Part 27 (1/2)
”Now you're calling the baby 'it,' ” Tricia admonished.
”I'm sorry, but I don't know what s.e.x it ultimately ended up being.”
Tricia blinked. ”Excuse me?”
”Didn't M.J. write about what was wrong with the child in her diary?”
”No.”
”It was born with multiple s.e.x organs. The baby needed gender a.s.signment surgery. M.J. saw it as a punishment for her affair.”
”The baby was a . . . hermaphrodite?”
He nodded. ”I believe the more popular term now is inters.e.x. To make things worse, M.J. suffered from postpartum depression. It wasn't as well understood in those days. Sometimes not understood today, either.”
”You seem to know a lot about it.”
”My foundation has contributed funds to study it, to find new medications that can help women in need.”
Paige closed his eyes, and Tricia decided he'd had enough traumas for one day. She reached out to touch his arm. ”Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Paige. I'm sorry I had to drag all this up for you again.”
His smile was tepid. ”I suppose I'll have to go over it with Captain Baker at some point in the future, but I don't understand what significance it can have to his case. Ms. Fredericks may have tried to blackmail me, but she never would've succeeded. I wouldn't have paid. The child wasn't mine.”
Tricia shook her head. Pammy had probably figured blackmailing Paige was worth a shot, withholding the missing pages that would back up his claim of innocence. A paternity test would've cleared him in a heartbeat, but Pammy probably hadn't been smart enough to consider that, either. There could only be one reason she'd withheld those pages: they had to have named the baby's real father.
If Pammy had been smart, she would've destroyed the pages. But time and again Pammy had proven she wasn't that sharp. Unless she reserved the pages in some kind of backup plan in case Paige wouldn't pay. Could she have saved them to blackmail the baby's real father? But why? Unless that man had money or something else that would improve her life.
It just didn't make sense.
Then again, Pammy had never made sense.
Tricia noticed Paige staring at her. ”Do you read mysteries, Mr. Paige?”
”Yes, as a matter of fact I do. d.i.c.k Francis is my favorite author.”
”As I mentioned, I run a mystery bookstore in Stoneham. May I send you a few t.i.tles?”
”I'm missing several of his early books from my collection. Do you have a copy of Bonecrack at your store?”
”I sure do, and I'd be glad to send it over.”
That would be very kind of you. Let me pay you for--”
”You'll do no such thing. It would be my pleasure to give it to you.”
”You're very kind. Thank you.” He handed her the sheet of paper.
”Would you like to keep it, as sort of a remembrance?”
He shook his head. ”I don't like to remember M.J. from that last year of her life. I prefer to think about the days she worked for my father, before all the unhappiness consumed her.”
Tricia nodded and rose from her chair. ”Thank you for seeing me.”
Turner stood outside the door, his expression dark.
”I hope you didn't upset the old man. It wouldn't be good for him.”
”Actually, I'm surprised the hospital kept him here. The paramedic said his injury wasn't life threatening.”
”No, but his kidney disease is. He's already had one failed transplant, and has been back on dialysis for years. So far they haven't been able to locate another donor kidney for him.”
”Surely a man in his position--”
”Oh, I'm sure he could buy one from a living donor--but that's not his style.”
Tricia remembered how pale Paige had been at the Food Shelf's opening. No wonder he'd stepped up his philanthropic gifts. If he felt his time was growing short, he might want to see the fruits of his generosity.
”I'm very sorry to hear that. I'll be sending over a book for him. I'll have it left at the reception desk. May I call you to be sure Mr. Paige has received it?”
Turner reached into his pocket and withdrew his business card holder once again. He handed her a card. ”Please don't stir up any trouble.” His concern was genuine.
”Believe me, I'm trying to stop trouble from erupting.”
”Then you'd better be careful. Being in the middle of something you don't understand could get you killed.”
”Is that a threat?”
He shook his head. ”Just an observation.”
It was nearing five o'clock by the time Tricia returned to Haven't Got a Clue. As usual, customer traffic had thinned. In fact, there were no customers in the store. Ginny leaned over the sales desk and looked up as the door opened and Tricia strode in. She'd been reading a copy of This Old House magazine.
”Looks pretty dead,” Tricia said, indicating the lack of warm bodies in the shop.
Ginny nodded. ”Thanks to the Pumpkin Festival, I don't think we've pulled in ten dollars in the last hour. How did it go at the hospital?”
”It went. I'm convinced Stuart Paige and his people had nothing to do with Pammy's death.”
”How come?”
”He's too nice. And he's not well. In fact, I promised to send him a book at the hospital. How would you like to go home early tonight?”
Ginny frowned. ”Didn't you say he'd been taken to the medical center in Nashua?”
”I'll give you gas money. If you go there and back, you should still be home at least a half hour earlier than usual.”
Ginny nodded. ”Okay. That'll give me time to slap some joint compound on the living room's new Sheetrock before dinner. Let me get my coat.”
Two minutes later, Tricia had wrapped up a copy of Bonecrack, given Ginny Turner's card with instructions to call him when she arrived at the hospital, and sent her on her way. Tricia stared at the clock. She still had another hour and forty-five minutes before closing time. After that, she'd go upstairs, scrounge in the fridge, and settle down with a good book.