Grace held out a tiny hand. Marge took it and observed that the tiny hand was attached to a tiny body—tiny in absolute terms, not just in relationship to Marge’s five feet ten inches. The tiny woman spoke in a whisper.

“Pleased to meet you, Detective. How can I be of help?”

“I’d like to look at a file—a past employee.”

“Tandy Roberts,” Sarah said. “You remember Tandy, Grace?”

“Certainly I remember Tandy. She worked here about a year, I believe.”

“Do you know why she quit?” Marge asked.

“I thought she was laid off,” Grace said. “Budget cuts.”

“She didn’t quit?”

“No, I do believe she was laid off.” Grace smiled at Marge. “I’m sorry, Detective, but if you don’t have the proper forms, I can’t let you see the files without permission from the higher-ups. Invasion of privacy, you see.”

“We’re talking about a former employee.”

“Still, she’s entitled—”

“The life of an infant may be hanging on this.”

The tiny woman’s eyes widened. “Well, I could call the administration office and see—”

“And how long will it take them to get back to you? Grace, we’re looking for a helpless two-day-old infant.”

“What does Tandy have to do with the missing infant?”

“Maybe nothing. But we’re exploring every possible avenue.”

“Detective, if you’d just let me make a call.”

Marge checked her watch. Four on the dot. Administration probably shut down at four-thirty, five. Unless Grace got through to the boss and was granted permission immediately, it was going to drag out for another day.

“Grace, how about if you go on a five-minute break and talk to Sarah while I wander around and get lost in the back offices.”

“Detective, this is highly irregular.”

“And so is a kidnapped infant. I was the one who had to interview the mother. Her first baby, Grace.”

The tiny woman said nothing. Marge could see her wrestling with her conscience. Finally, Grace’s eyes traveled to the wall clock. “I suppose I could use a cup of coffee. Five minutes. Files of former nurses are on the right side, tagged with a blue dot…for your information only.”

“Thank you.”

“Lord, I hope I’m doing the right thing.”

“Oh, you are,” said Marge, giving her absolution.

Before the woman had a chance to change her mind, Marge was in the back offices. The door to the Personnel Office was open and marked. A desk blocked the entry to the room, which was lined with banks of files. Marge skipped around the desk and dug in. Grace’s tip on the former nurses’ files was an enormous time-saver because there was a slew of color coding, the largest section belonging to the orange-dot category—the patients. Quickly, Marge started flipping through the R section of the blue files. There was only one Roberts, and the first name wasn’t Sondra or Tandy.