June bit her lower lip and studied the photo. “They look nice.”
“In fact, this particular couple,” Marjorie said, “own a lovely home in Evanston, Illinois. They’re both college graduates and hold down good jobs. The husband is a VP at Wells Fargo bank and the wife is currently working at an interior design firm.” Marjorie smiled. The stock photo she’d pulled out of a frame from the Ben Franklin had served her well. “But as soon as they adopt, the wife wants to quit her job and devote herself to being a full-time mother.”
“They sound perfect,” June said as tears glistened in her eyes.
Marjorie fingered a sheaf of papers, and then slid them across the desk to June. A pen followed. “Why don’t you sign this agreement right now and I’ll get things rolling.”
The young girl suddenly shivered, as if an ill wind had just swept in and chilled her to the bone. She paused, considered her predicament for a moment, and then slowly signed the papers. After all, what other option did she have?
*
MARJORIE hummed to herself as she typed up her report. Across the room, Libby Grauman stood up from her desk and slipped into her coat. She headed for the door and paused.
“I’m going to run over to the Hamburger Hut and grab some lunch. You want me to bring something back for you?”
“No thanks,” Marjorie said. “I brought a bologna sandwich from home.”
“Okay then.” The director was gone, closing the door firmly behind her.
Marjorie waited a full five minutes. Just in case Libby came back for something. When the coast seemed to be clear, she quickly dialed a long-distance number.
After wheedling her way past two different gatekeepers, her contact came on the line. “Yes?”
“I’ve got three,” Marjorie said.
“You’ve been busy. I hadn’t heard from you in a while so I wondered if maybe . . .” Then, “How old?”
“I’ve got a three-month-old girl, one that’s due any day now, and another in six months or so.”
There was a long hesitation. “Three months, you say? Is this another kid from that Amish group you’re hooked up with?”
“Not this one, no,” Marjorie said. “In fact, she’s special. Blond hair, blue eyes. The perfect baby for those fancy pants clients of yours.” When her contact didn’t reply, she said, “Hey, I ain’t got all day here. You want her or not?”
“A girl.” There was a sharp intake of air and then her contact said, “Jesus, Marjorie. Do you really think I’m that stupid?”
“I think you’re in this as deep as I am,” Marjorie said, putting a touch of venom in her voice.
More breathing on the other end of the line. “It’s the Darden baby, isn’t it? Christ, are you crazy? It’s been all over the news. The FBI was brought it to investigate!”
“So what?” Marjorie said.
“Damn it, you did this to me once before and I warned you—never again. This just leads to big problems.”
“Big money, too,” Marjorie said. “This is one cute kid.”
“But a terrible risk.” Another pause. “I don’t know that our arrangement from here on is going to work out all that well.”
“Then try harder,” Marjorie snarled. “You have clients, I deliver. No questions asked.”
“You really are crazy, you know that? You take way too many chances.”
“That’s my problem. I’ll deal with it.”
“Ah, but now you’re making it my problem. This isn’t just some abandoned kid from a crack whore. Or some bastard kid that a bunch of religious fruitcakes don’t want. This is dangerous business. There could be major repercussions.”
Marjorie’s voice came out in a low hiss. “Don’t you dare try to dime me out. You’re just as complicit as I am. Maybe more.” She thought her contact might hang up on her, but they didn’t. She knew they were still on the line because she could hear wheezy breath sounds.
“Okay, okay. I want ’em,” came the response. “The two little ones anyway.”
“Good. Start lining up your people,” Marjorie said. “Tell ’em the three-month-old is on the way, and the other one, the baby, is due any day now. And don’t forget to put a nice fat wad of cash in the mail for me. You remember the post office box number?”
“Yeah, yeah. I got it. So . . . when do we meet? When can we make the exchange for the, uh, three-month-old?”
“Soon,” Marjorie said. “No more than a couple of days. I’ll call you.”
“Use a pay phone, okay?”
“Still don’t trust me?”
“It’s just the smart thing to do, Marjorie.”
“Sure, whatever.”
*
HANDS clenched, jaw working like crazy, Marjorie’s contact hung up the phone.