“Yes,” he said, again nodding as if he’d understood a word of what she’d just said. “Completely.” Except for the part about the Lazy Parrot—it was true Joanne and Carl Larson had lost their night manager a while back. John himself had arrested him for petit theft in the second degree—and about Mrs. Robinette. She was the type to stay on volunteering long after her “retirement,” to make sure everything continued to run smoothly, which explained why she’d been at the reception desk to greet him.
The darkness of Molly Montgomery’s huge eyes made sense now, too. It wasn’t only the result of makeup, but the purple shadows that came from a lack of sleep, working as a children’s librarian and the live-in night manager at a popular local hotel.
Still, there was more to her slightly-too-chipper story than she was admitting. That faint white line on her left ring finger attested to that. He’d noticed it, especially because it matched the one on his own exactly.
Although he was very curious, he wasn’t going to bring it up. It wasn’t pertinent to his investigation.
“Well, Ms. Montgomery,” he began, but she interrupted quickly.
“Oh, please, call me Molly. Or Miss Molly. Everybody here does.”
“Okay, well, Molly, then—”
“What’s going to happen to her?” Her gaze was worriedly following the baby, whom Max was carrying out to the ambulance. “Where are they taking her?”
“To the hospital. They’ll check her out, and if she’s okay—which the EMTs seem to think she is—she’ll go to Child Protective Services, and then into foster care.”
The librarian looked troubled. “But what about her mother?”
“Well, obviously, we’re going to try to find her so we can question her.”
This was clearly the wrong thing to say, since those large dark eyes grew even larger, and she visibly tensed. “Question her? About what?”
“Well, for starters, about why she abandoned her baby in an empty trash-bag box in the bathroom of your library.”
“But you don’t know that she did. That baby could have been kidnapped.”
“Kidnapped?” John had thought he’d heard everything in his line of work, but this beat all. “And the kidnappers just happened to forget her in the bathroom of your library?”
She glared at him. “Stranger things have happened in this town, from what I’ve heard.”
He wasn’t going to argue, since that was perfectly true. It was Florida, after all. “Well, if that’s what happened, we’ll find out—after we find the mother and question her.”
“But even if she did leave her baby here, I’m sure it was for a very good reason—clearly she doesn’t feel able to care for her right now. I know I haven’t worked here all that long, but maybe this library is a place where she’s always felt safe, and so she thought her baby would be safe here, too.”
“Uh,” John said, struggling to come up with a reply to this. “Well, now—”
“And she was. We found her and made sure that she got the help she needed. People don’t come to the library simply to check out books anymore, you know, Sheriff. People come to the library for all sorts of reasons—to use our computers, to look for jobs, to take classes, to socialize, and even as a place to get help when they’re hurting or feel as if they’re in danger. Helping them in that way isn’t exactly what we’ve been trained for, but it’s still our job. I’m sure wherever that baby’s mother is now, she’s feeling very frightened and alone. So I hope, if you do find her, that you won’t file charges against her. I personally feel very sorry for her.”
John cleared his throat. That had been quite a speech, and it had certainly put him in his place.
What was worse, he realized with dismay, was that she looked even more attractive when she was angry.
“Well, I do, too,” he said, finally. “And of course I’ll pursue all lines of investigation, including that this baby might have been kidnapped from her mother and then abandoned here in your library”—even though nothing like that had ever happened before in all of John’s many years working in law enforcement—“But no matter how frightened or unable to care for her child she felt, the mother could easily have left her at the hospital or my office or even the fire station right down the street from here. All of those places are designated safe havens for anyone who feels overwhelmed with a newborn, no questions asked. The library isn’t.”
“But—”
“But she didn’t do any of those things, did she? She—or someone—put that baby in an empty trash-bag box and abandoned her in a chilly library bathroom. That is a crime. And it’s my job to investigate when a crime has been committed, and that’s what I intend to do, if that’s all right with you, Miss Montgomery.”
The librarian’s mouth pressed into a thin, straight line, as if she were willing herself not to say something she might regret. “Of course that’s all right with me.”
“Well,” he said. “Great.”
“Great,” she said. “I hope you have better luck solving this mystery than you’ve had solving the mystery of the High School Thief.”
He felt his jaw tighten. Of all the blows she could have delivered, this was the lowest, and he doubted she even knew it.
“Thanks,” he said. “I’m sure we will, considering the high school thief hasn’t left a single shred of DNA evidence.”
“Great.” She swept out from behind her desk with a queenliness that reminded John of her allegedly retired boss, Phyllis Robinette. She’d probably learned it from her. “Let me know if there’s anything else I or the staff here can do to help. In the meantime, if you’re through with your questions, I really need to get back to my patrons.”
John knew he’d made a mess of things with the pretty librarian. He wasn’t sure how, exactly, except by saying that he intended to do his job.
But since she was a woman, and he seemed always to make a mess of things with women, he wasn’t surprised.
John had no idea what to do about the situation, so he simply unfolded himself from the tiny child’s chair—too late, since Molly had already marched from her own chair to where her patrons were being questioned by his most competent deputy, Ryan Martinez.
Well, this wouldn’t be the last time he’d see her, he supposed. He could come back and bring her an update on the case. No one could abandon a baby on an island as small as Little Bridge and get away with it. He’d be seeing Molly Montgomery again, and next time, he’d be more careful not to say the wrong thing.
Whatever that was.
Chapter Three
Molly
News of the baby abandoned at the library spread across the island quicker than word of a tasty new taco truck. By the time Molly left work that day, everyone seemed to know about it, even the tourists staying at the bed-and-breakfast where she was living (and working part-time) until she could find an apartment that was semi-affordable.
“Is it true?” one of the guests asked from a chaise lounge as Molly passed the pool on her way to the kitchen, where she was headed to help Mrs. Larson assemble the hors d’oeuvres for happy hour. “Did the mother really leave the baby in a toilet?”
Molly nearly dropped the tote bag of groceries she was carrying from Frank’s Food Emporium.
“No, that’s not true,” she said. “She was on a toilet in an empty box.”
The tourist—Mrs. Filmore, a regular who’d been coming to the inn the same week for years—gave her husband a triumphant look. “I told you! That’s why they’re calling him Baby Boy Sacks—as in garbage sacks. It was an empty box of trash bags.”
Molly was appalled but bit back a retort. The guest was always right—even guests like Mrs. Filmore, who used the white washcloths in her room to wipe off her copious layers of makeup instead of the black washcloths and hypoallergenic makeup-removing towelettes that the Larsons provided for this purpose. Molly knew, because she found Mrs. Filmore’s bright red lipstick and black mascara-stained washcloths in the laundry every morning. They reminded her of the scary clown from Stephen King’s It (a problematic but still highly popular, if slightly dated, read. She had to remember to show it to Elijah. It might appeal to him, since it was both humorous and gory, but also featured young people finding their true calling through helping others).
“Moses,” boomed Mr. Filmore, from the other end of the pool.
Molly had been heading back toward the kitchen, but now she paused. Mr. Filmore rarely spoke, perhaps because it was easier to allow his gossipy wife to do all the talking for him. So when he did open his mouth to say anything, it was usually worth listening to.
“I beg your pardon?” Molly said.
“Moses.” Mr. Filmore brought his frozen drink to his lips—Molly couldn’t tell what it was, exactly, but it had a festive umbrella and also a slice of lime clinging to the side, so possibly a margarita. “They oughta call the baby Moses, on account of him being found on the water.”
“Oh, Mel.” Mrs. Filmore playfully splashed a spray of pool water at him. “Didn’t you hear? He was found on a toilet, not on the water.”