Wiping her eyes, she pored through the rest of the paperwork, growing cold despite her wool coat in the middle of her warm apartment. Biographical information on her and her immediate family, her own medical and employment histories, all forms she'd completed without question. Toby's birth certificate listed her as the mother, no father, and the naval hospital in Annapolis as his birthplace.
The paperwork otherwise had nothing to do with Toby or their accusation that she abandoned her kid on the Metro.
Aside from the birth certificate, there was no way the rest were official police papers!
Dropping the papers on her computer desk, she then stripped off her coat and passed by the guest…Toby's room. He was asleep.
She returned to the desk and scoured the paperwork for some sort of identifying information on the place she'd been or the company that developed the forms.
Nothing.
Frustrated, she searched the Internet for Dr. Williams until she found the eminent neurologist, whose picture she recognized. Somewhat relieved, she read his biography, impressed by his clientele, who ranged from heads of countries around the world to the richest families on the planet. He'd graduated from a Switzerland medical school and practiced extensively in Europe before coming to the United States thirty years before… …and dying twenty years ago at the age of sixty-four.
She reread the entry, brow furrowed. Yes, it was his picture and yes, his clinic had been located in the same place it was now.
She'd spent several hours in his office talking to a dead man?
"Mama."
She jerked. She had forgotten Toby…again. He stood sleepy and frowning, dark hair tousled.
"I want cocoa."
Did she even have…of course she would. Right next to her tea. She went to the kitchen and made him a cup in silence, glancing at him a few times as he propped his head up with both his hands.
"Do you go to school?" she asked awkwardly.
"Yes," he said, and rolled his eyes. "I have a map. I know you forget."
I can't be this crazy.
She sat across from him, cocoa with marshmallows before both of them.
"Do I forget often?" she asked.
"No."
"Do you like…school?"
"I guess," he said with a shrug. "The teachers are mean to me."
"That sucks, I guess."
"Yeah. I like marshmallows."
She stretched for the counter and tugged the bag off, handing it to him.
"I think the death dealer needs cocoa," he said cheerfully.