The Detective's 8 Lb, 10 Oz Surprise. Meg Maxwell
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“Are you really home for good? Not going back to Houston?”
Georgia shook her head. “No way. I’m home for good.”
“I’m very glad to hear you say that,” Essie said. “Because with Hattie gone to help care for her granddaughters, we’ve sorely needed a baker and I’m overjoyed you’ve agreed. I do okay and I make a mean biscuit, but no one bakes a chocolate layer cake like you, Georgia.”
Georgia smiled, the compliment from her grandmother nestling in her heart. “I’m just glad to finally be able to help out around here.”
Over the next few hours, as Gram and Annabel got busy making sauces, from Creole to barbecue to white gravy for chicken-fried steak, and Clementine set up the dining room, Georgia baked two chocolate layer cakes, three pies—blueberry, apple and lemon meringue—and two dozen chocolate-chip cookies. They talked and laughed and reminisced and gossiped and it was as if Georgia had never been gone. Then Gram and Clementine left for the farmers’ market, and Annabel headed to the door to get home for lunch.
“Do you instinctively know what to do?” she asked Annabel, who was stepmother to her husband West Montgomery’s five-year-old daughter. She and West had married back in April in a business arrangement to save both Hurley’s and West’s family—but the two had realized how much they loved each other and their marriage became very real. “Or have you had to learn as you go?”
Annabel smiled. “I’d say a bit of both. Sometimes I surprise myself. Sometimes I’m so afraid to say or do the wrong thing. But even when I do, it works out because my heart is definitely in the right place. You know?”
Georgia nodded. “But at least a five-year-old can tell you you’re braiding her hair too tightly or whatever. With Timmy—and with my own baby—I’ll have to figure it out for myself. What if I figure wrong?”
“You’ll do fine,” Annabel said. “I don’t have experience with babies either, but moms I know always say you’ll just figure it out as you go and you can quickly tell the different between cries. One waaah means hunger, another means pick me up, another means wet diaper.”
Georgia bit her lip. “Sounds complicated.”
Annabel dug into her tote bag and handed over a thick book. “I almost forgot! I borrowed this for you from West’s bookshelves. Your Baby 101.”
Georgia smiled. “Thanks. I definitely need this.” She slipped the book into her own tote bag. “Thanks for everything, Annabel. And for sending Nick Slater to me in Houston in the first place. I’m sorry I worried you. I wish now I’d just told you what was going on.”
Annabel nodded. “Well, I understand why you didn’t. But who knew that my sending a detective to check up on my older sister would end up with said sister pregnant with his baby? Not me.”
They both laughed, but then Georgia’s smile disappeared and she wrapped her sister in a fierce hug. “Thank you, Annabel. And I know I’ve said it too many times already, but I am so sorry. You entered into a business-deal marriage to save Hurley’s.”
Annabel smiled. “Well, I would have done that if Hurley’s had been in the black too. I really married West to stop his former in-laws from trying to sue for custody of his daughter. Now we’re all one big happy family, in-laws included.”
“I’m so happy for you.” Georgia loved the joy she saw in her sister’s eyes.
“Now our big happy family is going to get one person bigger,” Annabel said, eyeing Georgia’s belly. She glanced at her watch. “I’d better run. See you later.”
Alone again in the kitchen, except for napping Timmy, Georgia was sliding the last of the pies from the oven when Timmy began to stir and then let out a wail.
Georgia took off her oven mitts and then rushed over to Timmy, scooping him up from the basinet. “I’m here, sweet boy,” she cooed. “Let’s change your diaper. Hey, I am getting the hang of this.”
She glanced at her watch. Just after eleven-thirty. She and Nick hadn’t made any kind of plan for today, and for all she knew, he was off investigating Timmy’s mother. Or maybe he was home, reading through the case files and using the internet and phone to investigate. She’d left him a note saying she’d taken Timmy to Hurley’s and would be back at lunchtime. Maybe he’d be there too. She’d head back to Nick’s and see.
It would be good for Nick to spend time around Timmy. Just as taking care of Timmy would teach her the rudiments of taking care of her own baby, perhaps being around Timmy would soften Nick’s feelings about fatherhood, get him used to having a baby around.
She could hope, anyway.
Last night, Nick had woken up to the sound of a baby crying and thought he was dreaming, then remembered. Timmy. And when Timmy had magically quieted down, Nick had bolted up.
Georgia.
Right next door. It had taken him a while to fall asleep, but he did, only to wake up a few hours later to the same cries. Then the same magic quiet. Then he heard the very faint sound of her singing some kind of lullaby.
He hadn’t been able to fall back asleep that last time.
He’d wondered what she was wearing. What she was thinking. If he should knock on her door and offer to make some coffee.
But he hadn’t gotten out of bed. He’d sat up, consciously unwilling to check on Georgia and the baby.
Which was interesting, considering that he’d hired her as his live-in nanny.
You want her close but not too close, he knew.
He’d heard her tiptoeing around at five o’clock, heard the front door gently click. Then he’d sprung out of bed. In the kitchen he’d found she’d made a pot of coffee and left a note: Took Timmy to Hurley’s to meet the family and start my first morning as baker. Back at lunchtime.
He glanced at his watch. It was just about lunchtime. For the past several hours, he’d been parked on the living room couch, the box of case files for the past two years on the coffee table. He’d been too distracted to go through the case files last night, but now they were all fresh in his head, his little notebook full of reminders, schedules and any helpful information. This afternoon, he’d start with the most recent and work his way back. First up: a visit to Harriet Culver, whose greyhound eleven-year-old Jason Pullman had dognapped, then the Pullmans. Harriet was in her early sixties, but perhaps she had a relative or a neighbor who liked how he’d handled the case and thought he’d make an excellent babysitter for the week. Or maybe the Pullmans were connected to Timmy—someone who thought Nick had something to do with how Harriet had been so kind to dogless Timmy when it had been Harriet’s own doing.
He pulled the next file, shaking his head. Penny Jergen, a twenty-four-year-old local beauty queen with a mean streak whose entire wardrobe, including shoes, were stolen and never found. The only evidence? Ashes from a bonfire in a clearing on the outskirts of town, a glittery pink scarf left behind with a rock holding it down. Clearly, someone wanted Penny to know all her clothes and shoes were dust. He’d never cracked that case, and Penny Jergen glared at him in town. If she’d had a baby and had had to leave her infant with someone, he doubted it would be him.
But he’d add her to the list. She’d been difficult, to say the least, and he’d been kind and patient, since her demeanor had reminded him of his sister when she’d been hurt and angry or frustrated. Maybe someone connected to her liked how he’d handled Penny and that someone was Timmy’s mother.
He’d have to backtrack through all these people. He sighed. Sounded tedious and draining. But somewhere in these boxes was the key to Timmy’s mother. So he’d do it.
The doorbell rang and he jogged over to open it. It was Georgia with Timmy.
“You