The life snapped back into Gloria’s eyes, and she became the woman who’d nearly frightened me to death when I first met her. She threw off the knitted shawl from around her shoulders and came to her feet with ramrod-straight posture. “I know we have some information. Let’s go look.”
She moved with a sense of purpose out of the living room and toward the study, with James, the dog, and me in her wake. If the information we needed was in that study, then I had a feeling this could take all day. Owen had learned his organizational skills from his foster father.
Once we were all in the study, James took the lead. “Now, where did I put that file?” he mused out loud. “I haven’t looked at it in ages, not since we first wondered about the possible connection between Owen and the Morgans. When was that, Gloria?”
“When Owen was ten. And as I recall, the information we had wasn’t of much use in answering the question, so I don’t know if it will help you, Katie.”
“If you can even tell me where he was found, I may be able to track back and find out how he came to be there,” I said, even as I got a sick feeling in my stomach from worry that Owen was right and this was a waste of time. I didn’t have another plan.
After trying three different file drawers, James came up with a large document file envelope. The heavy brown paper was faded, and it was closed by a fat rubber band. He swept a clear space on his cluttered desk, slid the band off the envelope, and opened it. There were a few official-looking documents and a sheet that looked like a typewritten carbon copy. “That’s the one that had the background information,” Gloria said.
James put on his reading glasses, skimmed over the sheet, then said, “Ah, here it is. Children’s Services picked him up at the fire station on Broome Street, where the firefighters said he’d been left.”
I took a notepad out of my purse and wrote that down. “It doesn’t say how he was left, does it? Did someone bring him there, or was he left on the doorstep in a basket?”
“It doesn’t say.”
“And what was the date?”
James smiled, “July fourth. They used that as his birth date because the doctors who examined him that day believed he was a newborn.”
“Then maybe that date is distinctive enough for someone to remember it,” I said. I gave each of them an impulsive kiss on the cheek. “Thank you. This really helps.”
“You must tell us what you discover,” Gloria said. She hesitated, then said tentatively, “Should we perhaps go to him ourselves?”
I understood that she’d want to see him, but I felt like I was treading on thin ice with Owen by going behind his back this way, as it was. Dragging in his foster parents would be too much right now. “He refuses to call you. I don’t think he’s up for visitors. And I may need to keep you in reserve for when I really need to knock some sense into him.”
That evoked a slight smile. “I understand. Then please tell Owen what we told you. He may not be ready to speak to us yet, but he should know.”
“I will,” I promised. She insisted on feeding me a snack that was more like a meal, and then James insisted on driving me to the train station. By the time I was back in the city, it was the end of the workday, so I went straight home.
I hadn’t yet had a chance to tell Gemma and Marcia about everything that had happened, and Nita was already home when I got there, so I wouldn’t be able to anytime soon. I’d thought her presence might complicate matters since she wasn’t in on the magical secret, but it was nice to have an excuse not to talk about any of this for a while.
Nita went into throes of ecstasy at the idea of ordering in Chinese food. “I’ve always wanted to do this!” she gushed, gazing at the delivery menu for our favorite Chinese place. “But we don’t have any restaurants that deliver back home, unless you count Meals on Wheels for the old people. And we don’t have Chinese food.”
“It’s just takeout,” Gemma said with a shrug.
“But I have been living in a world without it,” Nita said with the kind of drama that you’d expect to hear about electricity or indoor plumbing.
“Welcome to the twenty-first century,” Marcia said, her lips twitching with wry amusement.
Once we had food and were gathered around the dining table, Nita said, “I have the early shift again tomorrow, so does anyone want to go out tomorrow night? We could have a big girls’ night out—something very Sex and the City.” She paused, chewing her lip, then said, “But you all probably have dates.”
