Chapter 8

Debbie met us at the back door of Harbor House and sadly shook her head.

"We don't have any vacancies for a child," she said. "All my temporary foster families are full up."

I pulled Debbie to the side and said, "The doctor said she shouldn't be by herself. What do you suggest?"

"I'll try to arrange something by tomorrow. Give me a call around noon and I'll let you know."

We got into the car and started home. I could tell by the way Connie was driving she was pissed. Once we got inside and had Sarah settled in her room, Connie exploded, slamming her fist onto the kitchen table.

"Goddamn fucking bureaucrats!"

"Keep your voice down," I said. "You'll scare Sarah."

Connie slumped into a chair. "I'm sorry, but I'm not taking that kid to Fargo and have to go back in the morning to get her. I'm just not."

"She's safe here," I said. "Why the fuck would they care one way or the other?"

Connie gave me a look. Her eyes were sad, her mouth was set in a grim line, and she sighed.

I said, "You don't mean they'd think..."

"I do, and you damn well know it," she said. "You can bet we'll be asked what happened last night and tonight."

"Oh, shit!" I said.

" 'Oh shit' is right," Connie said.

I dished up the pork roast and we ate supper. We questioned Sarah as gently as possible all through the meal, but she couldn't shed any light on her predicament. The only lead we had was the return address in Sheffield, Missouri, which had been on most of the envelopes we'd found. Connie said she'd make some calls in the morning and we went to bed.

I was on my side returning a particularly passionate kiss when Connie pulled her head back.

"Did you hear a noise?" I asked breathlessly.

"Nuh-uh," she whispered. "I want to ask you something."

She put her hand on my belly and stroked it in circles, then bent her head and kissed my belly button. "Do you ever think about having kids of your own?"

"No." I said. "Remember me? I'm here in bed with you. If I wanted kids, I'd be somewhere else."

She stroked my stomach again and said, "I'll bet you'd look beautiful with a big belly."

My nipples flattened out by themselves and I got a sudden chill. After the shiver, my arousal evaporated like smoke. I buried my head in her neck and kissed her.

I whispered, "I would do almost anything for you, but I can't do that. Please don't ask me. Please?" I started crying.

She pulled me upright and hugged me very tightly. "I'm sorry. I'm not asking you. I won't... ever. I promise. It was just a thought."

"I care about her too," I said.

"I know you do, baby. I know you do."

I don't think either of us slept very well.

We drove to work the next morning and took Sarah into the dungeon to await Debbie's call. Connie got on the phone and worked our only lead, the address in Missouri. Sarah took her drawing things out of her backpack and used one of the empty desks to doodle.

About ten o'clock, Terri brought an older, well-dressed woman into her office and closed the door. Connie identified her as Clara Riesen, the Regional Director of Social Services.

A few minutes after Clara's arrival, Sarah was summoned to Terri's office.

I gave Connie a small hug. "Are we in deep doo-doo?"

Connie gave me a wary smile. "We'll see."

Connie returned to the phone, and I played solitaire on the computer. There was no way I'd be able to concentrate on anything until after Clara's verdict.

It didn't take very long by the clock, although in my mind it seemed an eternity. Sarah bounced into the room with us and hugged Connie and me. Clara threw me a look that might have said, 'I'll get you next time', and left. Terri gave us a wide smile and shut her door.

Soon after, Debbie called and we delivered Sarah and her possessions to Harbor House and Debbie's care. The goodbye was mildly tearful; Sarah said she'd miss us, and we assured her we felt the same way. Connie gave Sarah one of her cards and told her to call any time.

Over lunch, Connie rehashed the few facts we knew. Ronnie, Melinda's part-time boyfriend, was unable to provide any clues. His alibi for the night of Melinda's death was rock-solid and unbreakable.

After lunch, I got on the phone and called Missouri. The Police Chief of Sheffield was unable to confirm the existence of any relatives for Melinda or Sarah. Sheffield was located in Ransom County, and the Sheriff of Ransom County proved to be a dead end as well. We faxed him photos and details of what we knew, and asked him to be on the lookout for any information. After receiving his assurances he would do as I asked, I hung up.

We called it a day and went home. Sarah was safe. Lonely, perhaps, but safe.

Over our supper that evening I mentioned the house seemed a little empty.

Connie shook her head sadly. "Yeah, I miss her too, more than I thought I would."

"Do you think she'll be okay?" I asked.

"I don't really know," she said. "It's out of our hands now."

When we went to bed that night, I checked Sarah's room and found she'd made the bed. She'd also left us one of her stuffed animals, an orange kangaroo named Fred. Fred was propped between two pillows, his tail askew. I called Connie to come and see, and when she spied Fred she sighed and hugged me tight. We left him on the bed as a silent reminder of happier times.

The next six weeks were fairly dull in some respects. Throughout the month of September and half of October we arranged for the care and feeding of about two dozen children whose parents had run afoul of the law. Once family and friends understood we were trying to help, we got a bit more cooperation.

I started working the streets dressed in jeans and boots because of the weather—the middle of September had brought an early snowfall. I continued to drive my Blazer, which seemed to fit in the mostly poorer neighborhoods we visited.

The money from my paychecks continued to mount in my bank account, and one evening I warily brought up the subject of money with Connie.

I was standing at the sink, finishing the last of the pots and pans, and I asked, "Connie? Can I talk to you?"

She got up from the table and walked over behind me, cupping my breasts and nuzzling my neck.

"You sure can, sweetie. What's up?"

I shrugged off her embrace and grabbed her hands. "It's important."

She smiled and kissed my nose. "Well, if it's that important, maybe we'd better sit down."

I got two beers from the fridge and took a seat across the table from her. I didn't want my sudden horny feelings to cloud my mind.

"It's about money," I said.

"What about it?" she asked curiously. "We have it, we spend it. Problem solved."

"No," I said firmly. "I'm not contributing my share."

Connie laughed. "Your share of what?" she asked.

Dammit, this wasn't going very well at all!

"The household expenses, clothes, gas, everything," I said.

Connie stayed silent for a minute or two, gently smiling in my direction. Then she leaned over the table and took both of my hands in hers.

With a wry grin she asked, "Would you be asking about money if I was a man?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, confused.

"Let's say you were engaged to a nice man who loved you very much." I nodded and she continued, "Hypothetically speaking, you've just moved in with him, you're wearing his ring and you know marriage is in the foreseeable future. You with me so far?"

I nodded and said, "But..."

"Wait, let me finish. You know this nice man has some money, and you also know he would do anything at all to make you happy. You're sharing his bed and his bread—bed is wonderful and the food is excellent—and you get to spend a lot of your waking hours in his company, too."