"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 burped him. I rummaged through all the little pouches until I found one I'd nearly missed, because it was on one end of the bag right under the shoulder strap clip.

I slid a finger in beside the little Velcro tab that held it shut, and broke the seal. Yep, there was something in this one. The pocket was so tight I could only insert two fingers, and I slid one behind and one in front of the object, and pulled up.

"Oh no oh no oh no," I breathed, and slid what I'd extracted into Hayden's receiving blanket, which I immediately wrapped around him. I lifted him and made a beeline for the kitchen, trying to act casual. Martin and Rory were ensconced at the table with a map of the Southeast in front of them, and more detailed maps of each state we'd pass through lying ready to hand.

Just as I was trying to think of a plausible reason to talk to Martin privately, the front doorbell rang. I started to hand the baby to my husband, realized that he would feel the bundle in the blanket, realized he might well haul it out in front of his companion. That wouldn't do at all. So I veered through the kitchen doorway to the hall, scooted back down the hall, and awkwardly opened the front door with one hand.

Ellen Lowry was waiting with a stack of blankets in her arms.

"Hey, Ellen," I said, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice. "I'm sorry to intrude, but I heard you had troubles, and I thought you could maybe use these," she said, nodding at the stack. "These are baby blankets I used when the boys were little, and I believe they're in perfect shape. I ran them through the washer and dryer this morning to freshen them up." "How kind of you! Please, come in," I said, trying to summon some poise. I stood aside and ushered Ellen into the living room, where the square low table was covered with changing paraphernalia. Ellen smiled in a nostalgic sort of way. "You'd think it had been so long I would've forgotten about changing the boys, but to me it seems like yesterday," she said, shaking her head in disbelief. I forced myself to respond. This was a very gracious gesture of Ellen's, and I needed to be gracious in return. I asked if she needed something to drink, or eat; she refused. I urged her strongly to sit down and stay a while; she said she only had a minute, and sat on the edge of a rather uncomfortable chair. She asked about John's heart, and the health of the baby, and ran her fingertip over Hayden's soft cheek. I was afraid she'd offer to hold him. How could I explain a refusal? But the money in the blanket would be obvious to anyone who held the baby.

Luckily, Ellen stood after a brief conversation and began her good-byes. The weak winter sun streamed through the window to make her smooth blond hair glow like a halo as she bent over me and the baby to coo at him before she picked up her purse. Ellen looked like a model in a catalog for mature women. She was elegant, thoughtful, intelligent, and kind: and I could hardly wait for her to be gone.

Finally I could watch her car go slowly down the driveway to the road. I whipped around and strode into the kitchen, as much as you can whip and stride with a baby in your arms. Martin and Rory were sitting at the table, having an earnest conversation. I abandoned any idea I'd had of concealing my discovery. "Do you want to tell me about this?" I said, pulling the sheaf of bills from Hayden's blanket and tossing them on top of the map. Rory looked as though I'd slapped him.

"I didn't have anything to do with that," he said, as if he was sure I'd believe him, as if we were lifelong friends.

Martin's eyes closed, slowly. He opened them, sighed, picked up the sheaf of bills. He counted it silently. "Five hundred," he informed us. Rory's eyes had never left the money. His face altered when Martin told us the total. I could swear I glimpsed naked rage on his face. But it softened immediately into a mask of puzzlement and anxiety. "Would you like to tell me about this?" Martin asked him. "That must be the money Craig stole," his best friend said hesitantly. Then Rory fell silent, his eyes fixed on the money.

If there'd been a jug of water handy I'd have thrown it on him. "Would you care to explain a little further?" Martin's voice was deceptively mild.

Rory looked pretty darn reluctant to start explaining, but we were both waiting and I think he knew we would not change the subject. "When Regina was expecting," Rory began, "Craig began thinking of all the things the baby was gonna need, and I guess he just kinda went crazy, since he couldn't get them for her, so he robbed a convenience store." "In Corinth?" Martin asked.

I sat down with my burden to listen to this latest fairy tale. Hayden wasn't interested. He made little smacking noises. I looked down to discover he was asleep, with his tiny fist jammed into his mouth. I eased him into his infant seat to give my arms a rest.

"No, sir," said Rory. "He went across the state line into Pennsylvania somewhere. I don't know the exact town."

For an appreciable length of time we just sat staring at Rory, who ducked his head and blushed at our critical scrutiny. I eyed the telephone, tempted once again to pick it up and call the sheriff to come get this fool. But Martin shook his head, reading my thoughts.

"You were out of jail when Regina had the baby?" I asked.

Rory looked as though a lightbulb were appearing over his head.

"No, ma'am. I was in the jail."

"Was Craig in jail when Regina had the baby?"

"No, ma'am. Craig got out a few days before I did."

"But Craig was back in jail for the past... ?"

"Well, we got picked up again two weeks ago. About." I now understood why the police beat people who wouldn't confess. I knew somewhere in that cute, empty head lay the truth. And I wanted it badly enough to extract it with red-hot pincers, or at least so I told myself. I could tell by the way Martin was clenching his hands that he felt the same way, and I was willing to bet that under other circumstances Martin could make Rory talk. "We'll have to talk about this more, later," I told them both. I've never been trained to be a detective of any kind, but I'm a reasonably observant person, and this money was not the jumble of rumpled bills of all denominations you'd get if you robbed a convenience store. This was the kind of money you'd get at a bank, two one-hundred-dollar bills, the rest in twenties: a compact little bundle, smooth and flat.