They sat for ten minutes, stringing theories about the blonde and her possible connection to Kristina Caldwell and whatever baby the two women had been arguing about.
In the middle of their brainstorming Matt received a text from Charlie. The message contained a link to the local cable news station and he clicked it. A video popped up showing a reporter standing in front of a cemetery where Walt Jarvis had just held a private burial for Felicity. The reporter cut to Walt and Ann, their heads high, but grim faced and looking appropriately sad behind dark glasses.
“What is it?”
Matt closed the screen and set his phone on the dash. “Felicity’s memorial service. Charlie sent me the link. Let’s hope we don’t have another impromptu press conference from my client.”
Taylor’s phone beep-beeped. “It’s Grey.” She punched the screen and put him on speakerphone. “Hey. What’s up?”
“The Escalade is registered to a Rush Gardener, spouse of Rosalind Gardener.”
Matt nodded. “Let’s assume the blonde we followed is Rosalind. How about the address we sent you?”
“Owned by Rush as well. He’s a lawyer. Civil litigation. Mostly car accidents, workplace injuries, that sort of thing.”
How a civil litigation lawyer played into this, Matt wasn’t sure. And apparently neither was Taylor because she curled her lip. “What do we know about the wife?”
“Thank you,” Grey said to someone on his end. “Teeg just handed me a file and…oh, suh-weet.”
“What?”
“Remember Hearts of Love adoptions?”
Taylor met Matt’s gaze, eyebrows lifted. “The one Kristina Caldwell volunteers for? What about it?”
“Rosalind owns it. I knew there was a reason that place rang a bell with me.”
What the? Matt’s head damned near blew off his body. “Sheownsit?”
“You heard me. She’s known in the adoption world as the Baby Matchmaker. Her agency—which she runs from her home—is private, quite renowned, and caters to the rich and famous who can’t have kids or want to be seen as socially conscious and adopt, rather than adding to the world’s overpopulation. Her agency’s motto is ‘Your perfect child is waiting.’”
“But she does everything legally, right?” Taylor asked.
“That depends on your interpretation of a certain incident in her background.” Grey sounded almost gleeful. “Hearts of Love was involved in a controversy several years ago with a couple in Seattle. Some tree-hugging entrepreneurs with a billion-dollar cell phone recycling business wanted to adopt a couple of kids and contracted her agency to handle it. Something went sideways and the whole thing got hushed up and settled out of court. I don’t have the details, but Teeg will keep digging.”
Taylor held two hands up. “That’s it. I want to talk to this woman. Something is definitely not copacetic in this whole thing. I want to know what her connection is to the birthing center, outside of Kristina Caldwell, and I want to know what baby the two of them were arguing over.”
“Baby?” Grey asked.
Matt pointed at Taylor. “Relax a second. Let’s think this through before we go knocking on her door.”
“What baby?” Grey repeated, his voice carrying that don’t-piss-me-off edge.
Taylor rummaged in her bag for something so Matt jumped in. “Rosalind showed up at Kristina Caldwell’s when we were watching the place. We listened in and Kristina was bitching about some screw-up not being her fault.”
“What screw-up?”
Wasn’t that the million-dollar question? “We don’t know. It involved a baby, which is why we tailed Rosalind.”
Taylor smacked Matt’s arm. A quick slap-slap-slap andow.
“Heads up,” she said. “Rosalind is on the move.”
Across the street, Rosalind quick-walked from the building to her car, clearly in a hurry as she darted into traffic and almost got pancaked by an oncoming vehicle. A horn sounded and she raised a hand offering a distracted mea culpa.
That didn’t last long because she hopped in and cut into traffic raising the ire of an old guy cruising the block in his ancient Ford LTD. How that land yacht even fit on the narrow street eluded Matt.
“Someone’s late,” Taylor muttered.
