An elderly Mennonite woman wearing a green print dress and small organdy head covering stands at the reception counter, her arthritis-bent fingers pecking at a computer keyboard. Her name tag tells me her name is Ruth and she’s a volunteer.
“Hello,” I say as I cross to the counter.
She glances up from her work and startles a little at the sight of my uniform. “Oh. Hello there.” She chuckles. “Didn’t expect to see a woman policeman.”
I introduce myself. “I’m working on a case and was wondering if you could answer a few questions for me.”
“I will if I can,” she says. “Can’t imagine what would bring a policeman to a birthing center, though.”
I give her the rundown on Baby Doe and take her through the same series of questions I asked the RN at the hospital.
“I’m sure you know the majority of our clientele here at Care Cottage are Amish,” she tells me. “We’ve had several Englischer women in the last few months; most were interested in a more natural birthing process. And of course we’re more affordable here than a typical hospital.” Her mouth tightens and she gives a nod. “The birth of a baby is usually a happy occasion.”
“What about a very young woman? Have you had any teenagers come in?” I ask. “Or perhaps an unmarried woman?”
“We had one unmarried Mennonite woman come down from Cleveland. That’s been a couple of months ago, and to tell you the truth, she wasn’t too concerned about not having a husband.”
“Have any women come in for a prenatal checkup and not returned?” I prod. “Or do you know of any women who were in an unhappy or abusive relationship?”
“Oh, I sure do hate to think of that happening to a woman with a baby on the way.” Her brows knit. “Chief Burkholder, I’ve been a volunteer here for eight years, and I don’t recall anything like that.”
I pull out my card. “If you think of something, will you give me a call?”
“I sure will.” She sets the card next to her computer. “I hope you find what you’re looking for, Chief Burkholder.”
“Me, too,” I tell her. “Me, too.”
*
I swing by LaDonna’s Diner for a BLT and a large coffee to go and take both to the police station. I’m sitting at my desk, paging through messages, when Lois peeks her head in the door. “Sorry to disturb your lunch, Chief.”
Swallowing coffee, I set down the sandwich. “It’s okay. What’s up?”
“Mrs. Stelinski is here to see you,” Lois tells me. “She owns that fancy baby boutique down the street? Says it’s important.”
The name is vaguely familiar, but I don’t recall ever meeting her and I’ve never been in the shop. “Send her in.”
A moment later, a tall, delicately-built woman decked out in Ralph Lauren and over-the-knee boots walks into my office. “Chief Burkholder?”
I stand. “What can I do for you?”
Offering a dazzling smile from lips the color of overripe plums, she strides to my desk, her perfectly manicured hand outstretched. “I’m Paige Stelinski. I own the Little Buckeye Baby Boutique just off of Main Street?”
The shop is a chic specialty store that caters to upscale clientele and sells every baby item known to mankind. It’s a tourist magnet, one I’m sure has prompted many a new parent to lay down too much cash—and enjoy every minute of it.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Stelinski—”
“Oh, call me Paige, please.” I catch a whiff of Chanel No. 5 as she takes the chair adjacent to my desk. “I took one of my clerks to lunch this afternoon and she was telling me about that abandoned baby found out at the Amish bishop’s place? Well, I got to thinking and it reminded me of an odd incident that occurred at the shop a few weeks ago.”
My interest piqued, I lean forward. “What kind of incident?”
“Shoplifting.” She tilts her head at me, her brows raised nearly to her hairline. “Crazy, right? I mean who steals baby things?”
“I don’t recall my department taking a call for shoplifting at your shop.”
“That’s because I didn’t file a complaint. I came this close.” She raises her hand, indicating a small space between her thumb and forefinger. “I mean, stealing? Seriously? Ultimately, I chose not to press charges against this young man. There was just something about him. Earnest, you know? And he was Amish. Clean-cut. He seemed truly embarrassed and, frankly, ashamed. Not just because he got caught, mind you. But because he’d stooped to the level of stealing. Like it went against his code of honor or something. To top things off, he offered to make it right by working off the cost of the items.” She laughs. “Just between us, by the time he finished with me, I was putty in his hands.”
I’m not holding out hope that this incident is related in any way to Baby Doe, but I listen with interest nonetheless. “What makes you think that has something to do with the abandoned newborn?”
“That’s what was so strange and pathetic about the whole thing. The items he took.”
“What were they?”
“He had this cute little onesie. The yellow one with bears on it. And two pairs of newborn socks. A knit hat. Who steals stuff like that?”