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Everett gave a smug smile. He wasn’t going to ruin his story by prematurely telling the ending.
Arthur put the photo on the coffee table and they waited for Everett to go on.
“Mrs. Crawford went to the sale, baby Jeanne in tow, and took her straight to the shoe department. Her daughter Della had recently announced that she wanted to be a ballerina so her mother was determined to get her ballet slippers. Tables were piled high with boxes and Mrs. Crawford soon found the toddler area. She positioned her foot against a wheel of baby Jeanne’s stroller and started looking for the correct size. Unfortunately, lots of other women were also frantically searching through the boxes.”
Everett paused for effect. “The tower of shoes collapsed. Some people said a woman tripped and fell and that’s what caused them to fall. Others blamed the stock boy. He’d stacked them too high. Whatever the reason, about a hundred boxes of shoes went crashing. Lids flew off, shoes were launched, and tissue paper seemed to attach itself to hair and clothes. For minutes, they were blinded.”
Everett gave a shrug. “No one knows what happened but when everyone righted themselves, the stroller was about six people away from Mrs. Crawford and it was empty. Baby Jeanne was gone.” He leaned forward. “In the seat was a handful of lily of the valley sprigs. They weren’t something from a florist but looked like they’d been pulled from a flowerpot. There were roots with dirt on them.”
Everett settled back into his chair and smiled, but said nothing.
“Get on with it!” Arthur ordered.
Everett took his time. “When Mrs. Crawford saw that her baby had been taken, she let out a scream that made people’s hair stand on end. As it happened, the jewelry department was close by and they had a panic button. A fast-thinking young clerk pushed it and instantly, every door in the building was locked. The button also alerted the police and they showed up six minutes later.”
He looked at his audience. “The baby wasn’t found. They searched every inch of the store, interviewed every customer and employee. No one had seen anything. The baby had just plain vanished.”
“I’m not sure I want to hear any more of this,” Kate said.
Everett continued anyway. “The story caught the imagination of the American people. For four days a manhunt ensued. The photo of baby Jeanne in her stroller was flashed on every channel. There was a lot of information turned in, but it led nowhere.”
He took a breath. “On the fourth day, the baby, clean and healthy, wearing the white dress and the pink cardigan, showed up in a cardboard box at a fire station. Only the booties were missing.”
Everett emptied his envelope and handed out photos and newspaper clippings encased in clear plastic. They passed them around.
“And no one ever found out who did it?” Kate asked.
“No. There were no fingerprints, nothing. There were no surveillance cameras then and no one saw anything.”
Sara looked up from the photo of the baby in the cardboard box. “But you think Janet Beeson knew who did it?”
“Yes,” Everett said. “She...” He took a breath. “She showed me a pink bootie.”
“Could have been anyone’s,” Arthur said. “Maybe you fell for a con.”
“No. You see, there was something never released to the public. This past spring I spent a month in Atlanta and I did my best to interview anyone who had been there that day. I talked to the store manager and three of the clerks. They knew nothing that hadn’t been in the papers. But the police...”
He looked at his hands. “I was sworn to secrecy on this, but—” He looked hard at Sara.
“We won’t tell,” she said.
Her words seemed to reassure him. “One of the policemen who was there that day—he’s now retired—told me Mrs. Crawford’s mother-in-law was a staunch Catholic. Inside each of the booties she’d sewn a tiny cross way up under the toes where you couldn’t see it. When Janet handed me that single baby slipper—she made me wear gloves—I turned it inside out. There it was, sewn tightly inside. Even Janet didn’t know it was there. That slipper did come from baby Jeanne.”
“And you think Janet Beeson knew who had done it?” Sara asked.
Everett leaned forward. “If Mrs. Beeson was murdered, maybe it was by the kidnapper.”
Sara frowned. “But that was over twenty years ago. Why now?”
“Janet told me that the evidence has been hidden all these years.”
“Hidden by her?” Jack asked.
“Either her or the kidnapper,” Everett answered. “We didn’t have enough time together for her to tell me.” He looked like he was going to start crying again.
“You said ‘exposed to the public,’” Jack said. “Who else did she show it to?”
“I don’t know!” Everett almost shouted. “She was a very secretive woman.”
