“I love you, too,” she said. She opened her arms and hugged me and she told me to go see my daughter. “She’s really chatting up a storm.”
She brought a glass of wine into the baby’s room and I rocked Julie and stared out the window and told myself that I was fine, I just needed to sleep.
By nine, Julie and I were alone. She said, “Story,” and it was a demand, not a request. Joe had taught her that word. I took her and Martha into bed with me and told Julie the story of finding Martha at a border collie rescue league.
“We fell in love at first sight, didn’t we, Boo?”
Martha barked and Julie laughed, and I had a few laughs myself. First time in a few days, that’s for sure.
I intended to return Julie to her crib in just a few moments, but she woke me around three with the little distressed cry that usually precedes a meltdown.
“Sweetie, sweetie, Mommy’s here.”
Where was Daddy? Where was Joe?
CHAPTER 37
CLAIRE WAS RAGING as she left Metropolitan Hospital.
It was definite. Dr. Marshall had lost Michael Chan’s body. Her earlier statement, “I’ll call you,” had been amended to “Damned if I know what happened to him,” and a moment later escalated to “I’m starting to wonder if we actually had Mr. Chan, or if we just had his wallet in a plastic bag.”
“So where’s his wallet?” Claire had asked.
“Damned if I know. Look, I haven’t slept in three days.”
It was Saturday morning and Lindsay wasn’t answering her phone, and Claire didn’t want to wake her.
Still.
Claire got into her car and called again, and this time Lindsay picked up.
“What time is it?” Lindsay asked with a scratchy voice.
“Quarter to eleven,” Claire said. “You’re asleep. I’ll make it quick. Michael Chan’s body is still missing and Metropolitan has stopped looking for him. This isn’t over until I have his body in my morgue.”
“Never mind,” Lindsay said to her. “They tried.”
“They tried? What’s wrong with you, Lindsay?” Claire said.
“Nothing. Everything’s fine,” Lindsay told her.
“Joe? He’s come home?”
“Nope. He’ll turn up.”
Claire said, “OK,” hung up, and started her car. It was time to do something about this weird and unhealthy state of affairs. She called Cindy and Yuki, and by the time she arrived at Lindsay’s address, both of them were waiting for her in Cindy’s car.
Claire knocked on the window.
“Ready?”
“You betcha,” said Cindy. “It’s a good day for an intervention.”
The three of them, carrying shopping bags, went to the doorway of Lake Street and Twelfth, and Claire pressed the buzzer. When Lindsay answered the intercom to say, “No one’s home,” Claire shouted, “It’s me, lazybones. Open up.”
The buzzer sounded and Claire, Cindy, and Yuki entered the old residential building and climbed the wide stairs to the third floor, and Claire rang the bell.
Barking preceded the clacking of locks and the opening of the door.