“Well, isn’t this lovely?” I say dryly as we pull up and park. “Give Angus to me and you can lead the way since these are more your people than mine.”

“I’m not going in.”

“What? For God’s sake, you’re the one who set this up. I’m not going in by myself.” I turn around in my seat to glare at her. Dee resolutely avoids my gaze. She looks like she’s on the verge of tears again, which almost pushes me over the edge. She’s forcing me to hand Angus across and yet she’s the one crying? I get out of the car and pull my seat forward so she can pass Angus to me. Jezebel steps forward to jump out with us.

“Stay, Jez.” She whines in response but obeys.

As I stand in the parking lot, taking it all in, I know I’m stalling for time. When I finally shake off the paralysis, I head to the entrance and go inside. A black woman is waiting in the reception area. She has a cherubic face and graying hair that she wears in a short afro.

She immediately reminds me of someone but it takes me a moment to figure out who. “Hello. Has anyone ever told you you look like you could be—”

“Archbishop Desmond Tutu’s sister?”

“I take it that’s a yes,” I say.

She laughs. “Many, many times. But there’s unfortunately no relation that I know of. Are you Mrs. Richardson?”

“Yes, I am.”

“I’m Lindiwe Nkosi, the social worker. The police liaison called to say they’re running late,” she says. “I’ll give you a tour of our facility while we wait.”

We walk along a corridor and as we near a yellow door, I hear the muted sound of a baby crying from inside. It’s alarming because it’s so pathetic, more whimper than wail. The door has a sign that says Do Not Enter. They may as well wave a red flag at me.

Lindiwe keeps walking but I stop. “What’s in here?”

She clucks and says, “You don’t want to go in there.”

“Why not? Isn’t this a part of your facility?” If she’s trying to hide something, I want to see it. “I thought we were doing a tour.”

“Yes, but there are only two babies in here. Come, let’s go to the angel sanctuary where all the rest of the children are.”

“But I want to see the babies in here.”

“It’s actually a quarantined area. Only qualified nurses are allowed inside.” When it becomes clear that I’m not going to move, she sighs loudly and says, “Okay, fine, but the baby isn’t allowed inside with you. And you’ll need to wear a mask and gloves.”