Free Cradle and All by M. J. Rodgers Page A

held Fred in her arms as they both cried. Anne learned that night that Fred was the oldest of four kids. She had been supporting them and her mother ever since her dad skipped out on the family when Fred was sixteen.
    Anne also learned that Fred’s youngest brother was headed for juvenile hall after having been caught stealing. Anne convinced a fellow justice to give him a second chance. The boy had been put on probation and was doing well.
    She’d never told Fred that she had intervened. But somehow Fred had found out. Fred quietly made it her business to locate and serve Anne’s court orders on the county’s deadbeat dads. The gruff state trooper’s success rate in getting those guys to pay was impressive. Word soon got around that if you brought your case to the bad-ass munchkin’s court, your kids were going to get their child support.
    Anne knew Fred would do anything for her. The feeling was mutual.
    “How did it happen?” she asked her friend.
    “The accident reconstruction specialists will have to determine the details,” Fred said. “But I can tell you that she was going way too fast when she hit the curve. That VW had to have flown off this road to have landed so far down the gully.”
    “Was she...did she die quickly?” Anne asked.
    “No seat belt,” Fred said. “Never knew what hit her.”
    It was quick. At least that’s something to be thankful for, Anne thought.
    “Who was she, Anne?”
    “Someone Tom knew.”
    “Tom?”
    “The priest.”
    “Ah, so that’s why he’s here. What’s the story with you two?”
    “Story?”
    “You ask me to keep a lookout for an old rusty-red VW Beetle and it turns up crashed in a gully,” Fred said. “You must have known something like this was going to happen.”
    “I had no idea.”
    “Then why did you ask me to pass the word to watch for her vehicle?”
    “It’s...complicated,” Anne said, wondering what else to say. Wondering what else she could say.
    “Does it have anything to do with the fact that she didn’t have any ID on her?”
    “Her purse must have gotten thrown from the car during the crash,” Anne said.
    “It was right beside her on the seat,” Fred corrected. “It just didn’t have any ID in it.”
    “Why wouldn’t she have ID?” Anne wondered aloud.
    “I was hoping you could tell me,” Fred said, and then looked pointedly at the baby in Anne’s arms. “There were diapers and baby bottles in the back seat.”
    Anne did not meet her friend’s eyes. “What about the vehicle?” she asked. “Can’t you trace her through it?”
    “Its plates were stolen off a junked Ford Ranger over in Springfield. The vehicle identification number wasn’t legible. At the moment, we’ve got zilch.”
    Questions raced through Anne’s mind, but there were no answers. Just a great deal of confusion and growing concern.
    She turned to see the stretcher being hauled out of the gully onto the road. The state troopers thanked Tom for his help and proceeded to carry the stretcher toward the medical examiner’s van.
    Anne saw Tom’s face in the dwindling light as he followed their progress. There was a grimness to his features that she had never seen before. And a sadness in his eyes.
    A patrol car pulled up, lights flashing but no siren. A tall man with coffee-colored hair got out. Anne recognized Scott Hunter immediately. He went over to the stretcher. Before it was put in the van, Hunter unzipped the black body bag. Anne caught sight of a thin arm and waist-length, curly red hair before Hunter zipped it back up again.
    A chill ran down her spine. Tommy whimpered in his sleep. She hugged him to her more closely.
    “Hunter knows about our being on the lookout for this vehicle,” Fred said, her voice now a whisper beside Anne’s ear. “He also knows the driver had no identification. He’ll be over here soon to talk to you and he’s not going to take ‘it’s complicated’ for an answer—not even from a judge.”
    Anne understood