Free Aurora 06 - A Fool And His Honey by Charlaine Harris

it would be pretty hard to find more trouble for Regina.
    “Why would he tell us?”
    “I can only hope he will. Now that Craig’s dead, why not? We can’t revoke his parole or punish him for whatever he’s done. Maybe if we leave him out of this as far as the law is concerned, he’ll reciprocate with information.”
    I could think of one word for this theory, and it wasn’t a polite one.
    What had happened to my incisive, figure-all-the-angles husband? He could only be this gullible because it concerned his family. Had Martin ever been foolish about me? I thought not.
    Did that mean he loved his sister and niece more? His son? What about his first wife? I had a moment of sheer irrational rage as I stared at Martin. Then, once again, I took a deep breath and made myself recall that he had had a terrible shock the night before, that he must in some sense feel responsible for Craig’s death, that his niece was missing and might, for all we knew, be dead.
    Be calm and patient, I advised myself. Calm and patient.
    But I was pretty close to being clean out of calmness and patience.
    I heard Hayden’s little noises from upstairs, and once again I plodded up and back down, this time bringing him with me wrapped in the only blanket Regina had brought. He was definitely awake. I sat at the table holding him, looking at the bundle in my arms.
    The baby’s hands fluttered, and his blue eyes were wide open. He began to make the little fussy sounds I was learning would develop into a full-blown wail. My nose told me he needed changing. And he’d want to eat after that; I was willing to put money on it. We had only one more prepared baby bottle. Where could you buy the formula? Anywhere?

    “I wish we could go upstairs for a while,” Martin said wistfully. But he didn’t look horny. He just looked like he wanted oblivion.
    “Dream on,” I said, spitting out each word as though it were a hunk of poisoned apple. I tried to remember if the formula had been in powder form or concentrate. Had it been milk based?
    Soy? I’d have to dig the can out of the trash.
    My husband was staring at me with bewilderment—if you can believe that—as I picked up Hayden and trudged into the living room to change him. .
    Rory was standing in the living room, the big diaper bag in his hands. I stopped short.
    “Just seeing how many more diapers the little fella has,” he explained. He put the bag down on the low coffee table with some reluctance, and backed away.
    “How many are there?”
    “What?”
    “How many diapers are left in the bag?” It sounded like one of those bizarre math problems you get in the lower school grades. If it takes Suzy ten diapers a day to keep little Marge clean, and Suzy lends Tawan three diapers and uses two, how many more diapers will she need that day?
    “Six, at least, I think,” Rory said.
    “Thanks.” When he didn’t move, I said, “Do you want to change Hayden?” I held out the baby to him.
    “Oh, no!” he all but yelped, backing out of the room with great speed. “No, that’s okay.”
    I now had all the products arranged in a line on the table, and a section of newspaper spread out to put the baby on. I managed this change with relative efficiency. All the while, watching Hayden wave around his arms and legs, hearing him fuss when his bottom was exposed to the cool air, clapping a paper towel over him quickly when he began an unexpected pee, I was wondering what Rory had been doing. When Hayden was reassembled, I looked to the left, to the wide opening to the entrance hall, and behind me to the open doors to the dining room. No one in sight.
    While Hayden exercised, I undertook a real search of the diaper bag. It had, besides the big central cavity, lots and lots of pockets and pouches, zippered or Velcroed. I found two extra pacifiers, a big plastic fake key ring which I handed to Hayden, four diapers, a faded blue dish towel that I figured Regina had used to cover her shoulder when she