Part 44 (1/2)

Another violent death. There were a lot of them around. Coincidence?

The fact that murder may have been continuing for years was chilling. What secret was so desperate that it drove someone to kill again and again?

She couldn't even begin to answer that question.

Instead she asked the neighbors about doctors in the area, particularly obstetricians. She gathered a list of three that she would call first thing in the morning.

That evening she checked the yellow pages for local hospitals and used her laptop to find websites. Most included the hospital's history. She immediately discarded those that were less than thirty years old. The list was narrowing.

But that was a long shot and she knew it. Hospitals didn't keep medical records that old. Her only hope was to find someone who might have remembered a heartbroken teenager who gave up a child.

She had to eat, yet she had no appet.i.te. She took a notebook with her and doodled as she waited for the ultimate comfort food she'd ordered. Hamburger and fries.

She noted every event that had happened since she learned of her sister, making a chart of them. Other than speaking with Mrs. Laxton and locating Mrs. Starnes, who was now dead, she had not gone further in searching for school friends, nor had she located the man in the photo.

She probably should have done the latter before she left. But she'd had to get away from New Orleans and the reporters and phone calls and sympathy. And her growing reliance on Gage. That reliance had cost him dearly.

If only she could find a clue here. One tiny thread. She knew how to pursue threads.

The comfort food was not at all comforting when it came. Usually she didn't mind eating by herself, but tonight she felt terribly alone. Terribly vulnerable.

'Don't do that! Don't think of that! Think of your sister out there, possibly in danger.'

She went back to her chart.

'BISBEE'.

Holly paused at the door of the office of Daniel McIntyre, Esq., Attorney at Law. She looked at her watch. She had changed the appointment to a day when the local church had a ”Mother's Day Out.”

She didn't want her son to hear the conversation. He was much too bright. He would remember bits and pieces and pop up with a question about them at unexpected times.

She opened the door. A middle-aged woman with a quick smile sat at the desk. ”You must be Liz Baker,” she said. ”You can go on in.” She gestured to a door and Holly opened it.

A pleasant-looking man in his fifties stood up and came over to her. He reached out his hand and she took it. It was a grip meant to convey confidence. She liked the way his eyes met hers directly.

He sat down, inviting her to do the same. ”What can I do for you, Mrs. Baker?”

”I would like to retain you first. What is your fee?”

”I take it you want the client-attorney relations.h.i.+p from the beginning?”

”Yes.”

”Then fifty dollars will do for the initial interview. I charge a hundred dollars an hour.”

Holly gave him the money. She sought a.s.surance. ”You can't say anything to anyone now?”

”Unless I know a crime is to be committed.”

She nodded. ”Two things. One is my son. I want to make provisions in case anything happens to me. I want a will naming a guardian for my son. Marty Miller, who owns Special Things.”

He looked surprised. ”No relatives?”

”No.”

”That's easy enough. I'll draw up the papers and you both will come in and sign them. What else?”

She took the envelope containing the letter she'd written. ”I want you to hold this. If anything happens to me, there are instructions inside.”

His eyes sharpened. ”Do you expect anything to happen to you?”

”No. But it's a letter to my son,” she lied. ”I would feel better if it were in a safe.”

”I can do that as well.”

”How much?”

He shrugged. ”You've paid me fifty. I would say a total of two hundred would cover the will and guardians.h.i.+p.”

It was less than she'd expected.

”Thank you.”

She spent the next few minutes giving him lies about her son, and his name and birth date.

Then it was over.

She thanked him.

A small protection.

*Chapter Twenty-three*

'MEMPHIS'.

Meredith exhausted every possibility over the next three days.

She double-checked with the bureau of public records. No adoption records under her mother's name.

Next were local hospitals. None had records that reached thirty-three years back. A check of obstetricians proved equally as fruitless. The hospitals refused to--or couldn't-- release lists of obstetricians on duty at the time.

She accessed the American Bar a.s.sociation's Internet listing of Memphis-area attorneys. There were more than 2,800 listings. She narrowed it to Germantown. No downtown attorneys; those involved wouldn't risk large corporate practices for something like a black market adoption.

And that, she knew, was what must have happened.

It was the longest of long shots. She discovered that when she came up with forty candidates. She researched each firm. Three had been in practice thirty-three years ago in the general area of Germantown. One specialized in taxation, one in family law and the third was a general practice, which usually meant wills, estates and the like.