“Okay. Ted is probably at the Dawsons’ right now. I’ll text him and tell him what he has to do. The Evanses live in Old Town in Alexandria, right?”

“Yes. What’s going on, on the mountain?”

Maggie told her. Lizzie giggled, and they both signed off.

It was two o’clock when Ted and Espinosa loomed over her desk.

“Do you have it all?” Maggie asked.

“We do. That guy Evans was a hard nut to crack, but he went along with it in the end. I hate to admit this, but I think it was the vague promise that Lizzie was going to get their money back. But it could have been the mention of the vigilantes. I just don’t know. They’ve given up on getting the baby back, sad to say. We did our best, Maggie, but that couple is beaten down. They want to believe the paper can help. I did have to throw in the vigilantes, like I said. Mrs. Evans perked right up and said if her husband didn’t agree, she was leaving him. Listen, we’re going down to the cafeteria to get something to eat. It’s all there. Text me if there’s something you don’t understand. The pictures Espinosa got will break your heart. How soon do you need me to write it up?”

“As soon as you’re done with lunch,” Maggie replied. “I’m not going to run with it just yet, but I want it ready in case I decide to go with a special edition. We’ve done all we can for the moment. Now we wait for Lizzie to see how things shake out. Check the wires while you’re eating, and let me know what you think about the Christmas party at the White House.”

Maggie went back to her computer and downloaded the photos Espinosa had taken. Ted was right. There was nothing more beautiful than a new baby being held in his mother’s arms. In the case of the Dawsons, two babies. Absolutely nothing.

Maggie continued downloading the pictures, her eyes misting up from time to time. The babies were beautiful. The two sets of parents looked haunted. Both young mothers looked vulnerable and fragile. The fathers looked bewildered.

Maggie spread out the photos on her desk. First she lined up the babies. Then she put the pictures of the parents next to the babies. Her hands flew as she moved, shifted as she struggled to come up with a headline that would tell the story in three words or less.

A sticky pad found its way to her hand. Readers would want names to go with the cherubs’ faces. The parents needed names, too. Mom and Dad? Beth and John? Rachel and Tom? Mom and Dad! Nurse, teacher, doctor, engineer? Robert, Rita, Benjy? What should she go with for her headline?