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Chapter 8
I held an inconsolable Pam while the police and the coroner went through the attic looking for clues.
The coroner, a big man at least six foot six, came over and knelt on one knee in front of Pam. I almost burst into tears at the gesture. It sounds corny, but it was perfect. If he’d hovered over us at his full height, it would have made us feel intimidated.
“Mrs. Braddock, I’m so sorry you had to experience this after your recent loss. If you need to talk, please call me.” He pulled a business card out of his pocket and handed it to her. Then he looked at me and gave me one, too.
“Can you tell us anything about the skeleton?” I asked, heartbroken.
“Well, it’s a human baby, that much is certain. We’ll run tests that will help establish the sex and age. I’ll be in touch later to find out more about the history of the cottage.”
“I don’t really know much,” I said. “I just bought it.”
Later, I found out online that the coroner, Will Peterson, was divorced with no children. He was handsome in a rugged lumberjack kind of way, completely unexpected for a Long Island doctor, and I was interested from the first conversation. I thought asking to know more about the baby bones was a good excuse to call him.
“Do you want to come into the office?” he asked when I called him. “I can show you what we know about the baby so far. She was a girl.”
That rattled me; I thought of Yasmine/Jessie, hoping she was okay. I’d call Eimy later, as much as I dreaded it. I’d watched for news about Yasmine, but after the initial investigation of Myrla’s murder, little had been said about the baby.
I waited at his secretary’s desk as she buzzed his intercom.
“Ms. Long is here,” his assistant said, winking at me.
“Send her around, please.” His booming voice echoed over the speaker.
A minute later, he met me at the door to the morgue. He admitted that at the cottage, when we’d first met, he was attracted to me. Then he’d realized he recognized me from Saving New York.
“It might be love at first sight making me feel so warm and fuzzy that I nearly fainted. I didn’t know I was going to have a celebrity in my office!”
That completely defused my anxiety, and I burst out laughing, taking his hand to shake. “Oh, God. I hope the series isn’t going to be my finest moment.”
“Hey, I loved that show. I’m so sorry about your father, too. I didn’t realize Mrs. Braddock was your stepmother until later. My deepest condolences.”
And then, out of character, tough old me almost lost it, and my lips trembled, tears popping up in my eyes, threatening to overflow. “Wow, I’m so embarrassed,” I said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“I’m so sorry. Please forgive me,” he said, putting his arm around my shoulders and leading me to a chair by his desk. “That grief never lessens, does it? Your father was a fine man, an upstanding citizen. His legacy will continue, and with you as his daughter, even more so.”
I laughed when Dr. Peterson handed me a tissue with which to wipe my eyes, another act of kindness. “I’m not sure about that, but thank you so much. Again, I’m so sorry. Today the planets must be aligned perfectly for me to make an unprofessional ass out of myself.”
“Don’t say that. Finding a baby skeleton after what you’ve been through is a lot. I read about the baby you found on the street in Manhattan.”
That made me snort and then blubber uncontrollably while he tried to comfort me. I finally pulled myself together.
“Jeez, that, too. I plan on calling the mother of the missing baby later today. What’s with all the babies popping up in my life? I apologize for the tears, too. I’m like a bumbling idiot.”
“I think you’re charming. I feel like I know you after seeing you pointing out architectural details while wearing a bikini.”
My emotions switching from grief to joy, I roared laughing. He’d put me completely at ease.
“Another regretful moment I’ll never live down,” I said, sputtering. “The producers thought a bikini was in order while I was at the Woolworth Pool during the renovation. You know, the place was modeled after Pompeii.”
“I didn’t know that. It was a high point in my television viewing history. I’d better quit before you have grounds for sexual harassment.”
I told him some anecdotes about the show taping, what it was like working with my father. While we chatted, he poured coffee from a thermos into two white china mugs and got out a baggy with a huge hunk of commercially made coffee cake that I ate without prompting. He made me comfortable, like talking to an old friend, with romantic undertones.
Almost fifty, he had been born and raised in Iowa and met his wife, who had come from Queens, in college. She’d wanted to live near the ocean, so they’d moved to Babylon when he finished his residency. Then, five years ago, she’d left him for the guy who’d remodeled their kitchen, and he’d never heard from her again.
After an hour, we had not mentioned the baby bones.
