Was he joking? "You bought groceries. Didn't you and Hannah eat?"

"I made us TV dinners last night," he said. "But they weren't very filling."

Angie took the baby from him. Kaitlyn immediately started crying. "What's the matter, sweetheart?" Angie cooed.

"Let me take her," Stan said wearily. As soon as he took the baby back, she quieted. "She started this yesterday. I don't get it." Stan dropped onto a chair, then slid down as if he didn't have the strength to sit upright. "I can't get more than three hours' sleep at a stretch before the baby wakes up, hungry and crying. I had no idea babies were so much work! The days and nights run together. I'm almost as tired as Hannah. I even wished I could go to work, just to get away from all this. So...what do you have to eat?"

"Before you worry about food, the baby needs her diaper changed," Angie said.

"I know." Stan rubbed his nose. "n.o.body ever told me babies were such smelly little creatures, either. I didn't want to wake up Hannah, though. I'll just keep her downwind while I eat. Want me to check out the fridge? See what's good in there?"

"You can't leave the baby that way," Angie exclaimed. "You'll need to change her."

He looked stricken. "Me? I've never changed a diaper in my life!"

"Go get one and I'll show you how to do it." With all her sisters' children, she'd had lots of experience.

Knowing he'd get no peace until he complied, he ran back to his apartment. When he returned, Kaitlyn in one arm, a box of Pampers in the other, Angie sent him back for Desitin, baby powder, and baby wipes.

The deliveryman had pieces of the crib spread all over the living room.

"You've seen Hannah do this, haven't you?" Angie asked as she placed a bath towel on the kitchen table.

Stan shook his head. "I've always left the room. There are some things I really don't want to get up close and personal over."

Angie put her hands on her hips. "I can't believe she didn't make you learn."

"Maybe she's not bossy," he murmured under his breath, laying the baby on the towel.

Her head snapped his way. "What did you just say?"

"Maybe she's too fussy. I really don't want to do this, Angie."

"Nonsense." Angie pointed out the sticky tabs on the sides.

Using just his thumb and forefingers, he tried to lift off the Pampers tabs. They were stuck better than Krazy Glue. He pulled, tugged, and finally had to use all fingers and thumbs to grip them firmly and tear them open. Immediately he ran to the sink to wash his hands.

"Stan!" Angie shrieked. "You can't walk away from a baby and leave her on a tabletop like that! Once she learns to roll over, she could kill herself!"

"I'm so sorry." He darted back, his hands dripping. He wiped them on his sweatshirt. Luckily, the newborn hadn't gone anywhere. Gingerly, he lifted off the diaper. "Eeooouuuww!" he howled.

"Oh, for pity's sake!" Angie cried. "It's just baby p.o.o.p."

"It looks like mashed lima beans!"

"Stop moaning." She handed him a baby wipe.

His mouth dropped. "You don't expect me to..."

Angie nodded.

His eyes flitted from Angie to the baby, as if trying to decide which was scarier. He apparently decided it was Angie, because he did as she said, muttering his new favorite expression, "Ee-yew," the entire time.

She helped him slide the clean diaper under the baby and then, in a cloud of baby powder from his overzealous shaking of the can, she told him to fasten it with the tabs while she knotted the plastic bag with the dirty diaper.

"I did it," Stan said. He lifted the baby.

The baby rose. The diaper slid right off her bent legs.

"What's wrong with it?" he cried. "That never happened when Hannah put it on her."

Angie lifted the diaper. The tabs were stuck to the very edges. It could have fit Baby King Kong. "You've got to tighten it around her," Angie said.

"I thought it came in her size!"

"Try again."

"Uh-oh. Something feels warm." He put the baby back on the table and looked at the front panel and sleeve of his shirt. They were wet. "Oh, my G.o.d!" he shrieked.

"What is it?" Angie cried. "Stan, what's wrong? Are you bleeding?"

"It's baby p.i.s.s." He held his arms straight out.

Kaitlyn began crying. Stan almost did as well. "Now you've upset her," Angie scolded.

With finger and thumb, Stan plucked the wet parts of the shirt from his skin. "I thought she liked me!"

"She's probably hungry, poor kid," Angie murmured, then glared at him. "And embarra.s.sed about her diaper. Go get her a bottle. Hurry!"

He ran back to his apartment. The crib was still in a thousand pieces. He needed Hannah.

Stan returned, panting, with a bottle of formula and wearing yesterday's shirt since it was still in the living room, albeit crumpled, and he didn't want to rummage through his closet or dresser while Hannah was trying to sleep. He might have to think about moving his clothes out of his bedroom.

As soon as he returned, Angie thrust the squalling baby into his arms. Kaitlyn immediately stopped crying once more.

"She just wants you," Angie said, taking the bottle.

"I wish grown women found me half so desirable," he murmured.

"I know what'll help." Angie left the kitchen, soon to return with something that looked like a sling with straps. "I bought this for Hannah, but I think you could use it." She adjusted the straps wide. "It's called a Snugli. Put it on your shoulders, hook it behind your back, and it'll hold the baby against your chest, but leave your arms free."

Stan gaped in horror at the bizarre contraption. "Angie, please tell me you're joking."

At the same time, Rebecca Mayfield slowly cruised Fisherman's Wharf's Jefferson Street, avoiding jaywalking tourists and concentrating on her next action.

Her investigation of the death of Sherlock "Sh.e.l.ly Farms" Farnsworth was going nowhere. She'd managed to account for most of his activities the day he was killed. A couple of people said he'd seemed distracted by something, but when they asked him what it was he refused to answer. They'd wondered if he wasn't looking into something that might become another case for his law firm.

The last anyone saw of him was the evening before his death, on Jefferson, heading toward Aquatic Park. He'd been dead about twelve hours before his body was discovered.

People mentioned him being concerned about a pregnant woman, but no one knew who the woman was or what he found so worrisome about her situation. One man thought he was on his way to see her when he died, but even that fellow had no idea who she was or where she could be found.

To Rebecca, it made no sense to canva.s.s the wharf looking for pregnant homeless women, but she was desperate enough to consider it.

She kept Paavo informed of her lack of success, and he seemed as puzzled as she was.

Paavo was also in his car, but heading in the opposite direction from Rebecca. He was going to the Stonestown Mall, where Elizabeth Schull managed Amalfi Shoes. He had looked into her credit cards and found nothing of note; in fact, she either lived a sterile life or used cash for everything. Her phone records, however, contained a number of calls to the Amalfi residence and several to Angie's. That worried him.

He decided it was time to check out Schull firsthand, and he braced himself for the mall. He hated malls. Hated being in them, or having anything to do with them.

He also hated department stores and boutiques, truth be told, but he hated malls most of all. He hated the windowless design most of them used that made it impossible to know if it was day or night and which way was east, west, north, or south; the mazelike structure that made it hard to find anything without at least two wrong turns that supposedly would lead to the discovery of new must-see shops; the too-bright lights; the giggling packs of adolescent girls; and the glazed flat expressions of weary shoppers.

He wondered if in some distant future people would excavate these often one-or two-story buildings with their endless corridors and warrenlike small shops and wonder about the strange use they'd been put to, much as we wonder today about the peculiar cliff dwellings of the Anasazi and other Indians in the Southwest.

In the store a young blond salesgirl greeted him with a big smile. "Is Elizabeth Schull in?" he asked.

"She's the manager," the clerk said. "I can help you. We have some great selections in men's shoes. All our Italian leather boots are on sale."

"I need to speak to Miss Schull," he said pointedly.

"Oh." Her face fell. "I'll get her." She disappeared behind a heavy curtain that separated the front of the store from the storage and office areas.

The woman who stepped out to see him was far different than he expected. She appeared to be in her early fifties, tall and statuesque with wide shoulders, hips, and waist, and a hint of a double chin. Her eyes were blue, and her blond hair worn in a dated French twist. Her dress and shoes were black.

She held her hands clasped at her waist, her chin high. He noticed a spark of recognition in her eyes even before he showed her his badge. "Can we talk privately?" he asked.

"Paavo Smith. I'm not surprised." She turned her back on him and headed for the curtained-off area. "Follow me."

A tiny office stood in a corner past rows of s...o...b..x-laden shelves. Windowless, it held a desk, file cabinet, and two chairs.

"Please have a seat, Inspector Smith." She gestured toward the guest chair as she stepped behind the desk and sat. "Congratulations on your engagement."

"Have we met?" he asked, sure they hadn't. He didn't sit.

"Never." Her tone was prim, her voice haughty. "And Sal isn't one to wave your picture under his employee's nose. Do you have any idea how upset he is about your upcoming marriage, Inspector?"

That she made no effort to hide her interest in his and Angie's life was not a good sign. "You've been down this road before, Miss Schull," Paavo said. "You know you need to stop bothering Mr. Amalfi and the rest of his family. You do understand, don't you, Miss Schull? And it is Schull, rather than Schullmann, that you prefer, correct?"

She didn't seem the least bit troubled that he'd found out about her past, and simply folded her hands, peering up at him with a steady gaze. "You have the wrong impression, Inspector Smith. I don't know what Sal told you, but it was obviously not the whole picture."

"There are laws against stalking, Miss Schull."

"And the question is, who's stalking whom?" She leaned back in the chair, a Cheshire catlike smile touching her lips. "I'm just an employee. What can I possibly do to upset my boss? He, on the other hand, has quite a hold over me. I'm single and close to an age where it's difficult to find work. This job is a good one for me, comfortable. There aren't a lot of openings for experienced shoe store managers out there. So when Sal expressed his...interest in me, I couldn't afford to rebuff him."

"I don't believe you, Miss Schull." Paavo looked at her as if she were beneath contempt. "You've gotten away with it in the past, but you aren't going to any longer. Do you understand what I'm saying to you?" His last question wasn't a threat. He seriously doubted her hold on reality.

"My life is lonely, and Sal is both a wealthy and an attractive man." She held out her wrist and smiled broadly. "He gave me this bracelet."

Paavo had learned enough about fine jewelry around Angie to know a quality gold and diamond bracelet when he saw one. If someone who didn't know Sal were to encounter Elizabeth Schull, she would be easy to believe. But he knew Sal. He couldn't say he liked the man, but Sal hadn't lied to him. Hidden something, yes; lied, no. He ignored the bracelet. "How did you recognize me, Miss Schull?"

She seemed surprised by his question. "Why, I've seen you with Angie, of course."

"And where did you see Angie?"

Still smiling, she stood up. "Those are enough questions for today, Inspector Smith. I have work to do. Maybe we'll have dinner together sometime-you and Angie, me and Sal."

"Where did you see Angie?" he repeated.

"Everywhere, Inspector Smith. I see her everywhere."

Chapter 13.

Hannah had just gotten up from bed, wearing a bathrobe, her hair uncombed and tucked behind her ears, as she stumbled sleepily into the living room.

Stan sat on the sofa, the baby nestled in the Snugli.

"I can't believe I slept that long," she said, her gaze lingering on Kaitlyn. "How did you manage?"

"Just fine," he said. "No problem at all."

She put her hand to her chest and looked down at her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "I hate to ask you," she said, "but next time you're at the store, could you look for some nursing pads? Even though I'm not nursing, I seem to be leaking a bit. I understand it's fairly common...."

He felt his stomach flip-flop. Well, if he could buy Kotex and survive, he could do just about anything. "Sure," he said miserably, but then his eyes darted toward the apartment door.

Hannah followed his gaze to a white Jenny Lindstyle crib with a b.u.mper of pink clouds and a mobile of nursery rhyme characters.

"Stan, what did you do?" she gasped. With her hands to her mouth, she slowly walked over to it as if she half expected it to vanish into thin air. She lightly touched the sides, the top; she tapped the mobile and watched it dance, smoothed the sheets and mattress pad, fingered the blankets, all fresh and new and pretty, then whirled toward him. "It's gorgeous."

"Fit for a princess," Stan said. "It's from Angie. I'll wheel it into the bedroom, soon as I push the Bowflex out of the way." As he gave her Kaitlyn, her hands touched his arms, then her body moved close as she tucked the baby against her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She looked up at him as if he were a knight in shining armor. He didn't remember anyone ever looking at him quite that way before.

He found it unnerving, coughed lightly, and the moment was broken. She turned toward the crib. "I never meant for you to go to so much trouble and expense. I don't know how to thank you. And Angie, too," she said, lightly touching the wood once more.

"It's my pleasure." He called as he rearranged the bedroom to fit the crib. Once all was settled, Hannah placed the baby in it and stepped back, teary-eyed.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing. It's just that she looks so pretty there. It's so lovely. No one's ever been this kind to me." She gazed up at him. "Not ever, Stan."

"That's hard to believe," he said. "Did you...did you really grow up in foster homes?"

"Ah! You're wondering how many lies I've told you."