Where They Found Her Page 8

  “I have to do it,” I said, probably too forcefully. I smiled weakly, trying to claw back some credibility. “It feels—I don’t know, connected somehow. To what happened to us.”

  “But it’s not.” Justin eyed me seriously. If he was trying to hide his alarm, he was not succeeding. “You know that, right? This has nothing to do with what happened to us.”

  “Of course I know that, Justin.” And I did. Didn’t I?

  “I just, I don’t want you to . . .” He looked more than worried. He looked petrified. “Where’s Richard, anyway? Shouldn’t he be back soon?”

  Justin loved me and wanted to help. But there was a difference between protecting me and making me feel irrevocably damaged.

  “This is my story, Justin,” I said, wishing I hadn’t phrased it quite that way. “It’s my responsibility. And I have the expertise—both personally and professionally—to handle it. I’m not going to ‘give’ it back to Richard because it’s a little ‘uncomfortable’ for me. Life is uncomfortable. I can’t hide from it.”

  My phone buzzed with a text, saving me from further interrogation. I braced for it to be from Erik, Nancy having told him that I’d seemed too unstable to be trusted with such an important story. But it was Stella. Can you meet me at Univ. Hospital? Please?

  “Who’s that?” Justin asked, pointing his chin toward the phone.

  “Stella,” I said, wondering how worried I should be.

  “What is it this time?” he asked tightly.

  “She’s at the hospital. Aidan, I’m assuming.”

  “And let me guess,” Justin said. “It’s an emergency.”

  From the start, Justin had pegged Stella as a drama queen, which she was. But he’d always tolerated her with good humor. Lately, though, she and her late-night calls seemed to be grating on him. Justin was probably wary of Stella dragging me back down in a blaze of unbridled nuttiness.

  “She’s entertaining, I get that,” Justin had said when we got home from the first—and one of the few—dinners the three of us had eaten together. If it had been up to Stella, we would have done it much more often. She was utterly unfazed by being a third wheel. But Justin always demurred. “From ten miles off, Stella’s batshit crazy. You’ve got to see that.”

  I’d laughed. “‘Batshit’? That’s a tad melodramatic, don’t you think?” We were standing side by side in our huge sparkling-white bathroom with its polished double sinks. Yet another benefit of Ridgedale living—clean, wide-open spaces.

  “Be friends with her if you want, I don’t care,” Justin said through a mouthful of toothpaste. He spat into the sink. “But I’ve known a bunch of girls like Stella in my time, and—”

  “Eww, please. Must we do a ‘who I’ve slept with’ walk down memory lane?” Justin had not been a monk before we met, and he’d never pretended otherwise.

  “I’m just saying, women like Stella are fun to be around. Until they’re really, really not.”

  But I didn’t care if Stella’s scalding sunshine came with a little extra drama on the side. That was a price I was willing to pay.

  Please? came another text from Stella. Quick as you can?

  “It’s okay,” Justin said, probably reading the tension on my face. “Go check on your crazy friend.” He reached forward to squeeze my hand. “As long as you can look me in the eye and promise me you’ll be okay on this story.”

  “Come on, you know me.” I smiled playfully as I stood, then leaned over to kiss him. “When have I ever really been okay?”

  Stella had directed me to a room on the second floor of the hospital. When I arrived, she was sitting in a chair next to the far bed. Her arms were crossed, her elegant face bunched and gray. I looked past the empty bed closest to the door, bracing myself to see Aidan lying in the bed against the windows—face smashed, some terrible tube helping him breathe. But there was a dark-haired woman lying there, pretty and young—twenties, maybe. Or she would have been pretty if her face hadn’t been swollen and bruised about the eyes.

  “Oh, Molly.” Stella jumped to her feet and rushed over. “Thank you so much for coming.” She wrapped me in her warm embrace and pressed her smooth, cool cheek against mine. Her perfume smelled of flowers and citrus.

  The woman in the bed raised a hand in something like a wave. “Hi,” I said, smiling back politely. I had no idea who she was.

  “Rose was in a car accident this morning, the poor thing,” Stella said, going over to put a protective hand on the woman’s arm.

  “That’s terrible,” I said.

  Stella was talking to me like I was supposed to know Rose. But Stella didn’t have any local relatives, and the girl looked too young to be a friend. I wouldn’t have put it past Stella to show up at the hospital room of a woman she didn’t know, but I gathered from the equally warm way the young woman reached out and put her IV’d hand over Stella’s that they did have some kind of genuine relationship.

  “A truck driver texting,” Rose said. Her voice was hoarse, and it seemed to be taking great effort for her to talk. “But I’m fine. It’s only some stitches and a lot of ugly bruises.”

  “What is that Zen saying of yours, Rose? ‘Let go or be dragged’? I think we should find that driver and drag him.”

  “I love you for loving me, Stella.” Rose smiled. “But I’m pretty sure that’s not how the phrase was intended.”

  “And now Rose would like to go home.” Stella rubbed the woman’s arm some more. “No one can give us a legitimate medical reason why she can’t, but for some insane, incompetent reason, they still will not discharge her. I thought maybe you could, you know, mention that you’re from the local paper. See if we could get them to snap to it. Nothing like fear of a little bad press to get someone’s attention.”

  This was why Stella had wanted me there? To throw my very meager weight around? I felt simultaneously flattered and insulted. I smiled at Rose through gritted teeth. “Stella, can I talk to you in the hall for one second?”

  “Oh, sure,” Stella said, turning back to Rose. “I’ll be right back, honey. Do you need anything else? You’re sure you don’t want a trashy magazine while we wait for these jerks to get it together?”

  “No, no, I’m fine,” Rose said, squeezing Stella’s hand. “You’ve done way too much already.”

  “Who is she?” I whispered when we were out in the hall, the door to the room easing shut.

  “Rose,” Stella said at full volume, pulling her chic cranberry-hued cardigan closed. Her saying the woman’s name a second time did not make it more familiar. “I’m telling you, Molly. There’s definitely something weird going on here. First they said they needed to wait for more test results; now they’re saying there’s some problem with Rose’s insurance. And that’s definitely not true, because she’s still on her parents’ insurance. It’s the one thing they help her with. Anyway, Rose called and checked. Her insurance is fine. The hospital is making up one excuse after another.”

  “But Stella, who is Rose to you?”

  “Oh, Rose cleans my house.” Stella looked confused and maybe a tiny bit appalled. “You have met her, Molly. Don’t you remember?”

  Now that Stella mentioned it, I did have a vague recollection of one occasion, right after Stella and I had met, when I’d been at her house and her cleaning woman had passed through the kitchen. Stella had told me about her afterward in hushed tones—a straight-A psychology student at Ridgedale University, planning to work with autistic children like her younger brother, until her parents cut her off financially and she had to drop out of school. Criminal, according to Stella. Absolutely criminal.

  The story had not surprised me. Most people Stella knew came with some kind of hard-luck history—even me.

  “I didn’t recognize her with the bruising,” I lied.

  “I know,” Stella said, making a disgusted face. “Horrible, isn’t it? She’s in agony, too, the poor thing. And she won’t take any pain medicine because she’s one of those crazy all-natural types. You
know, raw food, meditation. Especially now, with the nursing, she’s definitely not taking anything.”

  The nursing. There was a pull in the pit of my stomach. For some insane, incompetent reason, they will not discharge her. Surely the police had alerted the hospital to be on the lookout for mothers of missing babies.

  “Rose has a baby?”

  “Yeah, just had a baby three weeks ago,” Stella said. “She shouldn’t be back working. But I guess that’s what happens to people on the margins. Her parents are such assholes.”

  Rose hadn’t been visibly pregnant when I’d seen her, but that had been nearly six months ago.

  “Stella, where is Rose’s baby?”

  “What do you mean, where is her—” I watched the lightbulb finally go on for her. “Oh my God. They think it’s her baby they found?”

  “I’m assuming,” I said. “It would explain why they’re not letting her go.”

  “That’s insane.” Stella crossed her arms, but she didn’t sound that sure. “I mean, I’m sure Rose’s baby is at her apartment.”

  With whom? A nanny? How many “people on the margins” could afford that? It didn’t sound like Rose had family helping her out, and it wasn’t like Ridgedale was overflowing with affordable day care options. Most people in Ridgedale didn’t need affordable.

  Before I could press Stella on this substantial hole in her theory, a doctor came up, pausing to grab the chart outside Rose’s door. He had a full head of thick gray hair and large glasses that obscured his eyes. He was trying hard not to make eye contact with us, as though by not seeing us, he could make it so we weren’t seeing him.

  “Oh, hi,” Stella said, stepping into his path. “Did you just come on shift?”

  “Yes,” he said, but not very pleasantly. His eyes stayed locked on Rose’s chart.

  “We’re friends of Rose’s. Well, technically, she works for me,” Stella said. “And Molly is a reporter with the Ridgedale Reader.”

  And there went Stella, doing whatever she wanted. Not that I thought this doctor would be bothered by an implied threat about my cutting investigative journalism. Except, from the way his eyes shot up from Rose’s file, it appeared he did care.

  “A reporter, huh?” he said unpleasantly. “You’ll need to talk to the communications office if you’re looking for a comment.”

  A comment? There was some kind of story, then. Because he’d seemed awfully prepared with that retort. As though he’d already been briefed about reporters turning up. Even in Ridgedale, that didn’t happen for routine traffic accidents.

  “It’s quite simple,” Stella began, calm but firm. “Rose wants to leave right now. And there’s no earthly reason why she shouldn’t be allowed to. Discharge her immediately, or Molly here will be stuck hanging around the hospital, and who knows what kind of stories will catch her eye. Didn’t you just have another case of MRSA after that boy lost his hand last year?”

  I turned and glared at Stella. This was so her—unsure of Rose’s innocence and yet willing to throw herself (and me) headlong into the fray. The doctor was glaring at me through his big glasses. I smiled as he pushed open the door to Rose’s room.

  “A MRSA story, huh?” he asked. “And your paper approves of this sort of thing? Extortion?”

  I just stared at him and kept on smiling. There wasn’t much else I could do. That was exactly what Stella had been suggesting. I just had to hope that he wouldn’t report back to Erik. If Erik had questioned the ethics of my allowing Steve to dictate our reporting, I could only imagine how he’d feel about extortion. Finally, the doctor shook his head in disgust and stepped inside Rose’s room, letting the door slam shut behind him.

  As soon as he was gone, I turned wide-eyed to Stella, waiting for her to apologize. She was staring at Rose’s door, oblivious. “Maybe the father of Rose’s baby had something to do with what happened. I mean, if something happened to her baby, which I’m not conceding.”

  “What are you talking about, Stella?”

  “Rose told me how she got pregnant. Not the specifics. And she didn’t use the word ‘rape,’ but it sounded to me like that’s what it was.”

  “Who’s the father?”

  “I don’t know. A university student, I assume. An entitled asshole, no doubt. And you know how universities like Ridgedale can be. Cover up first, ask questions never.” Stella shook her head. “Rose was so excited for the baby, though, despite how she’d gotten pregnant.” When Stella looked at me, her eyes were wide and shiny. “I’m telling you, none of this makes any sense, Molly. No sense at all.”

  RIDGEDALE READER

  ONLINE EDITION

  March 17, 2015, 10:25 a.m.

  Update: Unidentified Female Infant Found Near Essex Bridge

  BY MOLLY SANDERSON

  Police have confirmed that the unidentified body found on campus property beneath the Essex Bridge is that of a female infant.

  According to police sources, the infant appears to be approximately newborn. However, the infant’s age cannot be confirmed until the findings of the medical examiner are released. The cause of death at this time is also unknown.

  Chief of Police Steve Carlson has asked that anyone with information relating to the identity of the infant or her parents please contact the Ridgedale Police Department at 888-526-1899.

  There have been only two murders in Ridgedale in the past twenty years. In 2001, Esther Gleason shot her husband in an incident determined to be self-defense. Five years later, a man was fatally shot during a drug transaction in an off-campus apartment. The Essex Bridge was the location of another death twenty years ago. Simon Barton, a Ridgedale High School senior, died of brain trauma when he slipped and fell at a graduation party. Alcohol was a suspected contributing factor.

  COMMENTS:

  sarahssutton

  4 hours ago

  Oh my God, I am so sad for that poor little baby! She was left outside? Who would do something like that? It’s disgusting. There are so many people here who would be more than willing to care for an unwanted child. It just breaks my heart.

  abby

  3 hours ago

  Personally, I wish I felt more like praying. Because all I want to do is get my hands on whoever did this and leave them for dead somewhere, too.

  msheard

  3 hours ago

  There should be some test for moral decency and kindness before people are allowed to procreate.

  Carla Shrift

  3 hours ago

  I for one am not going to be comfortable assuming that it was the baby’s parents until someone shows me more than random statistics to prove it. Until then, I’m going to be dusting off the old alarm system and learning to sleep with one eye open.

  sssuzy

  2 hours ago

  Personally I’m sick of having to climb over all those teenagers who hang out in front of the 7-Eleven. I know this is politically incorrect, but doesn’t it make sense to think the parents of this baby are probably some of those kids from Ridgedale Commons who are always hanging out downtown? Where are their parents?

  FSH

  2 hours ago

  I’m not going to guess at where they’re from, but only a teenager would be stupid enough to leave the baby right where anybody could find it. Why even have the baby? Abortion is legal.

  realdeal

  2 hours ago

  Maybe she was waiting for the daddy to propose. Isn’t young love grand?

  Eric

  2 hours ago

  I know it’s not popular to bring up religion in this bright blue town, but some people—myself included—believe that life starts at conception.

  Maureen

  2 hours ago

  So it’s better to kill a newborn than have an abortion? Is that seriously what you’re saying?

  Dawn D.

  1 hour ago

  I just want to say, if we act afraid, our children will be afraid. Kids absorb everything.

  246Barry

  1 hour ago


  THEY SHOULD BE AFRAID.

  FIND HIM.

  BEFORE HE FINDS YOU.

  Kara

  57 min ago

  “Before he finds you”? You have got to be kidding me, right? I know that this is an open forum, but I’d seriously expect people to rise to the occasion under the circumstances. I haven’t been thrilled with a lot of what’s been said here, but this is a new low.

  Piper Lee

  42 min ago

  Another Ridgedale murder?? Is anyone else freaked out that there was another murder in the EXACT same spot? I don’t care how long ago it was, that seems like a crazy coincidence.

  Harry S

  40 min ago

  HELLO!!!??? The article says DEATH, not murder. Sounds like it was an accident.

  KellyGreen

  37 min ago

  Or so they think. They could be wrong. Maybe the person who did it was in jail or something. That happens all the time, a serial killer stops because they go to jail for something totally unrelated.

  JENNA

  APRIL 25, 1994

  The Captain finally said hi to me today. I know: fucking crazy.

  But it seriously happened. There I was, walking down the science hall, the part where there are no lockers and that whole group of them is always hanging out. And he was with a couple of guys from the team. I think there might have even been a few girls there. Anyway, the Captain looked GORGEOUS, as usual. That hair and those eyes. He looks just like Rob Lowe. Just like him. Actually, he looks better than him. The Captain is the most perfect-looking boy I have ever seen. And let’s face it, I’ve seen my share of boys.

  Plus, he’s so smart. I never would have thought that smart could be so hot, but it TOTALLY is. I’ve never talked to him myself. But when he recited the Gettysburg Address from memory at the Presidents’ Day assembly a couple years ago—Jesus! Totally masturbated thinking about it later. (Sorry, Jesus, for writing that so close to your name, but it’s true.)

  So there I was, walking down the hall, and the Captain and I do that thing we’ve been doing for a while now where we stare and stare at each other in the middle of a crowd like it’s just the two of us. The thing that totally makes me feel like all I want to do is give him a BJ in the bathroom.