Page 49 of Home Body
She thought about that and came up with another option. Saturday wouldn’t work because of the Farmers’ Market. No, she’d wait until after church time on Sunday, assuming they went to church, and would call to make plans with Dalia. She might want to meet alone, or she might want to include Mamie.
Kenyon realized she’d have to sit on this information for a good thirty-six hours. “Damn. I guess I’ll just have to start investigating tomorrow on my own.”
She had an idea. It might be against the law but what the hell. A little time in jail would serve to add color to the story. And it was always good to add color to a story. Happy with herself, she went home, curled up in bed with Sally, and slept like a lamb.
CHAPTER 29
As Dalia and Brody lay in his bed together, he took her hand and graced it with a whisper of a kiss. “It’s been a beautiful evening, Dalia,” he rasped.
“It has. I admit, I was nervous. We sort of did things backwards – having wild sex first and then a date where we got to know one another.” She turned toward him and pulled the blue sheet up over her bare breasts. They’d already had sex once since reaching his apartment and she figured there would be more. But for now, because she felt so very happy, she wanted to be frivolous with him. “Although, you were a bit fresh in the movie. Holding my hand and then kissing me right there in public. I mean, I know it was the middle of a love scene,” she teased, referring to the movieTheMarrying Man. “I know Kim Basinger and Alec Baldwin hada lotof love scenes, but you’re quite the randy fellow yourself, aren’t you?” She ran a finger over the Celtic tattoo on his bicep.
“God, I hope so.” He nipped at her shoulder, and she threw her head back and giggled.
She cuddled into him. “Seriously, it was nice at dinner learning about your family. You know so much about me, it only seems fair.” She hadn’t told him what she’d learned that dayabout her birth certificate being fake, deciding to focus on him for the time being.
“Are you sure it wasn’t too much?” he asked. “All that family history that goes all the way back to Scotland. I get carried away. I’m determined to go there someday. My married brother went for his honeymoon.”
“That sounds wonderful. I’ve always heard it’s so beautiful there.” She had no idea what her heritage might be, so she changed the subject. “It’s interesting that your dad is a state trooper and your brothers are both deputies, too.”
“Aye, the old Scottish belief in justice and all that. It’s run in the family for generations. But I don’t want to talk about them anymore right now. I want to tell you that I was nervous tonight, too, for the same reasons you were.” He stroked her hair as he spoke.
Dalia reached up to run a hand through his lush mane, allowing the sheet to fall away. He fondled her yielding breasts. She gasped in pleasure. His hand roamed down her supple body. She returned the favor. Instead of kissing they watched, committing to memory every inch of each other’s bodies, the low light casting evocative shadows across their aroused, moist skin.
They came together like two lovers discovering each other for the first time, savoring each touch, each reaction, each emotion. Slowly, deliciously tauntingly, they made love in a way that emblazoned a smoldering imprint in their minds forevermore.
Neither would ever forget that night.
CHAPTER 30
At nine o’clock Saturday morning, Kenyon went back to the University of Michigan library. She’d been tossing in bed, unable to sleep since five-thirty, having become obsessed with finding out more about what she’d read the night before. A librarian noticed her interest in the topic of baby-selling cases from the past and suggested she call one of the law professors who’d done research on such cases.
In fact, the librarian said, the professor, one Dr. Crow, taught summer school and often worked in her office on Saturday mornings to catch up on paperwork. Maybe Kenyon would find her there.
Armed with a second article she’d found on microfiche, she walked across campus to the cluster of law department buildings. The red brick buildings would be perfect for a picture labeled “vintage college scene” in the encyclopedia.
Roaming the unfamiliar halls of the third floor of Jeffries Hall – her communication classes hadn’t been anywhere near this part of the sprawling campus – she eventually came upon the office of the professor in question, the sign on the door saying “Dr. Inez Crow, PhD, SJD. The door stood ajar so when she tapped on it, it swung open to reveal a spacious corner roomwith large windows on two walls, swathing the room in light. An ancient maven sat stooped over an antique wooden desk the size of a hearse.
The academician looked up and eyed Kenyon over the rim of her wire-rim glasses that sat perched down her nose. The frown she wore signaled her displeasure at being disturbed.
“Dr. Crow?”
“What.” It wasn’t a question but a barked statement of annoyance.
Kenyon had to remind herself that she wasn’t six, she hadn’t done anything wrong, and this wasn’t the principal’s office. “I, um, I’m doing research on baby-selling cases and the librarian told me you’ve studied cases like that. I was hoping we could talk.” She nervously shuffled from foot to foot. “If you’re busy, perhaps we could set an appointment.”
The daunting woman’s jaw relaxed, the frown softened, and her eyes sparkled. She shoved her glasses up where they belonged and popped out of her chair. “Come in! Come in!” She motioned her guest in and offered her a chair.
As she sat down, Kenyon couldn’t help but gawk at the cavernous room. Bookshelves covered the walls, all stuffed to the ceiling, except for a tall oak hutch that reminded her of a medieval apothecary with mysterious doors and drawers. Messy stacks of papers covered the top of every flat surface, including half the desk.
The woman herself was an enigma. Although an octogenarian, Kenyon guessed, she was spry and ableminded. Her mass of white hair was pulled up into a careless topknot with wayward wisps escaping in all directions. What appeared to be chopsticks stuck out of it. She wore a loose summer dress, dangling earrings, bracelets, and red sneakers. Quickly deciding she didn’t need to be intimidated by someone wearing red shoes, the novice sleuth liked the spritely maven.
“Are you a student here? What’s your name? You’re not in one of my classes are you?” The professor happily peppered Kenyon with questions.
“Oh. I’m Kenyon O’Brien. I just graduated in communication, so no I’m not in one of your classes.”
“Ah, yes. Kenyon O’Brien, the daughter of the news anchor who everyone knows from TV. Llayne O’Brien. I heard you were on campus the last few years, but we never had occasion to meet. Now, tell me about your research.”
“I’m writing an investigative article to submit as part of a job interview forTheDetroit News.The idea for black market baby-selling cases came up when a friend of mine – her name is Dalia – she recently discovered she was either sold in a legal private adoption or more likely in an illegal one. In Amberton.”
