Leaving Enchantment

“We tried everything we could to save her. Lydia Kane is to be commended for bringing her to the hospital so quickly. We had all modern medicine to hand, but it wasn’t enough. Sometimes it isn’t.”

Nolan put both hands to his head. Mary was dead? Gone? No, please. Let there be some mistake…

“Mary Davidson. You’re sure?”

“I’m so sorry.”

Even through his shock, Nolan noticed the slight waver of disbelief in the doctor’s voice. He hadn’t expected to lose this patient.

So why the hell had he?

Nolan forced his teeth together, pressed his lips tight. Don’t lash out at the doctor. Not yet. Need to gather all the facts, first. Make sure what Dr. Ochoa said was true, that everything possible had been done.

“Steve was in the room when this happened,” the doctor added.

Now, suddenly, Nolan saw the whole picture and all the pieces—the tragic events of this awful night—fell into place. Steve, totally distraught, had tried to drive home after the tragedy. Instead he’d driven off the road. On purpose?

Hell, it was possible. What man who’d just seen his wife die on the delivery bed, who knew that his newborn baby was dead, too, wouldn’t have the thought cross his mind?

One quick turn of the steering wheel and it’s all over. No more suffering.

It could easily have been an accident, too. Switchback Road was unforgiving at the best of times, requiring every ounce of a driver’s attention. The snow had been blinding and Steve had been an emotional mess. Probably his vision had been blurred with tears, as well.

“The ambulance brought him here,” Nolan said.

The doctor nodded. “Unfortunately, there was nothing we could do. His head injuries were massive. Again, I’m so sorry.”

Nolan didn’t know what to say. A family had been wiped out tonight. A mother and father and their new baby. Leaving him and— Oh, my God.

“Mary and Steve have a daughter. Six years old…”

Deep sorrow glimmered again in the doctor’s eyes.

“Samantha, Sammy for short.” Nolan remembered her third birthday. That had been the last happy family gathering before his mother’s death and his and Mary’s estrangement.

“Someone has to go talk to Samantha,” the doctor said “Do you think you could?”

Nolan felt numb. He had to call Miguel, as well. Right now his good friend was probably knocking at the Davidsons’ A-frame. Soon he’d realize Mary wasn’t home.

“There’ll be other family members to notify, too, of course,” the doctor continued.

Nolan nodded. He’d have to get in touch with Steve’s mother, Irene, before she heard about the accident on the news. Or read his paper.

Shit. He’d have to get Cooper to write something. There was no way he could. Besides, he’d have other concerns. There’d be obituaries and funerals and… Oh, hell, this just couldn’t be real.

The doctor was consulting his chart again. “Any other immediate family?”

Steve shook his head. Some aunts and uncles, most of them out-of-state. He’d have to check with Irene for the other side of the family. He’d go to her house now. Maybe Sammy was with her.

Sammy. He couldn’t even remember what his niece looked like anymore. Chubby cheeks and a lisp, he vaguely recollected. But that had been three years ago.

CHAPTER THREE

KIM SHERMAN KNEW her co-workers at The Birth Place didn’t like her. She knew she had a reputation for being ruthless, impersonal, bottom-line oriented. All of which was perfectly true. And why not? Kim hadn’t moved to Enchantment almost eight months ago to vie for the local Miss Congeniality award.

Seeking personal admiration of any kind wasn’t her style. People either accepted her for what she was—or too bad. For them. She didn’t care. She never had.

She was good at what she did. Extremely good. Numbers spoke to her. Accounting had been her thing, from the first course she’d taken in high school to her last full credit in college. She’d never encountered a set of books she couldn’t balance. A statement of changes she couldn’t reconcile.

She was efficient. Organized. A merciless perfectionist.

Some people had a problem with those qualities. Probably because they themselves were incapable of meeting standards that high. Those people tended to avoid Kim, and she was fine with that.

Which was one reason working at night appealed to her so much. She could concentrate without interruption. As an added bonus, she didn’t have to listen to the annoying chatter of others who obviously socialized with each other outside of work. Kim checked her Timex and was surprised. She hadn’t planned to stay this late.

It was past ten. She’d been lost in her analysis of outstanding payables for—what?—almost four hours. The Birth Place was out of money. Again. It was up to her to decide which suppliers they simply had to pay and which could be put off for a few more months.

It was a job many would hate. But Kim didn’t mind.

She flicked off the radio by her desk. She’d been listening to a classical station, the sound a comfort in the empty complex. Now, through her open office door, traveled a disquieting noise. Someone laughing quietly… No, crying.

Lydia and Gina had been in earlier with a delivery. But she’d heard them leave hours ago. The night janitor had already made his rounds.

Kim shivered and pulled on her gray cardigan, doing up each button, from the bottom to the very top. Grabbing the three-hole punch from her desk and holding it like a baseball bat, she went investigating. The door to the chief administrator’s office was shut tight. Since his marriage to Hope Tanner, Parker Reynolds had been taking work home rather than putting in extra hours at the center.

The sound grew louder as she stepped into the main hall. It seemed to be coming from one of the birthing rooms to her right—definitely someone crying.

No longer concerned about her physical safety, Kim set the three-hole punch on the empty reception desk, next to Trish Linden’s silly snow globe of Venice. The middle-aged receptionist had never ventured out of New Mexico. What was she doing with a souvenir of Italy of all places?

Kim followed the hallway around the curving counter. One of the birthing-room doors stood ajar. A faint light slipped out into the hall.

The sobbing was louder now. Raw and unrestrained.

All Kim’s instincts told her to walk away. She did not want to get involved with this. But what if the person crying was Lydia? Kim would do anything for Lydia.

Lydia Kane had founded The Birth Place when she was a young mother herself, many decades ago. Though she was now in her early seventies she still worked full-time as a midwife. The only sign she gave of easing up was her recent resignation from the board of directors. Kim guessed she’d made the move under pressure, for reasons Kim could only speculate about.

She peeked through the open crack in the door. Sure enough it was Lydia. She’d changed out of the trousers and shirt she’d been wearing for the labor, earlier. Her long gray hair now hung down the back of a forest-green caftan. Kim watched the older woman pull a beautifully patterned quilt over freshly plumped pillows. As she worked efficiently, briskly, her crying continued.

Lydia’s typical self-control and natural dignity made this a most incongruous sight. Again Kim’s instincts warned her to back away. But then she inadvertently pushed on the door and the hinges squeaked. Just a little, but enough.

“Who’s there?” Lydia straightened and turned to face the door. “Kim?” She wiped away tears with the back of her hand. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“Just some late-night accounting.” She didn’t share her worries about the finances. It wouldn’t be news to Lydia, anyway. They were all used to the center being short of funds, though Kim had been working to rectify the situation since she’d been on board. One of her first projects had been the renegotiation of their contracts with the various health-care providers.

“You work too hard.”

Kim stepped into the room. “What about you? Surely this could wait until morning.” She knew some of their contracts required the midwives to file notice of a baby’s birth within twenty-four hours. But that was paperwork. Why was Lydia cleaning the room?