Papoosed: An Essie Cobb Senior Sleuth Mystery Page 2

  “I get it, Santos,” said Essie, motioning for him to speed up his tale.

  “Maria, she make very bad mistake. She marry Gerald too fast. She not think first. Maria and Gerald move to America. Mi madre . . . my mother . . . says you cannot trust American man . . . .” Santos was gesturing wildly as he sat cross-legged on the concrete floor, telling his story.

  “Yes, yes,” said Essie, nodding, “American men are the scum of the earth. What happened? Obviously, nothing good or this little baby would not be . . . .”

  “Oh, Maria is very happy in America, Miss Essie,” said Santos with a smile. “She and husband move here to Reardon. Maria get job here at Happy Haven. Now I have friend from Mexico I can speak to here in America. But Maria, she does not speak English good like me!” The young waiter puffed out his chest proudly and wiped his hands on his apron.

  “Yes, yes, Santos,” said Essie, waving her hands more furiously, “but obviously something went wrong.”

  “Gerald, he does not want Maria to get pregnant,” announced Santos sadly.

  “What did he expect?” asked Essie, her eyes bulging. “He married her, right?”

  “Si, Miss Essie,” said Santos, nodding, “but Gerald does not understand Maria’s family way. He wants her to use . . . how you say? Control de la Natalidad? The control of birth?”

  “Enough information, Santos!” exclaimed Essie, leaning back in her walker, hands to ears.

  “Gerald is very good husband until Maria gets pregnant,” said Santos tentatively, “then he is very bad husband.” Santos looked at the ground forlornly. He dropped his head between his knees and rubbed his temples.

  “How?” Essie asked. There was obviously much more to this story than Santos was probably able–or maybe even–willing–to tell her. Finally, the young man took a deep breath.

  “He beat Maria,” whispered Santos sadly. “He beat her when she tells him she is going to have baby. He tells her to get rid of baby, but Maria, she cannot do that. Maria’s family, they do not believe in getting rid of babies. Babies are all very good, even many, many babies. Gerald beats Maria more. Maria tells me about her husband. She tells me her husband beats her all the time. She puts away some money . . . little by little. Maria, she wants to leave husband when baby comes, but she needs money.”

  “That was very nice of you, Santos, to listen to her,” noted Essie. “So where is she? Why is this poor child now in the bottom of a box in this closet?”

  “I do not know, Miss Essie,” bawled Santos, an actual tear welling up in his eye. “Maria have baby a little bit ago at home. Gerald, he do not take Maria to hospital . . . and Maria, she does not have money, for . . . how you say? Seguro de salud? Insurance?”

  “Oh galloping galoshes! She gave birth at home?”

  “In her apartment, si.”

  “I suppose the no-good Gerald didn’t help.”

  “No. Gerald, he is at work. When Gerald comes home, he is very mad. Maria is very scared. Maria, she calls me. She wants to take baby and leave husband. I try to call her every day after baby is born but Maria does not answer, Miss Essie. I am very worried. Tonight Maria comes to work for dinner shift. I think, this is good. Maria, she is okay. Gerald may be okay with baby. Then Maria takes me to closet–this one here.” He looked around the tiny room with a pitiful remorseful sigh. “When we come in closet, Maria opens her coat and shows baby to me. I am very worried. Baby is very new. Maria is very weak. Maria has . . .how you say? Contusión?”

  “Bruise?”

  “Si! Bruise on her face, Miss Essie. I do not know what to do. I do not know why she comes to work tonight.”

  “So what happened?” asked Essie, now completely engrossed in the young man’s tale.

  “Maria, she says she is leaving Gerald. She says Gerald beats her and baby.”

  “Oh no!” exclaimed Essie. “The baby too! How horrible!”

  “I know, Miss Essie,” agreed Santos. He hopped to his knees. “Maria says she has a plan. Plan to leave husband and protect baby. Maria asks me to watch baby for her until she comes back. Maria says this to me three hours ago, Miss Essie. She is not back yet.”

  “Not yet?” cried Essie. “Can you call her? Do you have her number?”

  “I have only the telephone number for Maria’s apartment . . . where she lives with Gerald.”

  “No, uh cell telephone?” asked Essie. Although Essie didn’t herself possess one of these new-fangled personal communication devices, she did realize that many people owned them and that they could come in handy in unusual predicaments–just like this one. Indeed, both of her daughters–and she assumed her son–used their cell telephones frequently.

  “What am I going to do, Miss Essie? What if Maria does not return?” pleaded Santos. He was clutching Essie’s knees as she sat, perplexed, on her walker seat.

  “Why don’t you take the baby to Violet or one of the staff nurses?” suggested Essie.

  “Oh, no!” replied Santos, aghast. “I cannot do that! Maria makes me promise not to tell anyone about Antonio.”

  “Antonio?”

  “The baby!”

  “But you just told me about him, Santos!” whispered Essie loudly, slapping the arms of her walker in frustration.

  “I think Maria means not to tell anyone who is a . . . a . . .”

  “An authority?”

  “Si, Miss Essie. That’s it! Maria is afraid . . . if important people know about Antonio, they take him and keep him . . . or even more worse . . . give him to Gerald.”

  “But isn’t Maria a citizen? I mean, she married Gerald.”

  “Yes, Maria is American citizen . . . I think. I am not sure. I do not know law. Maria does not know either. Gerald tells her she cannot keep baby and he can give baby away.”

  “He can’t do that!”

  “Are you sure, Miss Essie?” asked Santos. “Maria is very scared of husband. Very scared for baby.” He leaned back on his haunches as he stared up at Essie with his big brown eyes.

  “Yes, I can see that,” mused Essie, hunkering down on her walker seat in thought. “Do you have any idea where she is now?”

  “No,” said Santos, “She is in very big hurry when she leaves here tonight. Maria empujó . . . uh, shoves . . . baby in my arms and runs out of closet very fast. When she goes, I do not know what to do. I make little crib for Antonio with the empty box and the old dish towels. When Maria does not come back, I think I will ask Miss Essie. Everyone knows Miss Essie helps Senor Bob when he is in coma. You help him. Senor Bob has big problem just like baby Antonio. You help baby Antonio too, Miss Essie.” He looked at her with helpless eyes. The warmth in the small closet was beginning to feel oppressive . . . even to Essie.

  “I don’t know, Santos,” said Essie with a sigh. “It’s one thing to figure out how to help an old man. I have a lot of personal experience with being old. I don’t have any idea what to do to help this little baby.”

  “But you will think of something, Miss Essie!” cried Santos. “I know you can! Please do not make me give baby to the authors!”

  “The authorities,” corrected Essie gently. “Santos, there’s no guarantee that the authorities would automatically give Antonio to his father. I’m sure if you explained what Maria had told you, they’d . . .”

  “No, Miss Essie,” argued Santos. “Gerald is American citizen. Maria is only citizen because she marry Gerald and . . . if he divorce Maria, Maria is not citizen anymore. Authorities take baby.”

  “Really?” Essie quizzed the young man. “They can do that?”

  “Maria says Gerald will send her back to Mexico and put baby in un hogar de crianza . . .”

  “What?”

  “Un hogar . . . like a house . . . for babies with no father . . . .”

  “A foster home?”

  “Si! He will put Antonio in foster home if she does not do what he tells her. If Maria complains, Gerald will beat her. I do not know how to help Maria. I do not want Maria to get beating. I do not wan
t Maria to lose baby.”

  “Surely, Maria has this all figured out,” said Essie finally. “She’s probably just been delayed a bit in getting back here. She’ll probably show up any minute and tell you what she’s decided to do. You did say she left hurriedly. That probably means she has a plan.”

  “I hope so, Miss Essie,” said Santos wearily. “I hope she comes back very soon. I must close up kitchen and check out all the workers. It is my night. Then I must lock kitchen and leave.” He pushed back a thick lock of dark hair that had flopped over his forehead.

  “And if she’s not back before you have to lock up?” asked Essie.

  “I . . . I . . . do not know.”

  “You can’t leave a baby here in this closet all night long,” said Essie. “You know that.”

  “I know,” replied Santos with a wince.

  “Assuming she doesn’t return,” said Essie gingerly, “can’t you take him with you overnight and bring him back with you in the morning? Maybe Maria will contact you someway before then.”

  “That cannot be, Miss Essie.”

  “Why not?”

  “I live with Senor and Senora Peterson. In their boarding house. I have a bedroom on the second floor. I comparto . . . uh, share . . . a bathroom with Senor and Senora. Senor Peterson is a sick man. Senora Peterson takes care of him. I have to be very quiet. I cannot have a baby in the house.”

  “You mean you don’t have your own apartment?” asked Essie. She had assumed that Santos probably lived alone or shared an apartment with one or more other young persons as did so many people today. As a matter of fact, several of her grandchildren had such living arrangements. Obviously, Santos’s finances didn’t allow such privacy. She had to admire the young man’s frugality–and his concern for his friend Maria and her child. Said child was even now making himself known. As Essie glanced down at the cardboard box on the lower shelf, she could see the dish towel coverlets start to move. An almost inaudible coo emitted from the box.

  “Oh, dear!” she moaned. “What can be done?”

  “You, Miss Essie!” said Santos with a smile. “You take the baby! Santos knows you good lady, Miss Essie. You will take good care of Antonio. You are all alone in your apartment. Yes, Miss Essie?”

  “Yes, I live alone,” agreed Essie, “but I can’t keep a baby in my apartment. My neighbors would hear it crying. I’d get in trouble with the administration of Happy Haven. Violet would never approve of me . . . or anyone . . . keeping an infant in their room! Besides, I don’t have any supplies! I mean, what about food? Diapers? Clothes?”

  “Oh, Miss Essie,” said Santos, “you are most clever lady I know! You know what to do!” He looked at her and then at the small, tan, round face, now just opening his eyes in the box. Essie scooted her walker closer to the box and peered down at the baby. An ugly gash lined the baby’s right cheek and Essie noticed a bruise on one of his fat little legs as he writhed out of his makeshift blankets. Despite his injuries, Antonio looked directly into Essie’s face and beamed.

  “All right!” she said, with a pitiful sigh. “Give him here! But only tonight!” With that, she rose and lifted the leather seat on her walker. Santos carefully picked up the small bundle, dish towels and all and gently placed him in the wire mesh basket directly under the seat on Essie’s walker. Ever so carefully, Essie lowered the seat, being cautious that no toes or fingers were caught between the seat and the basket beneath. Then with a shake of her finger at Santos and a quick warning finger to her lips, she swiftly maneuvered her walker out of the storage closet, through the now empty kitchen, and into the dining hall.

  Chapter Three

  “Even when freshly washed and relieved of all obvious confections, children tend to be sticky.”

  –Fran Lebowitz

  Essie rolled her walker with her usual expertise, carefully dodging chairs placed around square tables arranged randomly in Happy Haven’s large dining hall. She was torn between going her usual super speed so she could get to her room before the baby inside her walker’s basket made any noticeable noise, and maintaining a more casual rate so that she didn’t accidentally bump into anything and injure or–at a minimum–disturb the little fellow within.

  As she passed her own table, she noted that Opal and Marjorie were still seated, sipping their coffee. Fay remained in her wheelchair, snoring gently.

  “Essie,” called out Marjorie, as Essie whizzed past. “Essie, what happened in the kitchen? What did Santos want?”

  “Essie!” yelled Opal to Essie’s back as Essie made a sharp turn to the left and headed towards the door. “Essie! Where are you going? What happened?”

  The commotion of Essie’s entrance from the kitchen and immediate exit–along with the cries of her table companions–awakened the sleeping Fay, who looked around, startled and then reached for her coffee cup when she realized that she was still at the dinner table.

  “Sorry, Opal, Marjorie!” Essie cried out over her shoulder as she zoomed past her friends. “Can’t talk now!” She made a bee-line down the center of the dining hall towards the main entrance. Opal looked at Marjorie.

  “That’s strange!” Opal whispered to her shorter tablemate. Fay, now awake, stared at Essie’s back as she wheeled down the center aisle of the dining hall.

  “Where do you think she’s going in such a hurry?” asked Marjorie, still focused on Essie’s retreating form in the distance.

  “I don’t know,” replied Opal. “What could that kitchen boy . . . that Santos . . . have shown her to cause her to rush out of here so fast?”

  “It’s not like her to skip her coffee like this,” added Marjorie. At that comment, Fay pressed the button on the arm of her wheelchair that activated the vehicle and quickly guided herself away from the table and through the dining hall.

  “Fay!” called out Opal, “where are you going?”

  “What’s gotten into her now?” Marjorie asked Opal, puzzled. The two women looked at each other and then, at almost the same time, they set down their coffee cups, rose, grabbed their walkers, and rolled quickly out of the dining hall, single file after Fay.

  Outside of the dining hall, Essie entered the Happy Haven lobby, the one place where she knew she would be likely to encounter the greatest amount of traffic. She glanced around quickly and saw only a few residents parked in front of the fireplace enjoying the blazing fire and the Christmas stockings hanging above it. She gave her walker an extra budge over the edge of the carpet, being careful not to jostle the baby inside. Unfortunately, in her haste, one of her wheels became stuck on the carpet edge, something it had done numerous times before. As she bent over to loosen the rubber wheel, a voice above her made her skin crawl. She looked up.

  “Essie,” said a slender, regal-looking woman with sleek, dark, shoulder-length hair combed strategically behind her ears. “You seem to be in quite a hurry tonight.”

  “Oh, Miss Hendrickson!” replied Essie, looking up at Happy Haven’s imposing Director Violet Hendrickson. Essie continued to manipulate her rubber wheel and eventually got it unstuck from the wayward carpet thread.

  “A problem?” continued Violet, arms crossed, tapping a pencil against her elbow. She moved around Essie and stood directly in front of her walker, blocking her way.

  “No! No! Miss Hendrickson,” explained Essie, “just have to get to the bathroom. You know, too much coffee! I’m ninety! Can’t be helped!” With this brief explanation, she ducked around the woman and proceeded on her way, leaving Violet Hendrickson, standing in the center of the lobby, gazing after Essie’s retreating form with a look of more than mild curiosity. Essie knew that Violet was suspicious of her because Essie had stuck her nose into Violet’s background and had recently almost cost Violet her job. Although Essie was always exceedingly polite to Violet, Violet appeared to view Essie as a potential trouble-maker. Sometimes Essie wondered if Violet thought she was the director of a home for criminals rather than senior citizens. At least, that’s how Essie felt around the do
ur, humorless woman. Opal and Marjorie thought Essie was imagining things–and well she might be.

  Essie continued through the lobby, all decked out in its traditional holiday finery. The central focus was a gigantic two-story tall spruce tree covered from top to bottom with lights and ornaments. At its base, a vintage railroad train careened around small tracks–its tiny whistle announcing its arrival. Still no peep from the baby in the basket, luckily, thought Essie, as she zoomed around the tree towards the family room. She could hear Opal and Marjorie calling behind her from the dining hall. As she glanced back, she saw Fay following her in her motorized wheelchair. Oh, no! she thought, I don’t need them involved in this! It’s bad enough that I’m involved! She pressed on towards her room which was on the far side of the lobby, past the family room and down the hallway on the right. She was committed now. Hopefully, Opal and Marjorie and Fay would just give up on following her and go on to their own rooms. She couldn’t worry about that now. She forged ahead as fast as she was able.