Free Yellow Rose Mysteries 02 - A Wedding to Die For by Leann Sweeney

traveled south again, switching the car radio station back and forth between NPR and a local talk show for entertainment. Some days I am easily amused. Forty-five minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot at St. Mary’s Hospital and stepped out into more typical south Texas weather than the previous frigid days: temperature in the low sixties, gray skies, and enough humidity to make even big hair wilt.
    After entering the St. Mary’s lobby with my leather attaché in hand, I stopped at the information desk situated in front of a floor-to-ceiling aquarium and was given directions to the baby ward. I rode the elevator alone and soon found myself staring through picture windows at five clear bassinets holding infants wrapped up like sausages in their white receiving blankets. I was looking at three boys and two girls from their color-coded knit caps.
    A woman in fuchsia surgical scrubs, maybe mid-fifties, spotted me and smiled broadly. She came around through a door to my left and said, “Which sweetheart do you belong to? I’ll bring the baby closer to the window for you.”
    “Though I would love to belong to one of these sweethearts, I came about a baby who was born here many years ago. Can I ask you a few questions?” I took out a business card, the one identifying Yellow Rose Investigations as specializing in adoptions.
    I handed it to her, and while she read, I noted the picture ID hanging from a lanyard identifying her as C. Worthington, R.N.
    “If this is about an adoption, I can’t talk about it,” she said kindly, handing the card back. “All patient records are confidential.”
    I opened my attaché and produced the notarized release of information letter Megan had addressed to the hospital, the one I used the last time I came here and spoke to the administrator.
    She looked, but didn’t touch. “Did you go through administration, Ms. Rose?”
    “Yes. Worked with a Mr. Hansen.” I didn’t add that I had bypassed him today. Before she could question me further, I exchanged the release letter for the birth certificate. “This young woman hired me to help her find her mother. Megan Beadford was here once, just like those cute little kids beyond the window.”
    The nurse shifted her gaze to the bassinets, her eyes softening. “They are so precious when they sleep. So wonderful.” She refocused on me. “But as much as I’d like to help, I don’t see how I can, Ms. Rose.”
    “How long have you worked here?” I asked.
    “Ten years, and from the date on the birth certificate, your client made her entrance into the world long before I arrived on the scene.”
    “Okay, but maybe you know someone who’s worked here longer.”
    She squinted in thought, then said, “No. And if you got no help from Sister Nell, then—”
    “Sister Nell?”
    “The medical records administrator. But I assume that’s where Mr. Hansen directed you first.”
    A baby started wailing—the boy in the middle crib. The nurse glanced back at him and smiled her loving, unruffled smile.
    I said, “You probably need to take care of him, so—”
    “Darien’s had everything I can offer,” she said evenly. “Fed, burped, changed, rocked. He’s fine.”
    I looked uneasily at the wide-mouthed Darien. The kid was into a rhythm and getting louder and more red faced by the second. But since Nurse Worthington wasn’t responding to his screams, I went on. “I visited with Mr. Hansen several weeks ago. When he could find nothing during his computer search, he said he would contact medical records and get back to me.”
    “And did he?” Her crossed arms and amused features told me she knew plenty about Mr. Hansen—stuff I obviously did not.
    “I had to call him back.”
    She nodded knowingly.
    I said, “He told me medical records only had baby charts that went back twenty years.”
    “Really? I suggest you speak directly with Sister Nell. She’s been here since they opened St. Mary’s doors.”
    “Sister Nell. Does she