His and her children,” her parents always joked to one another. Whenever the family separated into groups of two—to go on rides at Disney World or play charades or take trips to tour colleges—Scottie always paired up with her father while Will went with their mother. Same was true in family arguments. Barbara always took Will’s side and Stuart defended his daughter. Will went to Barbara with his problems, while Scottie sought advice from her father. Except, of course, for instances when she was facing prison time for kidnapping a child.

  The baby’s eyelids began to droop while Scottie was changing her diaper. “Time for you to go night-night, little one.” She placed Mary in her crib and tucked the blanket around her. “When you wake up, after your feeding, we’ll be on our way to our new life.”

  Scottie curled up in the rocking chair and called Will. He answered on the second ring. “Thanks for telling Mom about the baby,” she said in a low voice so as not to disturb Mary.

  He let out a sigh. “You left me no choice. You would’ve done the same thing in my shoes, and you know it. I’m afraid for you, Scott.”

  Scottie twirled a curl around her finger. “I know. I’m not mad at you.”

  “Well I’m mad as hell at you. Why’d you do it, Scottie? You’ll get your baby. Just not like this.”

  “You don’t understand, Will.”

  “Then explain it to me.”

  “I had no intention of keeping the baby at first, not until Mabel came to visit me.”

  “Who’s Mabel?”

  “The oldest of the five homeless people I’ve been photographing in Monroe Park. She reminds me of May Belle. Remember her? Nana’s old housekeeper who always made ice cream floats for us everytime we visited.”

  “Of course I remember May Belle. Stay focused here, sis. What does this Mabel person have to do with you deciding to keep the baby?”

  “She helped me see that the baby is better off with me. What happened that day in Monroe Park is no different than what happened centuries ago in Bethlehem. Mary is a gift from God, Will. To me.”

  A long silence ensued before he responded, “Okay… so, I understand how you might actually believe this, considering the circumstances, but—”

  “You don’t even know all of the circumstances. There are no strings attached. According to Mabel, the baby’s mother doesn’t know who the father is. And there’s no birth certificate because the baby was born in the park.”

  “Except that now Melissa Sabin’s parents have shown up to identify the body of their dead daughter, a teenage runaway they’ve been looking for for five years. My guess is, the baby’s grandparents will not give up on finding their missing grandchild. She’s the only piece they have left of their daughter.”

  “Never mind that they are abusive alcoholics who nearly beat Melissa to death before she ran away.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Mabel told me.”

  “And you believe this woman without hearing both sides of the story. Since when do you trust a source without doing the research?”

  A lone tear escaped Scottie’s eye and rolled down her cheek. He was right. She’d wanted so much to believe Mabel, she’d turned a blind eye to all the other possible scenarios. At some point, probably in the very beginning, she’d stopped thinking with her head and started listening only to her heart.

  “I agree that having the grandparents show up complicates things.”

  Scottie heard the frustration in her brother’s voice when he said, “Look, Scottie, Dad is on his way over there with one of his attorneys. At least listen to what they have to say.”

  She began to cry in earnest now. “I’m pregnant, Will. I can’t deliver this baby in prison.”

  “What? Jesus, Scottie!” He paused, breathing hard. “Just hold tight. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  13

  After thirty minutes of coaxing from her father, Scottie finally agreed to come out of the nursery and talk to his lawyer. But only on her terms. Stuart Westport reluctantly agreed to lend her money to start a new life if she didn’t like what his lawyer had to say.

  To Scottie’s surprise, she found love and compassion and no trace of disappointment in her father’s eyes.

  They gathered in the dining room, around the mahogany double-pedestal table she’d inherited from her nana. Her mother served coffee in the cups and saucers Scottie had received as wedding gifts, part of the fine hand-painted china Barbara insisted every young bride should have. When they moved into the house, Scottie had stored the china set out of the way in the cabinet above the refrigerator. Had her mother been snooping through all of her things?

  “I’ll just be in the other room with the baby,” Barbara said, and slipped quietly out of the room.

  Her father reached across the table and squeezed Scottie’s hand. “Mr. Bingham will take good care of you, honey. He’s our best criminal attorney.”

  Her father had joined forces with his best friend right out of law school to create their own firm, Westport and Johnson. Their two-man operation had grown to nearly one hundred attorneys that covered nearly every area of law from corporate litigation to estate planning to divorce. They even employed several attorneys to handle criminal cases when one of their regular clients broke the law.

  Scottie had met all of the attorneys at Westport and Johnson at some point over the years. She knew some of them better than others. With bright blue eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses perched atop his chubby pink cheeks, Len Bingham had a face she thought she could trust.

  Although she suspected Bingham to be in his late fifties, he appeared much older than her father. Aside from a strip of hair around the base of his skull, he was mostly bald—and overweight by an easy fifty pounds. In contrast, her father was trim and fit with the healthy glow of an outdoorsman and a solid head of sandy-colored hair.

  The attorney loosened his tie and rolled up his shirtsleeves, preparing to get his hands dirty. When she seemed hesitant to discuss her situation, he said, “Your father is paying me a retainer, Scottie. Regardless of what actions you decide to take, nothing you tell me will leave this room.�
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  Mr. Bingham made notes on the legal pad in front of him while Scottie stammered through the events of the past few days. When she finished telling her story, he asked her a number of questions before discussing his observations. He presented the potential scenarios and listed the charges the police may decide to bring. They sat around the table for what seemed like hours, long after the coffee in Scottie’s cup grew cold. All the what-ifs and maybes made her head spin, but the one thing he didn’t offer was a way out.

  Scottie clasped her hands in front of her. “Let me ask you this, Mr. Bingham. How do the guards treat pregnant inmates in prison?”

  Bingham cast a nervous glance at her father. “Are you telling me you’re pregnant?”

  Scottie rubbed her hand across her flat belly. “Six weeks if my calculations are correct.”

  “Did you know this at the time of the abduc… um, when you discovered the baby in the park?”

  Scottie stood abruptly. “No, sir, I did not. And frankly, I don’t see what difference it makes whether I was pregnant at the time or not. We’ve talked a lot about intent here today. My intent was to take the baby someplace warm and safe. Nothing more.”

  Bingham stood to face her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  Scottie held her hand out to him. “I appreciate your time, Mr. Bingham, but I need to talk to my family before I make my decision.”

  Bingham ran his hand over the shiny dome of his head. “You realize you’re taking a big risk. If the police receive evidence that leads them to you… well, let’s just say you’ll have better bargaining power if you go to them on your own volition instead of waiting for them to come to you.”

  “With all due respect, Mr. Bingham, I’m not convinced they’ll come to me.”

  Bingham shot her father a look, a plea for him to intervene. Stuart shrugged. “I made a deal with my daughter. I convinced her to listen to you. Now she’ll have to make up her own mind on how to proceed.”