Page 75 of Concealed in Death

“Let me see that.” Shivitz snatched it away, peered down, and went dead pale. “Oh dear God. Oh Lord. I don’t understand this. I don’t know how this could happen.”

“Sit down now. Sit down and catch your breath.” Seraphim eased Shivitz into a chair.

“How did the paperwork come in?” Eve demanded.

“I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. It must just be a mistake. Can’t it just be a clerical mistake?”

“I don’t think so.”

Seraphim glanced back as doors began to open, voices carried down the stairs, clumping feet sounded above.

“Can we take this in Mr. Jones’s office? I’ll go find him. He needs to know, he may remember something.”

“Let’s do that.” She signaled Peabody. Her partner nodded, crossed toward the office while she continued to talk on her ’link.

“What do you remember?” Eve asked Shivitz.

“I just don’t, not really. We were carrying boxes and tables and chairs, and so many things. Inside, upstairs, downstairs. Somebody told me—I’m not sure who—Shelby was going into a foster home. I remember thinking we might be able to start off more peacefully in our new home.”

“What seems to be the problem?” All business, Nash Jones clipped into the room, eased the door closed.

“The paperwork removing Shelby Ann Stubacker from your care and putting her in foster care is a forgery.”

“I’m sure that can’t be.” He took the paperwork, carried it around to his desk, sat. “It certainly looks to be in order. I’m not sure what you...”

“Caught it?”

He leaned forward, pushing at his hair as he studied it again.“How did this get through? This isn’t my signature. Matron, Seraphim, it’s not my signature.”

Seraphim moved closer, read over his shoulder. “It’s not. It’s close, but it’s not your signature.”

“We can and will have that verified,” Eve told him, “but for now, what the hell happened?”

“I have no idea. Let me think. Let me think.” He shut his eyes, breathed slow and deep in what Eve assumed was some form of meditation. Another minute of that would, she knew, piss her off. But he stopped, opened his eyes.

“I remember. Matron—not you, dear,” he said to Shivitz. “Matron Orwin telling me Shelby’s paperwork was on my desk in my office, which had yet to be organized. We were still moving in—we had abbreviated classes and group, we’d divided up staff and residents into teams, so everyone had a part in making up our new space. We were excited, all of us—the newness, the larger space, excited, grateful.”

“We were.” Shivitz twisted her fingers together as she nodded. “So excited and grateful.”

“We were so busy,” Nash continued, “but it was a good confusion, if you understand me. I said something to Philly about it—about Shelby, that is. We discussed it as we worked. Both of us had some concerns, but we are, after all, only a temporary haven. Later, Philly and I had a bite to eat in our new quarters—a jumble, but still ours. She mentioned she’d found Mikki Wendall—she and Shelby were friends—she’d found her crying in her room. Because Shelby was gone. We talked about what we could do to make the transition easier for Mikki. I assumed that Philly had taken care of the transfer, but this is an attempt at my signature, not hers.”

“You didn’t see her leave, didn’t connect with the CPS rep who should have escorted her?”

“No. I assumed Philly had, or Matron. Or Montclair. Our brother was with us then. Did I ask about the paperwork at some point?” Still pale, he rubbed at his temple. “I must have.”

“I think Matron gave it to me to file,” Shivitz told him. “That would have been the usual procedure. We were trying to get all the files and comps in order, and I must have filed it. I never really looked at it.”

“We’ll need to speak to your sister.”

“Yes, yes. Let me contact her, tell her to come back right away. There were so many people,” Jones murmured as he turned to his ’link. “All the staff, volunteers, the e-company who’d come in to set up the equipment, all the children. It was so busy, so happy. Hopeful.”

Eve imagined Shelby had had her own hopes—and reaching for them had ended them.

Eve spent the best part of an hour taking them all back through the steps. Nashville, Philadelphia when she arrived on the run, Shivitz, and two staff members who were there when Shelby walked out the door for the last time.

She left unsatisfied, and left them in considerable turmoil.

“I can’t decide if they’re worried about being sued—though who’s going to bother?—about getting fined or cited—and I can’t figure out how that would work, exactly—or if they’re guilty they might have abetted a murderer.”