The Homecoming Baby. Kathleen O'Brien

Ellyn was a terrible liar. She knew damn well he didn’t want that flea-bag. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of being so selfish,” he said nobly. “Let Karen have him.”

      Don Frost coughed suspiciously, and Ellyn’s lovely hazel eyes twinkled. “All right,” she said. “But you won’t be too long, will you? We’re going to have champagne and strawberries on the patio. Do come, Mr. Frost. It’s a very nice champagne.”

      “Thanks,” the investigator said, though Patrick noticed he didn’t commit to anything. Don didn’t seem awed by the rich and beautiful, in spite of the scuffed loafers and tired jacket. “That sounds nice.”

      Ellyn retreated gracefully, and as soon as she was out of earshot Patrick turned back to the investigator. “Go on,” he said. “This birth certificate?”

      The other man squared his shoulders and dropped his social smile. Back to business.

      “This birth certificate doesn’t name the father. But it also doesn’t name the mother. On this one, both parents are simply listed as ‘unknown.’”

      Both parents? How? Patrick felt the sudden need to sit down, too. But he overcame it. When you grew up as Julian Torrance’s son, you learned early never to show the least sign of weakness.

      “How is that possible, Mr. Frost?”

      “Well, naturally I wanted to know that myself. I’ve been looking into it for the past week. I had hoped to find out something that would make the news a little more—” His gaze slid to the side. “A little more tidy.”

      “But?”

      “But I’m afraid this story just isn’t tidy. That’s why I came myself. I thought I should, in case you had questions.”

      “I have nothing but questions,” Patrick said. “You aren’t providing much of anything but riddles. Surely when a woman delivers a baby, she has to give the hospital her name.”

      “She does if she goes to a hospital. This mother didn’t. In this particular case, the mother delivered her baby herself. The baby was subsequently found and sent to the local birthing center. The adoption was formalized from there.”

      The baby was subsequently found…

      Patrick sat down. He had no choice.

      “I’m listening,” he said. “Just go ahead and tell me everything.”

      The investigator nodded. “All right. At about 1:00 a.m. on the morning of November 25, exactly thirty years ago, the owner of the birthing center, a Mrs. Lydia Kane, received an anonymous call. A female voice told her that a newborn baby could be found in the girls’ bathroom of the local high school. Mrs. Kane then went to the high school. The custodian was there late, cleaning up after the homecoming dance. He had already found the baby and called the authorities.”

      Patrick noticed, with the vague back third of his brain, that Don Frost was careful to use impersonal terms. The mother. The baby. Never “your mother” and “you.”

      The man’s eyes were round and sad. It dawned on Patrick that Don Frost pitied him. In an odd, confused way, that made Patrick angry. He didn’t need pity. He didn’t care about all this. He didn’t have the slightest recollection of lying abandoned on a cold bathroom floor.

      “Still,” he said. “Someone must know who the mother was. High school girls can’t go through a whole pregnancy without someone noticing. That much weight gain shows, doesn’t it?”

      Frost shrugged. “Unless they wear baggy clothes or starve themselves. Some do.”

      “But they can’t just give birth at the homecoming dance without someone—”

      Patrick stopped. He was being ridiculous. Of course they could. He read the papers. Every now and then a story like that would grab the headlines for a few days. The baby in the trash can, in the Dumpster, in the shoebox in the teenager’s closet, hidden behind the video games.

      “Actually,” Don went on after a slight pause, “in this case there were a lot of rumors. The whole thing caused quite a stir in Enchantment, which is a fairly small town. People round there still tell the story of ‘The Homecoming Baby.’”

      “And what do they say?”

      “Well, they seem to agree that the mother was probably a girl named Angelina Linden. Pretty girl, from a good family, but a little wild. The authorities definitely would have checked it out—checked her out, I mean, about whether she’d given birth. But they couldn’t. She and her boyfriend both disappeared that night.”

      “They ran away?”

      “That’s what everybody thought. But then a couple of years later, they found the boy’s body. There’s an old ghost town just northwest of Enchantment, a place where the kids go to fool around. Some abandoned mine shafts up there, not too safe, actually. Apparently the boy had fallen down one of those. Broke his neck.”

      The wind was picking up. Patrick heard it blowing across his ears, but strangely he didn’t really feel the cold any more. He felt slightly numb all over.

      “And the girl?”

      Don Frost must have had to deliver a lot of bad news in his career. He looked grim, but he didn’t avoid Patrick’s gaze. He met it squarely.

      “They looked. No more bodies in the mine shaft. But no one ever heard from Angelina again. Her younger sister still lives in Enchantment. I met her, though of course I didn’t tell her who I am.” He smiled. “Nice woman. She works at the birthing center. But she clearly doesn’t have any idea what happened to her sister.”

      Patrick stood up and moved to the edge of the folly. Turning his back on the ocean, he stared out at the crowded estate, where the pet auction was winding up. He couldn’t see Ellyn anymore. People were rushing to claim their winnings, hugging the poor, damaged puppies and kittens they’d rescued to the tune of thousands of dollars.

      Ironic, wasn’t it? A little lost kitten could generate this kind of enthusiasm—all the do-gooders in San Francisco came running, their hearts bleeding for the poor abandoned things. But a real human girl could leave her newborn baby on the bathroom floor, one more piece of trash for the janitor to sweep away with the trampled corsages and dirty silver streamers.

      She could do it. And then she could run away. And never look back.

      He closed his eyes. What a fool he’d been to unearth this story! He hadn’t let himself toy with anything as stupid and dangerous as dreams since he was eight years old. Apparently he’d forgotten what a nasty sound they made when they exploded in your face.

      “I’ve got all the information here,” Don said quietly. “All the names and addresses and such.”

      Patrick turned. Don was holding out a plain white envelope. He must have retrieved it from his coat. That’s how petty the story was. It would fit in a man’s breast pocket.

      For a moment, Patrick didn’t want to take it, but that would have looked ridiculous. He forced out his hand and accepted the slim envelope.

      “Thank you,” he said. He didn’t sound like himself, so he made an effort to warm his voice. “Send the bill along. My office will cut you a check.”

      The man hesitated. “Mr. Torrance—”

      “Thank you, Mr. Frost. I do appreciate your fast work on this. You did a fine job.”

      Frost knew he’d been dismissed. He wasn’t a stupid man, in spite of the six kids and the pregnant gerbil. And he didn’t seem to be a hard man, in spite of how routinely he must encounter the sordid side of the human race.

      He stood and moved toward the stairs of the folly. But at the last minute he turned around. “I included all the pertinent names and addresses. I even included a map. You know. In case you wanted to—” He stopped. “It’s a pretty little town. And the sister. She’s nice, too. And if it’s all true,