Much Ado About Magic (Enchanted, Inc. #5)

Much Ado About Magic (Enchanted, Inc. #5) Page 75

I approached the firemen, feeling suddenly awkward and unsure. “Maybe,” I said. “This is going to sound kind of weird, though.”

“Ah, try me,” the fireman said. I didn’t think he was that much older than I was, but his face was weathered. His dark hair was cut in a short, military style, and his nose looked like it had been broken a few times. “I get a lot of weird every day. It comes with the job.” He grinned at his colleague, who nodded in agreement.

“Okay, then,” I said, wondering for a moment if Sam might have taken human form. “Is there anyone still around who was working here thirty years ago, or do you know of someone who was?”

He turned to his colleague. “Vinnie’s been here forever. Think he was here back then?”

“I think so,” the other guy said. “He was probably here when they still used horses to pull the engines.”

The human version of Sam said, “What do you want with an old-timer?” He winked and added, “Or is it personal?”

“It’s about a baby who was left at this station.”

His eyebrows rose. “Seriously? That does happen sometimes, but I never found one. And I’m okay with that.” He jerked his chin in a “follow me” gesture and went into the fire station. I followed him inside and then up the stairs to the office/living area of the station. “Is Vinnie in today?” he asked the firefighters hanging around in a common room.

“He’s makin’ lunch,” one of the men said.

“Hope you brought the Alka-Seltzer!” another one said, and they all laughed.

“Aw, shaddup,” my Sam clone said with a good-natured laugh. “He’s a better cook than any of you guys. C’mon, doll, we don’t need these losers.” As he led me to the kitchen, he said, “Vinnie’s mostly retired and doesn’t go out on calls, but he comes in and helps out around the station. The job gets in your blood, makes it hard to leave, y’know?”

As we entered the kitchen, he yelled, “Yo, Vinnie! Someone here to see you.”

A barrel-chested man wearing a chef’s apron and a ball cap turned to see us. “Whaddaya want, Corelli?” he asked.

Corelli gestured to me. “Miss?”

“Katie Chandler,” I supplied.

“Miss Katie Chandler, this is Vinnie Marciano.”

Vinnie wiped his hands on his apron, then held out his right hand to shake mine. “Pleased to meet you. How may I be of service?”

“She’s lookin’ for someone who was around thirty years ago,” Corelli said. “I figured that would be you.”

“Yeah, I was around then. Why?”

With a deep breath, I said, “A baby was left at this station—at least, this is where Children’s Services picked him up, though he could have been left at the church next door. It was on July fourth. Maybe that’ll make it easier to remember.”

Vinnie frowned and nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I remember that. I was workin’ that day, had an early shift.” He grinned. “That was our little Yankee Doodle Dandy, born on the fourth of July, he was. I’ve always wondered what happened to that kid.”

A lump grew in my throat as I reached for the photos in my purse. “Do you remember anything about how and where he was found?” I asked.

“He wasn’t really found. His mother brought him.”

Chapter Seventeen

My hand froze halfway inside my purse. “His mother?” I repeated. There went my theory about Ramsay.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that was the mom,” Vinnie said with a shrug. “I mean, the baby was fresh out of the oven, barely even cleaned up, and she wasn’t lookin’ too good.” He knitted his bushy eyebrows at me. “Why do you wanna know, anyhow?”

“That baby is my boyfriend.” I launched into my prefabricated cover story. “He’s starting to wonder who he is and where he came from—I guess turning thirty will do that to you—but he also seems to be a little scared about what he’ll find. My birthday gift to him is to do some investigating and see what I can find out. All he knows is that he was turned over to Children’s Services at this fire station.”

Vinnie nodded. “Okay. Then let’s make a deal. I’ll tell you what I know, and you tell me how that kid turned out, even bring him by to see us.” He took off his baseball cap and shoved it onto Corelli’s head, then took off his apron and draped it over Corelli’s shoulder. “You’re finishing up on lunch. Just stir the sauce so it doesn’t stick or scorch.” Then he took my arm and said, “Come on, sweetheart, let’s you and me go talk.”