“Nothing,” I say, rubbing my abdomen. “Must be the wind.”
We continue on our way. We’re almost through the gate when a pain pinches my stomach, as if someone closed a pair of pliers on my insides. I buckle over.
“Are you OK, Gwyn?” Ronnie asks, reaching for my shoulders.
“Help! Please, somebody, help me!” the young mother screams from behind.
Ronnie and I whirl around, our eyes scanning the garden for a malicious threat, but we only see the mother.
“I can’t find Daniel. Where’s my baby?!”
The distraught woman digs through the contents of the stroller, flipping through the layers of blankets, searching for her missing child. But he’s gone. She drops to the ground, tears rolling from her red, puffy eyes.
“My baby! Who stole my baby?”
Chapter fourA Mother’s Regret
The pain clenching my stomach subsides. Ronnie helps me up, and I call 911 as we rush to the devastated mother to console her, my heart pounding against my ribcage. She struggles to breathe as she clutches her baby’s blankets against her. My best friend embraces the woman, attempting to calm her down.
“What’s your name?” I ask, rubbing her arm.
“Jenny,” she replies between gasps.
“OK, Jenny,” I say. “I’m Gwyn, and this is Ronnie. Did you see anyone jump over the fence?”
She glances at the eight-foot structure, trembling. “I only saw spinning leaves blowing over the stroller. I was over there near the hawthorn tree.” She gestures toward the right corner of the gardens. “This is all my fault. I left my baby alone. Now someone stole my precious Daniel. My husband will hate me for this.” She sobs uncontrollably, and I grasp her hand.
“Don’t blame yourself, Jenny,” Ronnie says, stroking her hair. “We didn’t notice anyone in here either. There are wicked people in this world.” And in the Otherworld. “Your husband won’t blame you.”
“The police will be here soon. Don’t move from this spot. I need to talk to my friend for a minute.” I motion to Ronnie to step away, and I speak to her in a low voice. “Stay with her. I’m gonna look around. Feel out the area.”
“It’s so dark now, and the lamppost near the house only lights the exit. Be careful,” my friend says. “I’ll call Derek and Archie.”
“Yeah. They must be wondering where we are.”
As I walk to the aperture in the mound, I scratch my head. Were the pranksters so curious about the baby they plucked it from the stroller? I lift my hand to examine the area for clues. An amber glow seeps from my fingers, and I shake it out quickly. No sense of the supernatural here. I glance back quickly to make sure the Unremarkable mom missed my magic display. Phew. She’s staring at the grass beneath her. I scan the right side of the gardens for signs of unusual activity, but the waning moon barely provides enough illumination through the cloud cover to see anything.
As I amble around the back of the mound, a twinge returns to my gut. Is this my intuition trying to send a signal? That’s ridiculous. It has to be gas. I grunt as my gaze falls upon the fence. Could someone have scaled the concrete block and snatched her son? But how? Wouldn’t we have heard the baby cry? Could the criminal have climbed back over with a ten-month-old in their hands?
Sirens blare, signaling the Bearsden Police have arrived. I dart to the iron gate to meet them. After exiting their patrol car, which they parked under a lamppost, street cops Braddock Wilson and Quinn O’Connor run toward me. They’re Bearsden’s Mutt and Jeff team, except Quinn is a woman. A stocky man in a dark blazer, white shirt, and khaki pants exits a sedan and follows them. I recognize the balding, neckless detective with the Cro-Magnan-like brow ridge. Jack Schmidt approaches us. My stomach twists into knots.
Officer O’Connor addresses me. “Ms. Crowther, were you the person who called 911?"
“Yeah. There’s a woman named Jenny back there. Young mom. We were on the way out when we heard her scream. Her baby is missing.”
“We?” Officer Wilson asks in his deep voice. “There was someone else with you?”
Detective Schmidt catches up. “I didn’t expect you to be here, Ms. Crowther. I’d like to know who was with you as well.”
“My friend Ronnie Baldwin. She’s consoling the mother,” I reply, gesturing to them near the mound.
Detective Schmidt walks toward the lump of dirt with a purpose in his step, and we follow him. All three of them pull out flashlights and turn them on, sending beams of white light scattering in the dark.
“O’Connor. Wilson. Scour the area for footprints. I called for a forensic team, but it may take a while for them to arrive.” Jack approaches Jenny, who is still sobbing. He squats in front of her. “Hello, Jenny. Your baby is missing?”
She pants between words. “Yes…someone stole my Daniel.”
“How old is your son and can you describe his features?” Jack asks, pulling out his writing pad.
“He’s ten months. Has a pudgy face and long, blond hair—almost white. It’s so pretty, we haven’t cut it. He has blue eyes like an angel’s.”
While the detective takes notes, Ronnie continues to caress Jenny’s back with one hand and rubs her pregnant belly nervously with the other. Officers O’Connor and Wilson roam around the garden, pointing their flashlights toward the ground. They move to the rear of the mound and stride over to the concrete fence.
A man with light-brown hair of medium stature rushes into the garden. “Jenny! Jenny, where are you?”
“I’m here, Dan!” she yells through her whimpering.
Dan darts to his wife and squats to hug her. “What happened?”
“I’m so sorry, Danny,” she replies. “It’s all my fault.”
He strokes her wet cheeks. “I’m sure it isn’t.”
“You’re Jenny’s husband?” Jack asks.
“Yes. Dan Hansen. You are?”
“Detective Schmidt of the Bearsden Police Department. Your wife was about to tell us what happened.” He takes out his cell. “Do I have your permission to record you, Mrs. Hansen?”
