On the Doorstep. Dana Corbit

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      He scribbled again on his notepad, taking down crime scene details. Hopefully, he would find enough leads this morning to keep him busy all afternoon. He turned to Pilar, who was walking back toward him, the wind blowing dark bangs into her eyes. She shoved her hair back from her face and rubbed her hands up and down her upper arms.

      This time he didn’t bother worrying about offending her. Chivalry wouldn’t die under his watch if he could help it.

      “Here, take my jacket,” he said, already descending the steps and lowering it onto her shoulders.

      She started to speak, but he waved away her protests. “Don’t worry about it. I need to ask you a few questions, and I don’t want you to freeze while I’m doing it.”

      But she wasn’t listening to him as her gaze was focused on his shoulder holster and the .40-caliber semi-automatic that until then had been hidden under his jacket. He asked his first question to distract her.

      “Can you tell me the approximate time when you first noticed the baby?”

      Pilar’s head jerked until she met his gaze again. She chewed her lip for several seconds and then shook her head.

      “Sorry.”

      “That’s okay, but try to think back. Do you know how long you waited after discovering the child before you called police? Dispatch recorded your call at 0724.”

      Her gaze darted from the basket to the office entry and back before she turned to him, again shaking her head. Zach gripped his pen tighter but refused to become frustrated. Pilar was going to be helpful to him. He only needed to ask the right questions first.

      “Let’s start with something else. Did you see anyone suspicious-looking around the building just before or just after you found the victim?”

      Pilar rubbed her chin and looked at the ground. For a third time, she shook her head.

      Zach’s jaw tightened. Was she purposely being difficult, or did she really not remember anything? From everything he’d ever sensed from or heard about the ultratogether Pilar Estes, he would have expected her to be able to relate the story in minute detail. Was she hiding something? And if so, why?

      The basket drew his attention then, as full of questions as it was empty of its earlier contents.

      “Can you show me exactly where you found the infant?”

      This time she didn’t hesitate at all. She climbed the porch steps and peered down at the open basket, the cashmere blanket folded inside it. Her posture relaxed, and she pressed her lips together as if holding back a smile. When she glanced back at him, she raised an eyebrow though she easily could have said “duh” at the lame question, worthy of a rookie cop.

      All right, Fletcher, pull it together. Her opinion of the way he conducted the investigation shouldn’t have mattered, but it did.

      “Of course. The basket,” he muttered. “Did you move it, or did you find it right there on the porch?”

      “Right there.” She studied the container for several seconds more, and then her gaze shot up. “You said there was a note. I didn’t see one, but then I never thought to look for one. Where did you find it?”

      Who was asking the questions now? It was his turn to raise an eyebrow. “In the basket.”

      She really smiled this time, an expression so warm it could have melted ice along the banks of the James River. The smile gave him the same jolt he’d experienced when he’d caught her staring earlier. She’d met his gaze squarely then and hadn’t bothered to look away.

      Mirth danced in her glistening black eyes now, but earlier he’d seen something else entirely in them, intense and soulful at the same time. Perhaps he’d only reacted to Pilar’s need to connect with another human being on a day when she’d witnessed a tragic side of humanity, but he’d felt her reaching out to him. Stranger still, he’d been tempted to reach right back.

      That fact alone should have sent him hightailing it back to the station so he could ask the sergeant to reassign the case. He didn’t do relationships of any kind, let alone the male-female kind. He liked being alone. He was good at it. And people who were good at being alone didn’t have to risk losing anyone important to them.

      And yet Pilar’s smile drew him in. That shouldn’t have surprised him. He’d seen at church how adults and children alike gravitated toward her as she met each with her welcoming smile. This time, though, she’d directed her grin at him, and he liked that more than he cared to admit.

      “Why didn’t I think of looking there?” she said when the lull in the conversation stretched too long.

      “You were too busy making sure the baby was okay.”

      “True.” Her smile was gone.

      Why did he suddenly want to perform clown tricks or do a stand-up routine to make her smile again? Still, he had a job to do, and he didn’t have time to kid around.

      “The note was buried under the blanket. We’ll see if we can pull any prints from it. Want to see it?”

      He slipped back on the plastic glove from his pocket and opened the brown paper sack he’d placed the letter in. He carefully unfolded the piece of thick, ecru stationery.

      “It’s addressed to the staff of Tiny Blessings. It says, ‘Please find my baby boy Gabriel a good home full of love. And tell him I love him.’”

      When Pilar didn’t say anything, he decided he couldn’t blame her. He was having a hard enough time scaring up sympathy for this mother who claimed to love her baby, and he didn’t work in a field full of childless couples desperate to adopt. He could only imagine the mixed feelings Pilar must have felt.

      “Gabriel.” She nodded, her gaze distant. “It’s perfect for him. He’s named after an angel. You know that story, of how Gabriel appeared to Zechariah to tell him his elderly wife, Elizabeth, would have a son, right?”

      Zach shot a sidelong glance at her, convinced he hadn’t heard her right, but she wasn’t laughing.

      “The same angel who appeared to Mary later, telling her she would give birth to Jesus,” he said to prove he did know what she was talking about. He wanted to ask Pilar what her point was, but he doubted she had one. Why were they reciting biblical stories when they should have been out finding Gabriel’s mom and protecting her from making mistakes that couldn’t be fixed?

      “Yes, his name is perfect,” she said, nodding her agreement with the choice.

      The conversation was so strange that Zach wasn’t sure how to respond. Maybe she just needed him to cut her some slack since she’d been through a harrowing morning. She wasn’t herself, and probably needed a friend. Though he knew better, he was tempted to volunteer for the job.

      “Pilar,” he said in his gentlest voice, “you do see that Gabriel’s life isn’t perfect, don’t you? You have to see that he needs his mother.”

      She stiffened and looked past him at the street, which was beginning to fill with cars as the rest of Chestnut Grove headed to work.

      “She СКАЧАТЬ