Part 17 (1/2)
Paavo and Rebecca reconnoitered in Homicide to talk about Sherlock Farnsworth. Rebecca told him about the goose egg her investigation had become, and he told her about the missing Hannah Dzanic.
Rebecca went back through her notes and read aloud the parts about Farnsworth's concerns about a pregnant woman.
Much as he hated to, Paavo phoned Stan, waking him from a deep sleep, and asked for everything Hannah had ever said about Farnsworth, a.k.a. Sh.e.l.ly Farms.
”All I remember was that he helped her with things like getting her and the baby on welfare, and that she was worried because she hadn't seen him for a few days.”
Paavo and Rebecca nodded. ”Let's go,” Paavo said.
The Athina was nothing like the type of restaurant Angie usually frequented. Paavo was astonished by it.
They interviewed Eugene and Gail Leer, Tyler Marsh and the cook, Michael Zeno. No one could tell them anything about Hannah's whereabouts or Sh.e.l.ly Farms. ”I know nothing!” was everyone's favorite line. Tyler wouldn't even admit to being the baby's father, but fell back on the old line that he was one of several men Hannah had been seeing. From the way Angie had described Hannah, as well as what he'd gleaned from Hannah's landlady, that wasn't very likely.
It was also clear the Athina people were nervous about something, and having two cops in the restaurant made it worse. They'd be watched.
At the same time, Angie sat in the living room of the beautiful Marin County home of her second sister, Caterina. It was in Tiburon and had a magnificent view of the city across the bay.
”Cat” as Caterina currently preferred to be called, handed her a caramel macchiato latte. She'd just bought herself a nine-hundred-dollar espresso machine and was trying out all her favorite coffee shop recipes.
”I don't know what to do,” Angie said, eying the tall drink topped with whipped cream. ”My party's next weekend and everybody's acting so strangely it's driving me crazy. Paavo and Papa are pretending to be friends-you know that's a disaster waiting to happen. Mamma burst into tears, Frannie's jealous, Connie keeps to herself, and Stan has forgotten about food and is lovesick over a woman with a baby who's run out and left him with the kid. Is the world coming to an end?”
”Well, I'm sure your party, at least, is under control,” Cat said. ”You're probably seeing preparty stress in Mamma, Papa, and Paavo. And it's about time Stan thought about something besides his stomach. Things will work out.”
”Has Mamma said anything to you about the party?”
”Not a word.”
Angie couldn't believe it. Serefina was one of the great talkers of the world. Keeping all this bottled up inside had to be a horrible strain. ”Not even where it'll be held? Surely you know.”
”I don't.” Cat's eyes sparkled. ”But even if I did, I wouldn't tell you.”
How many times had Angie heard that already?
”What does Paavo think about all this?” Cat asked.
”He's more appalled than anything,” Angie admitted. ”I thought he was okay with it, but he acts strangely whenever I bring up Papa. I wish those two would settle their differences. Did Papa treat all of your fiances this way?”
”You've always been his favorite,” Cat said. ”He's more protective of you than the rest of us.”
”I don't think so!” Angie cried.
”It's natural. You're the baby. You don't know how much they missed you when you spent that year at the Sorbonne. They cried over every one of your letters, and read them over and over until the paper wore out.”
”I didn't know that,” Angie admitted.
”It's not something they would have told you. Relax about your party! You're so much like Mamma, you want to stick your fingers into everything! They want your party to be as lovely and memorable as you do, and it will be. Don't worry.”
Angie was dumbfounded. ”I'm like Mamma?”
Feeling somewhat better after the heart-to-heart with her sister, not to mention the caramel macchiato, Angie set off for a place she'd never been to before: a welfare office.
The waiting room was packed with women and squalling children, and many of the mothers looked like they were children themselves. Most of the youngsters appeared well fed and happy. Some of the mothers were exceedingly well fed, but none seemed happy.
Several glowered at her, and she realized this was not the place to wear an Escada pantsuit with a Gucci bag and shoes. Her handbag alone probably cost close to what these women had to live on for a month. She tucked the offending bag under her arm but then realized they probably thought she was protecting it from them. At that point, she wasn't sure what to do with it.
The line to the front desk was long. It wasn't as if she were there to apply for anything, so she stood off to the side until she caught the eye of an employee in the back. The woman looked stunned to see Angie waving at her and approached.
Angie met her at the end of the front counter. ”I need to talk to Dianne Randle,” Angie said.
The clerk's head bobbed up and down several times, taking in Angie from head to toe. ”Is she your worker?”
”My what?”
”Your social worker. Does she handle your case?”
Angie glanced down at her clothes. She might have to rethink her casual attire. ”I have to speak to her about one of her cases. Hannah Dzanic is missing. It's...it's a police matter.” She half cowered, expecting the wrath of Paavo to swoop down on her for hinting she might have anything to do with the police. She hadn't actually said she was with the police, of course, and the woman hadn't asked. Instead, she'd hurried into the back room.
Less than five uncomfortable minutes pa.s.sed before the woman reappeared and asked Angie to follow her.
Dianne Randle handed the teenage girl sitting at her desk some forms and sent her away, then stood and invited Angie over. The social worker was in her fifties and matronly, with wiry salt-and-pepper hair capping her head. She wore a polyester gray suit, the jacket and skirt looking like one box atop the other. Every so often the jacket would s.h.i.+ft and Angie could see a plain white sh.e.l.l under it. A gray and white scarf at the neckline looked more awkward than stylish.
The two shook hands. Randle had one of those enthusiastic I'm-here-to-help-you grips that left Angie's knuckles aching.
”What is this about?” Randle asked as they sat. ”Edith told me Hannah is missing.”
”That's right.” Angie intended to tell Randle everything. ”I was wondering if you've heard from her.”
Randle's piercing blue eyes studied Angie. ”What's your interest in her?”
”I met her and liked her, then she disappeared. I'm afraid something may have happened to her. For one thing, she was genuinely fearful of the baby's father, although she never said why. I was wondering if she came to you for help, or if you have any idea of others she might have gone to.”
Randle looked confused, then her jaw tightened. ”Edith said...didn't you say you're with the police?”
”Me? No. The police are looking into this, but they have no leads, either.”
”Where's the baby?” Randle asked.
Angie s.h.i.+fted. ”The baby?”
”You said Hannah's missing, but you didn't mention the baby. Where is she?”
Suddenly Angie realized her mistake. If she told this woman that a man who was practically a stranger to Hannah was caring for her child, she'd have Child Protective Services descend on him and take Kaitlyn away. Once Hannah returned-and Angie had to believe she would-she could be charged with child abandonment and ruled an unfit mother. ”I'm sorry,” Angie said nervously. ”Hannah took the child with her.”
The way Randle's eyes bored into her, it was all she could do not to drop to her knees and beg forgiveness for lying. She was sure Randle was quite successful at keeping her charges well in line.