Free From Cradle to Grave by Patricia MacDonald Page A

next to the playpen and waggled a finger at the baby, who rewarded her with a radiant, toothless grin.
    Morgan turned back to the receptionist. ‘Whose dog is that in the hall?’ she asked.
    ‘Mine,’ said Berenice. ‘That’s Rufus. He barks all day from loneliness if I leave him at home and then the neighbors hate me.’
    Morgan nodded. She was a little surprised by the informality of this office, but she liked it, all the same. ‘He seems pretty . . . calm around people.’
    ‘He likes company,’ said Berenice, rolling her eyes. ‘Ms Abrams and Ms Quick do mainly divorce and custody work. So we get lots of kids in here. He loves that. He lets them crawl all over him.’
    Morgan nodded, smiling. She thought about what Sandy had said last night. Claire needed the best possible criminal attorney. Obviously, criminal law was not the specialty of this firm. Morgan worried that this was not the right firm for Claire’s case. She decided to reserve judgement until she met Noreen Quick.
    Berenice returned to her computer, and Morgan looked around the reception area which had a decidedly female atmosphere. There was a glass jar of candy on the end table and mounds of tattered parenting magazines, as well as Ladies Home Journal and US News and World Report . Along with some framed university plaques, a rainbow quilt hung on the wall. Morgan felt more as if she were in a pediatrician’s office than a law firm.
    She heard a door opening out in the corridor, and a woman’s voice thanking someone profusely. In a moment, a young woman came into reception, and her gaze turned immediately to the playpen. ‘Hey Kyle,’ she crooned. ‘How’s my sweetie?’ The young woman wore a midriff-baring shirt and torn jeans and had messy, strawberry-blond hair. There were deep circles around her eyes, and she was carrying an enormous diaper bag, festooned with ducks and rabbits. ‘Were you a good boy for Berenice?’
    ‘Ma . . .’ cried the baby, clambering up and bouncing as he held on to the edge of the playpen.
    The woman reached in the diaper bag and pulled out a checkbook.
    Berenice murmured an amount and the woman quickly wrote a check while the baby continued to yelp for his mom.
    ‘Thank you so much for watching him,’ the young woman said, as she bent over the playpen to lift the child out. ‘Come on, sweetie. Let’s go say hi to Rufus. Thanks again, Berenice.
    ‘No problem,’ said the older woman. The phone rang on her desk. Berenice picked it up and nodded. She hung the phone up and looked at Morgan. ‘She can see you now. Go out in the hall and take the second door on your left.’
    ‘Thanks,’ said Morgan. She went out into the hall. The toddler was on the floor, pulling at Rufus’s ears while his mother made a call on her cellphone. Rufus, true to his reputation, remained tranquil.
    A door opened in the hallway and a woman appeared there. She was short, with curly orange hair, freckles and no make-up. She was dressed casually in stirrup pants, and a large, sky blue sweater which covered a distended, obviously pregnant belly. She probably had a reasonably trim little figure when she wasn’t pregnant, but the belly, combined with short stature, gave her body a certain troll-like appearance. Noreen extended a hand to Morgan. ‘Hi, I’m Noreen Quick.’
    Morgan shook her hand. ‘Morgan Adair.’
    ‘Come on in, Morgan. Can I call you Morgan? Thanks for coming.’
    Morgan followed her into an office which was painted yellow and had family pictures on every flat surface. Noreen appeared to have children, but not a husband, if the pictures were any indication. Morgan glanced at her left hand and saw that Noreen did not wear a wedding ring.
    On the wall of the office there were also framed newspaper articles extolling Noreen Quick’s professional and charitable efforts on behalf of Planned Parenthood and an organization called Mothers At Work. Noreen sat down behind her desk and Morgan took the visitor’s