“I know You have a plan, Lord,” she said, smiling. “And I trust You. Truly I do.”
After all she had been through, how could she not?
Feeling better, she headed back home to Chestnut Grove and her daughter, determined to fight for the child God had given her.
Chapter Two
“Goodbye, sweetheart.”
Lori bent and placed a kiss on Lucia’s tiny brow. Every leave-taking was bittersweet now, but then perhaps that was the way it should be. Perhaps that was what she was meant to learn from her current troubles, that every moment a mother spent away from her child was a moment lost. Realistically she knew that it was not possible, or even desirable, to spend every moment with her daughter, but that only increased the value of the time they did have.
Cradled in the crook of the plump elbow of Juanita Jackson, the middle-aged nanny whom Lori had hired, baby Lucia imitated Lori, pursing her mouth with concentration so intense that her little eyes crossed. The two women laughed with delight. Of Cuban ancestry, unfailingly pleasant, competent and a devout believer, Juanita had been a true blessing to both Lori and Lucia. Because she was married, she preferred not to live in, which suited Lori well since her apartment provided only two bedrooms.
The second-story apartment in a converted town house east of downtown Chestnut Grove was small, but Lori loved everything about it, from its polished wood floor to its high, plastered ceiling with their lazily circling fans. The kitchen certainly could have been bigger, but the windows were large enough to give the place an airy feel. Lori especially loved the nursery, which she’d done up in soft yellows and creams, with pale pink and spring green accents. She’d even handsewn the window curtains and a ruffled bed skirt for the antique crib that she’d stumbled onto in a little shop downtown.
As Lori hurried out of the building to her car, she made a mental note to take the baby out for a stroll that evening. They went out at least a couple times a week for long, lazy cruises around the neighborhood. It had become a habit with them, but with autumn on the doorstep, Lori felt a sense of urgency that she hadn’t before. At least she tried to tell herself that was the problem. In truth, she couldn’t help fearing that her time with Lucia would end even before the summer, which was exactly why she was heading out early today.
After yesterday’s meeting with Ramon Estes, Lori needed advice, and she couldn’t think where else to get it except at the Tiny Blessings Adoption Agency. Her hope was that Pilar would have a few minutes to speak with her. Lori didn’t want to put Ramon’s sister in the middle of the custody fight, but it seemed to her that Ramon had already done that. She only hoped that Pilar would have something helpful to offer.
Careful of the brick privacy fencing on either side of the drive, Lori guided the car out into the street and drove through Chestnut Grove at a sedate pace. Even here in the suburbs of Richmond they had their share of rush-hour traffic. It was nothing, of course, like that of the city itself, but folks were fond of complaining about the traffic, anyway, in a rather self-congratulatory fashion, to be sure. Lori was guilty of it herself. Traffic in Chestnut Grove might be trying at times, but that didn’t keep her from being happy to leave Richmond behind every day or stop her from appreciating the benefits of small-town life.
Real traffic congestion, however, was simply abnormal, which was why Lori knew as soon as she turned the corner onto the street where the adoption agency was located that something was wrong. This traffic had little to do with the workday rush into Richmond and everything to do with catastrophe. It looked as though a parade had stacked up, complete with fire engines, flashing lights and police cars parked at odd angles.
Whipping the coupe into the first available spot along the curb, Lori tossed back the flap of her shoulder bag and pulled out her press credentials, which she clipped to the collar of her white blouse before bailing out of the car. Despite the narrowness of her knee-length khaki skirt, she put her tan leather flats to good use, digging a pen and pad from her bag as she hurried toward the fire engine taking up a good portion of the street. She used a technique honed by years of experience and called out a question based purely on assumption to a firefighter locking down a coiled water hose.
“Any idea how it started?”
He looked up and shrugged, but then as she drew closer he not only confirmed her assumption that there had been a fire but also yielded vital info. “Considering the break-in, I think it’s safe to say the fire was intentional.”
Wow. Fire and break-in. Looked as though the adoption agency had not yet left its troubles behind. Too bad. Tiny Blessings did much good in the community.
Lori glanced over her shoulder at the policemen and firefighters going in and out of the building, commenting offhandedly, “Sounds like somebody’s still nursing a grudge. Any idea who it might be?”
The firefighter shook his head. Well, one thing was certain. It was not Lindsey Morrow, the wife of Chestnut Grove’s former mayor. Lindsey had not only murdered the agency’s founder, Barnaby Harcourt, she’d attempted to kill the agency’s current director, Kelly Young, now Kelly Van Zandt. Unfortunately the list of those who might have reason to bear a grudge against the agency could be lengthy because Harcourt had taken payoffs and bribes to falsify adoption records for decades before his death.
Kelly had done everything in her power to restore the agency’s reputation and fulfil its mission of bringing together God’s needy children and worthy parents. The series of positive personal stories that first Jared and now Lori were currently writing for the paper was intended to get that message out to the public. Lori could only hope that this latest catastrophe would not set things back, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to cover the story. Quite the contrary. It was her job to report the news, and better her than someone who had no personal knowledge of the workings and value of the agency.
Lori thanked the firefighter and hurried toward the building. She was rehearsing what she was going to say to get past the uniformed officer at the entrance when Kelly’s husband, Ross Van Zandt, stepped out onto the sidewalk.
Van Zandt was a man’s man, tall and solid, with dark hair and eyes and a beard so heavy that more often than not he appeared to be in need of a shave. Since his marriage, he’d been an active member of Chestnut Grove Community Church, along with his wife. Consequently, Lori knew him well enough to use his given name.
“Ross!”
Looking her way, he acknowledged her presence with a resigned nod. “That didn’t take long,” he said wryly as she hurried up.
“This one’s a God-do,” she told him. “I was coming in to confer with someone about my own situation and blundered into the middle of this. They’re saying someone broke in and set a fire. How bad is it?”
Ross sighed and parked his hands at his waist, obviously considering the wisdom of speaking to any member of the press, even Lori. She couldn’t blame him for his wariness. As a private investigator and former cop, not much got past Ross; he knew well that attention could help as much as hurt, but his wife was the director of the adoption agency, and anyone who knew them understood that Ross would walk through fire before he allowed anything to harm Kelly or her precious agency. On the other hand, if anyone knew what was going on and whether or not to comment, it would be Ross.
After a moment he turned back inside and waved her along with him, apparently having weighed the options and decided that a fair report was his best choice. Lori wrinkled her nose at the smell of smoke, picking her way around puddles and emergency personnel in the outer offices. As soon as they were assured of a modicum of privacy, Ross began to speak in a confidential tone.
“It looks bad, but the damage is mostly cosmetic.” Lori heaved a silent sigh of relief and made a note on her pad. Ross went on. “The safety sprinklers caused the most damage, frankly, so the