Trial By Fury

"About what?"

"The kids."

"What do you mean? What'll happen to them?" I asked.

"That depends," Ames said quietly. "If Peters lives long enough to make his wishes known, he might have some say in it. Otherwise, with their mother out of the country, the state may very well step into the picture and decide what's best."

"You mean hand the girls over to Child Protective Services or to a foster home?"

"Precisely."

"Shit!" I had seen the grim results of some foster home arrangements. They weren't very pretty.

"Has Peters ever mentioned any plan to you? A relative of some kind. Grandparents maybe? An aunt?"

"No. Never."

Ames poured us both another drink. He looked at me appraisingly when he handed it to me. "What about you, Beau?"

"Me?" I echoed. I was thunderstruck.

"Yes, you. God knows you've got plenty of money. You could afford to take them on without any hardship."

"'You're serious, aren't you!"

"Dead serious. We've got to have some kind of reasonable plan to offer Peters at the first available moment, before the state drops down on him and grabs Heather and Tracie away. And we've got to have something to tell the girls in the morning."

"But, Ames, I'm not married."

"Neither is Peters, remember? But you've raised kids before, two of them. And from what I've seen of them, you did a pretty commendable job of it. You could do it again."

"I've just bought a place downtown," I protested. "No grass. No yard. No swings."

"Children have grown up in cities for as long as there have been cities. Besides, if they don't like it, you can move somewhere else."

Ames was talking about my taking on Peters' kids with the kind of casual aplomb that comes from never having raised kids of his own. People talk that way about kids and puppies, about how cute they are and how little trouble, only when they've never pulled a six-year-old's baby tooth or housebroken an eight-week-old golden retriever.

Ames spoke with the full knowledge and benefit of never having been in the trenches. His naiveté was almost laughable, but he's one hell of a poker player. He had an unbeatable wild card-my sense of responsibility for what had happened. And the son of a bitch wasn't above using it.

"So what do we do?" I asked. He read my question correctly as total capitulation.

"I'll draw up a temporary custody agreement," he replied. "As soon as Peters is lucid enough for us to talk to him about it, we'll get it signed and notarized."

"Signed?" I asked.

"Witnessed," he corrected.

"And what if that's not possible? What if he never is lucid enough to agree to it?"

"We use the same agreement. It just costs more money to put it in force, that's all," Ames replied grimly.

I knew from experience that Ralph Ames had the moxie to grease the wheels of bureaucracy when the occasion required it.

It was one-thirty in the morning when we finally called it quits. The decision had long since been made to wait until morning to tell the girls. There was no sense in waking them up to tell them in the middle of the night.

For a long time after Ames went to bed, I lay awake on the floor mulling our conversation. Ames was right, of course. I was the only acceptable choice for taking care of Heather and Tracie. I had the most to offer. And the most to gain.

It was probably just a sign of fatigue, but by five-thirty, when I finally fell asleep, it was begi

Heather bounded into my room an hour later. "Unca Beau," she squealed, climbing gleefully on top of me. "Did you find him? Did you?"

It was a rude awakening. Tracie, more reticent than her younger sister, hung back by the door. I motioned to her. With a kind of delicate dignity, she sat down beside me.

I swallowed hard before I answered Heather's question. "Yes, I did," I said slowly.

"Well, where is he, then? Why isn't he in his bed?" Heather's six-year-old inquisitiveness sought answers for only the most obvious questions.

"He's in the hospital, girls."

Tracie swung around and looked up at me. "He's hurt?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Will he die?"

"I don't know. Neither do the doctors."

"I don't want him to die," Heather wailed.

"He can't. I won't let him."

Tracie continued to look up at me, her eyes wide and unblinking. "What will happen to us?" she asked.

Bless Ames for asking the question first, for coming up with a plan. "We talked about that last night," I assured them. "If your father approves, maybe you can stay with me for a while. Downtown."

"But you're moving."

"To a bigger place. There'd be more room."

My heart went out to Tracie. She was very young to be so old, to carry so much responsibility for what was happening around her.

Heather's sudden outburst quieted as suddenly as it had come. "Would we ride in a elevator?"

"Every day."

I reached over and tousled Tracie's long brown hair. "We'll take care of things, Tracie. Ames and Mrs. Edwards and I will do the worrying. You don't have to."

Tears welled in her big brown eyes. She turned around and launched herself at my neck, clinging to me like a burr.

I'm glad she didn't look up at me right then. I was busy wiping my own eyes.

CHAPTER 33

Ames had talked to Mrs. Edwards while I was telling Heather and Tracie. By the time we came out to the kitchen, the housekeeper, red-eyed but under control, was busy making breakfast. She dished out huge bowls of oatmeal. "You've got to eat and keep up your strength so your daddy won't have to worry about you," she said. Then she went over to the sink and ran water to cover her sniffles.

None of us ate the oatmeal.

I was pushing my chair back from the table when the phone rang. It was Margie, Peters' and my clerk from the department. She sounded pretty ragged, too.

"Sorry to bother you, Beau, but there's a message here I thought you should know about. It's been here since last night. From Harborview."

"From Harborview! Why didn't they call me here?" I demanded. "Powell was supposed to tell them."

"I don't know what happened, but here's the number."

I took it down and dialed it as soon as I heard the dial tone.

"Emergency," a woman answered.

"My name is Beaumont. I had a message to call this number."

"One moment. Here it is. You're to call 5451616."

My frustration level was rising. I dialed the next number. "Maternity," someone said.

"Maternity? Why am I calling Maternity?"

"I wouldn't know, sir. This is the maternity wing at University Hospital. Is someone in your family expecting a baby?"

"No, I can't imagine…"

"What is your name, sir? I may have a message here for you."

" Beaumont. J. P. Beaumont."

"That's right. Here it is. Hold on. It's early, but I can co

Ames, who had heard the entire conversation, looked at me questioningly. I shrugged my shoulders. Why the hell would Maternity at University Hospital have a message for me?

"Hello." At first I didn't recognize the voice.

"This is J. P. Beaumont. I had a message to call."

"Oh, Beau. Thank you for calling."

"Joa

"…tried to get hold of you yesterday, but then my water broke, and they took me to the hospital."

I was so relieved it wasn't bad news about Peters that it was all I could do to make sense of what she was saying.

"You had the baby, then? What is it? A boy or a girl?"

She didn't answer. "I've got to talk to you. Right away. Can you come down here?"

"To University Hospital? Sure, I guess so." I held the phone away from my mouth and spoke to Ames. "She wants to see me."

"Go ahead. Mrs. Edwards and I will hold down the fort."