Deadly Silence Read online

  Patricia blinked. Then blinked again.

  Was she going insane?

  Because that little baby looked almost exactly like Lyra Rose.

  Her eyes weren’t what they used to be, though. She waved away the cloud of thick cigarette smoke, softly pressed the gas, and slowly rolled up so that she was now in line with the window, striving to get closer. She leaned her head out the window so she could get even nearer.

  Yes. It could be.

  All newborn babies look the same, her husband, Al, had once said to her.

  And while that was true—they all kind of looked a little pruny and odd—by their second week of life, they started to distinguish themselves. A week ago, Patricia had remarked to Renee that Lyra Rose had the perfect little nose, and what’s more…an adorable dimple in the center of her chin.

  No question. This baby had that dimple.

  And how many babies had dimples like that? Week old babies with perfect noses? What were the chances?

  Lyra Rose also had one ear that was slightly smaller and stuck out more than the other. She’d recommended to Renee to get the baby’s hearing checked, because deformities of the ear often meant hearing issues. If Patricia could see both ears close enough to compare, she felt for certain she’d know.

  And that hair.

  If only the baby wasn’t wearing a little cap, she would know for sure.

  When Patricia was practically hanging from her driver’s side window, the woman holding the baby noticed her. She smiled at first, but the smile soon faded as Patricia continued to scrutinize the child with narrowed eyes, willing the woman to turn the baby more fully toward her so that she could see both sides of her head.

  Then, without warning, the driver stepped on the gas, and the car surged ahead, making a left turn, leaving Patricia at the green light. Behind her, a horn blared.

  Heart pounding in her chest, she made the split-second decision to follow, nearly side-swiping another car as she swerved into the left lane, making the turn. More horns blared. As she followed the sedan, she told herself she’d just get one more glimpse of the baby, to be sure. The car was a late-model Buick, bright blue, and from what she could see, though her eyes weren’t so good anymore, the first digits of the license plate were W4B or WAB.

  She tapped her trimmed fingernails on the steering wheel as she watched the car go into a place with a sign that said Yorkshire Terrace. Another new development that hadn’t been here a year ago. The shingled roofs of gorgeous new homes were visible among the trees.

  Patricia turned in, following from a safe distance as she watched the car slowly make its way past children playing basketball in the street, their bikes strewn over the grass and sidewalks. The driver of the car beeped cheerily, waved, and said something to the kids as they passed. High-pitched laughter filled the air, and on the other side of the street, a child wheeled by on a tricycle.

  About six houses in from the entrance to the neighborhood, the car pulled into the long driveway of a gorgeous, sprawling, brick-front split level. A dwelling that looked rather like the house in the Brady Bunch, that show Al was obsessed with.

  As Patricia slowly inched by, the kids playing on the street regarded her like exactly who she was: a stranger interrupting their game. Once she passed them, she pulled to the curb and watched as the mother stepped out from the Buick. She was wearing a smart plaid dress and matching shoes, holding the baby in her arms. A well-dressed man in a striped tie came around from the driver’s side, and they started to walk up a flower-lined path to the front door.

  Patricia sighed. They looked like the picture of the All-American dream, the pinnacle of human aspiration. Where the radio constantly blared about Patty Hearst and Watergate and Vietnam, all that was awful in the world…this family was everything that was right with it.

  The baby couldn’t have been Lyra Rose. This had to just be Patricia’s imagination running away with her. Her grief was simply interfering with her logic.

  She’d been watching too much Ellery Queen on television, Al would probably say. Had this well-to-do couple kidnapped the baby and murdered Renee? No. Of course not.

  But Patricia found herself jumping from her car, nevertheless.

  Until she made sure, absolutely sure, she would never sleep well at night ever again.

  Skipping into a run, she made it across the street as the man and woman reached their front door. “Excuse me!” she called to them, stepping onto the sidewalk and starting up their wide two-car driveway.

  They both turned. The baby cried harder, its little face bloodred now. The corner of the woman’s eyes wrinkled in recognition, and she clutched the baby closer to her chest. “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry. I saw your baby back there, at the light,” she said, realizing she hadn’t come up with any story ahead of time. Obviously, they’d think she was insane. Or worse, a kidnapper. After all, she’d followed them. “And—”

  “I know. I saw you in the car back there at the light. You…you followed us home?” Although the woman’s voice was more confused than accusing, she still snatched the screaming baby even closer to her chest.

  “Well, yes,” Patricia said, blushing as she crossed over their manicured green lawn, hoping to get a closer look at the newborn’s ears. “I’m sorry, this is so presumptuous of me, but I’ve never seen such a beautiful child.”

  The man smiled proudly, unaware of anything being wrong. He touched the baby’s red cheek, and the baby turned its head instinctively, searching for food. “Yeah, she’s a peach, isn’t she?”

  “Oh, yes,” Patricia said, staring hard at the child. “What is her name?”

  “Jennifer,” the woman said, her voice and body language still hesitant.

  Right. Well, of course she wouldn’t be named Lyra.

  “She’s…beautiful,” Patricia repeated, still trying to get a look at those ears. And the hair. But the baby was wearing a tiny pink beanie. If only she could… “Could I, perhaps, hold her?”

  The couple looked at one another, and for a moment, Patricia thought they’d agree. The man opened his mouth, but the woman took a step back. “Oh, Frank…”

  Finally sensing her concern, the man stepped in front of his wife. “You know, maybe not. Kid can be kind of skittish if she ain’t with her momma. You know how babies can be.”

  Patricia shifted her eyes to the woman, who was staring at her cautiously. Was she the mother? She looked remarkably trim and well-rested for a woman who’d just had a baby, but some women were known for springing back like that.

  “Oh. Of course.” She tittered a bit, rubbing her damp hands down the front of her uniform. “The bond between a mother and child is powerful.”

  The man laughed and cleared his throat. “Well, yes. We were blessed to have Jennifer come into our lives just yesterday, so we’re still getting used to all of—”

  Come into their lives?

  “Was she adopted?” Patricia blurted, then quickly lowered her voice. She sounded like a maniac. “That’s so wonderful.” She desperately wanted to have a look under that hat. She craned her neck, noticing the bulge of the ear, but that didn’t say much.

  If only you could talk, baby, you’d tell me. Did I deliver you?

  “Well, it was nice meeting you,” the woman said curtly, turning her back to Patricia.

  “Yes,” Patricia said reluctantly, taking a step back. “Best of luck with your precious new addition.”

  “Thanks, ma’am,” the man said, giving her a hard look before turning toward his wife.

  But she couldn’t bring her feet to move from the spot where they’d been rooted. She couldn’t simply walk away. The baby was the right age, the right sex, and she had the dimple. And she’d been adopted. That was enough.

  “Actually…” she said loudly. The couple turned toward her. “I hope you…I mean, I’m not exactly sure how I should put this to you, but you see, I’m a midwife. And well, one of my clients was just found to have committed suicide, and her baby is m
issing.” She swallowed and motioned to Jennifer. “Your daughter looks very much like that child. Where did you adopt her from?”

  “W-well, I-I-I…” the father stammered, his face reddening. “There’s got to be some—”

  “It’s a very reputable agency!” the woman snapped, turning with the child to keep Patricia from looking at her. “I’m sorry, whoever you are, but you’re mistaken. And I want you to leave. Get off our property. Now.”

  “But—”

  “Now!” The father barked, and Patricia apologized as he opened the door and allowed his wife to go in first. With a final glare, he stepped inside and slammed the door with a resounding bang. The moment it was closed, the lock clicked home.

  She sighed.

  Well, what could she expect? She’d all but accused them of stealing the child. If she’d been in their shoes, she probably would’ve reacted the same way.

  She walked back to her car, and as she looked up at the house, noticed the vertical blinds dip in an upstairs room. They were watching her. On the street, the boys had stopped playing basketball and were now frowning at her like she was worse than a stranger—more like a criminal. Likely, they’d heard the whole tense exchange.

  The boys weren’t the only ones watching, either. From a car parked by the sidewalk, someone stared at her, although she couldn’t see them very well.

  Patricia hung her head, suddenly very embarrassed by her actions.

  What was she doing?

  Swiping a stray strand of her blonde hair back, Patricia gave the kids an apologetic wave that they didn’t seem to accept. She climbed into her car and willed herself to put the horrible day out of her mind. Al would be home from work soon. She needed to stop playing Columbo, get back to the house on the other side of town, and make him dinner.

  She’d talk to Al about these things as they ate. He was usually her voice of reason. He’d be honest and tell her if she was flying off the deep end which, most likely, she was. She had a history of obsessing about things, especially anything related to babies.

  But that sweet little baby didn’t leave her mind. She always thought it’d be hard to forget Lyra Rose, but now, she knew that as long as she lived, the memory of that child would be engrained in her mind. While she drove to the Safeway at the Staunton Mall, while she was loading the groceries for that evening’s dinner into the trunk, even when she started the oven for the pork chops, she was thinking of poor Renee and sweet little Lyra Rose.

  She didn’t need to ask Al. She couldn’t let this go. She needed to do something. Just in case.

  Even if she was mistaken, it was better to be safe than sorry.

  She was putting the butter back in the fridge and had just made up her mind to go to the police with her fears when the doorbell rang.

  She checked the clock on the kitchen wall. Five-thirty. They rarely got visitors on their rural street—even Avon ladies found it too remote to be worth it. This had to be Al. He had a terrible habit of forgetting his key.

  She’d forgive him, though, since he was right on time. The pork chops were ready, just the way he liked them. With applesauce on the side.

  Wiping her hands on the dishrag, she threw open the door to their modest little rancher. “Al, you’ll never believe what happened to—”

  Bam. Bam.

  The two bullets that slammed into her chest rocketed her back into the wall. Her legs gave way, and she sank to the floor as two legs appeared in her line of vision.

  She opened her mouth to speak. Say something. Anything.

  Please, her mind screamed when her lips refused to work. Don’t. Please don’t.

  But when she looked up, all she could see was the black barrel of the gun staring back at her.

  “Please…” she whispered. “Please don—”

  Bam.

  2

  Present day…

  “Well…?”

  Kylie Hatfield Coulter looked at her husband of three whole months, her phone still pressed to her ear. His question was repeated on his face. The raised eyebrows, the inquisitive gleam in his eyes. The genuine curiosity and hope that she’d just landed a new case…a new, safe case.

  But Kylie had a bigger question, a bigger curiosity, burning through her mind.

  Sure, she’d love a big, fat, juicy case, safe or not. Her new role as an official—business card and all—private investigator was all well and good, but it usually involved dull day-to-day grunt work of conducting background checks and workers’ comp surveillance. Nothing too exciting. It was the big crimes that rarely happened that really got Kylie’s heart pumping. And, to be honest, the woman who’d just called sounded like she had a case that would get Kylie’s blood flowing.

  But…

  She looked at the bathroom. The same bathroom she’d lost her stomach lining in just a few minutes ago before being forced to come out and take a phone call. The same bathroom holding a little stick she’d just peed on. The same bathroom that held the answer to the question burning in her mind.

  Positive?

  Negative?

  “Kylie?”

  Linc’s look of concern was a reminder that she needed to speak. She needed to tell him about the phone call she’d just taken. The new case. Something.

  She needed to say something.

  But before she could, one of the ten puppies playing and rolling around on the floor in delighted puppy glee squatted and a pale circle of puppy pee spread around him. Or her. Kylie still couldn’t tell them apart at first glance.

  “No!”

  The word came from her mouth more sharply than she’d meant to say it, and all the puppies looked at her in abject terror. Feeling immediately regretful, Kylie picked up the guilty one and hugged him—or her—tightly, burying her face in the soft fur while Linc swiped a few sheets from the roll of paper towels they now kept in every room.

  Wincing against the sound of all the barking, whimpering, yipping, and growling, Kylie looked around the squirming sea of furry puppies scattered about their living room as she wiped dog drool from her fingers.

  If this wasn’t hell, it was pretty darn close.

  Coulter Confidential, the new business venture she’d started with her husband, Linc, was anything but conventional, that was for sure. It was less of a private investigations firm, and more of a…madhouse.

  But with this most recent bout of nausea, she had a feeling that it was about to get a lot madder.

  She’d woken up with it, had some coffee and toast, and felt better. But now it was back. And that was not good. Not good at all.

  “Let’s go, guys,” Linc said to the dogs, and they all scrambled after him as he led them to the fenced in yard.

  Blessed silence.

  “Guess what?” Linc said as the screen door slammed. A moment later, her beloved husband reappeared in their makeshift office area at the front of the house, where they had two desks arranged front-to-front, so the newlyweds could gaze lovingly at one another.

  Though she really hadn’t been doing much of that lately. Right now, even Linc Coulter’s handsome face wanted to make her puke. “What?”

  “Fixed the handle on your door.”

  That was amazing. The thing had only been busted since the last case, when Vader chewed his way out of her Jeep to come to their rescue. “Really? Did you do it yourself?”

  He nodded. “Wasn’t so hard.”

  “Then I don’t know why it took you forever.” She tamped down the nausea and smiled at him sweetly.

  He blew on his fingernails and pretended to polish them on his chest. “Pure genius takes time. How’s work in here going?”

  She looked around at the accumulating pile of papers on her desk. “It’s going. The little monsters are at it, though, as usual.”

  He shrugged. “That’s nothing new.”

  “Did you train them at all today?”

  “Best I can. Puppies are hard. They’re coming along, though. Slowly. But I can tell they’re smart. They just got a hell of
a lot of energy. They’ll make good SARs, though, one day.”

  Right. She knew that. Just now…they were a little hard to handle.

  A lot hard.

  Actually, everything was. New company, new puppies, new husband…and here she’d thought that once she got married, things would settle down. Instead, she felt like there was a knot in the middle of her chest, tightening every time a new wrinkle popped up. Right now, she was so wrinkly she felt like an old lady.

  That wasn’t like her. She’d never been able to concentrate for long on one thing, but as she was ping-ponging around, she’d normally been so glass-half-full. So happy.

  But now…it felt like her emotions were all over the place. Happy one minute, freaking out the next.

  She didn’t need any more wrinkles to show themselves. And she wasn’t sure that Happy Kylie would ever come back.

  Because of the summer heat, Linc had been walking around in nothing but gym shorts all day, and she had to admit, looking mighty fine doing it. They’d just celebrated their three-month anniversary, and she was still as excited to look at him as she ever had been. She laid a hand on her stomach to quell the butterflies.

  Nausea climbed up her throat again, reminding her of what was waiting for her in the bathroom. Not that she needed a reminder.

  He leaned back and placed his hands behind his head. “So, you going to spill about the case or what? I know I’m only the second in command around here, but I hate being kept in the dark.”

  She balled up a piece of paper and threw it at him. “For the last time, you’re not second in anything. We’re equals in this venture. Remember? And I was just going to fill you in. That was Elise Kirby.”

  His face darkened with confusion. “You say that name like I should know it.”

  “Well, that’s because you should. Elise Kirby from the Sunset Diner? The waitress who always remembers that I want extra butter with my toast?”

  He squinted at her. “I don’t even know you want extra butter with your toast. Is that a thing?”

  She simply shook her head. Men could be so thick.