Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 124341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
“Salma Ibrahim?” he asked, taking his badge from his pocket and holding it up for her. “Agent Mark Gallagher.” This was one of the people Autumn Clancy’s social worker, Chantelle, had been able to tell him Autumn had been searching for. The woman who, as far as Chantelle knew, Autumn had never found.
She frowned, her eyes on his badge. “Yes,” she confirmed. “I’m Salma. Agent? What can I do for you?”
“There’s not a problem,” he assured her and saw her shoulders drop a fraction. “I just have some questions about a case, if I might take a few minutes of your time?”
“A case…” She glanced behind her, and Mark heard not just one child’s voice but several, coming from a room beyond. “Yes, yes, of course. Come in.”
She opened the door wider, and Mark stepped inside.
Salma closed the door and gestured to him to follow her. “I run an in-home day care,” she said. “Let me just get the children set up with a show.” She waved her hand at a sofa in the front room she’d led him to. “Have a seat, and I’ll be right back.”
Mark sat down, glancing around the room. It was clean and neat, but the furniture was obviously older. It might not be stylish, per se—even if Mark couldn’t exactly define stylish other than what he’d seen on the covers of the Pottery Barn catalogs his wife received in the mail—but the space felt cozy and welcoming, with neatly folded throw blankets and a whole slew of family photos on a table in front of the window.
Salma came back into the room, apologizing for the wait, though she’d only been gone three or four minutes, and took a seat in the chair across from Mark. “What is this about, Agent…”
“Gallagher,” he said. “But please, call me Mark. I’m working on a case, and the name of a woman who may or may not be involved came to light. Autumn Clancy. You would have known her as Autumn Sterling.”
Salma brought her hand to her mouth as her eyes widened. “Autumn?” she breathed. “Oh my goodness. She’s alive, isn’t she?”
“She is. Did you think she was deceased, Ms. Ibrahim?”
“Salma,” she murmured, turning her head and staring out the window for a moment. “No, not really.” She turned her attention back to Mark. “Autumn was an ADHM baby. She lived at the hospital I worked at, nine years ago now.”
“Yes. ADHM babies didn’t generally have a good prognosis.”
“No,” Salma said sadly. “It was all but a death sentence. Thank the good Lord that time is past. How is Autumn?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t met her.” He’d called her place of employment though and found that she had taken a short leave of absence. Curious timing. Only he was all but certain that it wasn’t curious at all.
“Oh. I see.”
“Like I said, her name’s come up in the course of an investigation.”
“What kind of investigation?”
“I’m afraid I can’t disclose the details.”
“How did you connect her to me?”
“I talked to the woman who was once her social worker, or at least inherited her case. Autumn was adopted out when she was fourteen. Her social worker told me that among the other reasons Autumn has been contacting her for years is that she was looking for you.”
Again, Salma’s hand came to her mouth as tears formed. “Oh, oh dear. Oh, sweet Autumn.” She closed her eyes, and it appeared she was in pain.
“You knew her well then?”
“Very well. I was her nurse at Mercy Hospital. I’d cared for her since she was a toddler.” She paused for a moment, obviously gathering her thoughts. “I was dismissed, and they didn’t even give me the opportunity to say goodbye to any of my patients. I’ve always wondered how that affected them… I’ve wondered so many things…”
“Can you tell me about the reason for your dismissal?”
Something fiery came into her eyes. “They feared me. So they terminated my employment and made sure I was reported to the board and stripped of my license. They made sure I could never work as a nurse again.” The fire was still there in her eyes, but so was an edge of what he could only call grief. She’d obviously mourned the loss of the children she’d cared for and her career. Her calling, perhaps.
“What did they fear, Salma?”
A small child came into the room, scampering to Salma. “Jamal no nice,” she declared.
“Jamal wasn’t nice to you?” Salma asked, opening her arms wide. “I’ll talk to him. Come here, pumpkin.”
The little girl hurried into Salma’s arms, and she lifted the tiny girl and sat her on her lap. The child had a pacifier around her neck, and she popped it into her mouth, lying back on Salma’s chest. Salma stroked the little girl’s hair distractedly. Mark had a vision of his own daughter when she was that age. She’d had a pacifier too…they’d had a bear of a time getting her to give it up…