A Child Lost Read online

  Praise for the Henrietta and Inspector Howard series

  For A Veil Removed, Book 4

  Awards

  2019 Readers’ Favorite Awards, Honorable Mention in Fiction (Mystery/Historical)

  2019 Next Generation Indie Book Awards: Finalist in Romance

  2019 Next Generation Indie Book Awards: Finalist in Series

  “Entertaining . . . composed of large dollops of romance and a soupçon of mystery, this confection will appeal!”

  —Publishers Weekly

  Praise for A Promise Given, Book 3

  Awards

  2019 Indie Excellence Awards Winner: Cross Genre

  2019 IBPA Ben Franklin Awards: Silver in Romance

  2019 Independent Press Award in Romantic Suspense

  2019 International Book Awards, Finalist, Fiction: Cross Genre

  2019 Pulpwood Queens Bonus Selection

  2019 Next Generation Indie Book Awards: Finalist in Series

  2018 Chanticleer Awards: Finalist in Historical Fiction, 1st place winner in Romance and grand-prize winner in Mystery and Mayhem

  2018 Next Generation Indie Book Awards Finalist in Romance

  2018 Best Book Awards Finalist in Romance

  2018 Best Book Awards Finalist in Cross-Genre

  “Cox’s eye for historical detail remains sharp. . . . A pleasant, escapist diversion.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “Series fans will cheer the beginning of Clive and Henrietta’s private investigation business in an entry with welcome echoes of Pride and Prejudice.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “This is a beautiful story with strong themes of romance, family intrigue, and investigation. The writing is gorgeous and reflects the cultural and historical setting. Michelle Cox’s novel is filled with deeply moving passages and emotionally charged scenes. The characters are as sophisticated as they are relatable and the plot is designed to make for the perfect page-turner.”

  —Readers Favorite

  Praise for A Ring of Truth, Book 2

  Awards

  2019 Next Generation Indie Book Awards: Finalist in Series

  2018 Chanticleer Book Awards: Finalist: Historical Fiction, Finalist: Romance, Winner: Mystery

  2018 Independent Press Award: Winner in Romantic Suspense

  2018 National Indie Excellence Awards Finalist in Regional Fiction: Midwest

  2017-2018 Reader Views Literary Awards Finalist in Adult Fiction

  2017 Chicago Writers Association Awards: Shortlisted for Indie Fiction

  2017 Next Gen indies: Romance Finalist, Mystery Finalist

  2017 Readers Favorite: Honorable Mention, Mystery

  2017 Beverly Hills Book Award Winner in Regional Fiction: Northeast

  2017 Beverly Hills Book Award Finalist in Cross-Genre

  2017 Beverly Hills Book Award Finalist in Mystery

  “There’s a lot to love about the bloodhound couple at the center of this cozy mystery.”

  —Foreword Reviews

  “Set in the 1930s, this romantic mystery combines the teetering elegance of Downton Abbey and the staid traditions of Pride and Prejudice with a bit of spunk and determination that suggest Jacqueline Winspear’s Maisie Dobbs.”

  —Booklist

  “The second book of this mystery series is laced with fiery romance so delicious every reader will struggle to put it down. If you devoured Pride and Prejudice, this love story will get your heart beating just as fast.”

  —Redbook

  “Henrietta and Inspector Howard make a charming odd couple in A Ring of Truth, mixing mystery and romance in a fizzy 1930s cocktail.”

  —Hallie Ephron, New York Times best-selling author of Night Night, Sleep Tight

  Praise for A Girl Like You, Book 1

  Awards

  2019 Next Generation Indie Book Awards: Finalist in Series

  2017 IPPY Awards: Gold Mystery Winner

  2016 Readers Favorite: Gold Mystery Winner

  2016 Foreword Indies: Gold Mystery Winner

  2016 Foreword Indies: Romance, Finalist

  2016 Shelf Unbound: Top 100 Notable Indie

  2016 Chanticleer Awards: Mystery and Mayhem, Winner

  2016 USA Best Book Awards: Fiction Romance Finalist

  2016 Beverly Hills Book Awards: Regional Fiction: Midwest, Winner

  2016 Next Generation Indies: Romance Finalist

  2016 Reader Views: Historical Fiction Winner, Great Lakes Regional Winner

  2016 Tyler Tichelaar Award: Historical Fiction Winner

  “Michelle Cox masterfully recreates 1930s Chicago, bringing to life its diverse neighborhoods and eclectic residents, as well as its seedy side. Henrietta and Inspector Howard are the best pair of sleuths I’ve come across in ages—Cox makes us care not just about the case, but about her characters. A fantastic start to what is sure to be a long-running series.”

  —Tasha Alexander, New York Times best-selling author of The Adventuress

  “Flavored with 1930s slang and fashion, this first volume in what one hopes will be a long series is absorbing. Henrietta and Clive are a sexy, endearing, and downright fun pair of sleuths. Readers will not see the final twist coming.”

  —Library Journal, starred review

  A Child

  Lost

  Copyright © 2020 Michelle Cox

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, digital scanning, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please address She Writes Press.

  Published 2020

  Printed in the United States of America

  ISBN: 978-1-63152-836-1 pbk

  ISBN: 978-1-63152-837-8 ebk

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2019916053

  For information, address:

  She Writes Press

  1569 Solano Ave #546

  Berkeley, CA 94707

  She Writes Press is a division of SparkPoint Studio, LLC.

  All company and/or product names may be trade names, logos, trademarks, and/or registered trademarks and are the property of their respective owners.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  To Otto Bles Cornejo, the original lost child.

  A true poet and visionary whose time has not yet

  come, but which may be, in fact, just around the

  corner. Let us hope you do not have to wait too much

  longer. Thank you for your friendship and for all

  you’ve taught me. I’m grateful to have shared at least

  a part of this strange journey with you.

  Chapter 1

  Elsie sat in theology class listening to Sister Raphael expound on the different types of grace, but she found it hard to pay attention. It wasn’t that the material wasn’t interesting—it was, actually—but Elsie’s mind was unfortunately on other things at the moment. It had been, truth be told, ever since her rather unexpected discovery of a small girl named Anna apparently living in Gunther’s hut behind Piper Hall. As she distractedly drew in the margins of her notepaper, she took the time to calculate, concluding that it had been just over a month ago already. She shifted slightly in her chair. They were still no closer to any answers.

  She was inextricably caught up in Gunther’s story now, whether she wanted to be or not—and probably had been, if she were honest, since she h
ad surreptitiously read his journal while she sat at his bedside in the hospital on New Year’s Eve last. That was where she first came across the name Anna, scrawled across the page in his unkempt handwriting, along with various poems and personal notations and ramblings, some of it in English, but most of it in German.

  For a long time, Elsie assumed that Anna was a woman, perhaps someone Gunther was romantically attached to from his native Germany. But then Elsie had begun to feel certain stirrings for Gunther herself, perhaps unconsciously, and when he’d tenderly kissed her hand in the hidden greenhouse in the Mundelein Skyscraper, she had fled in terror—not for her personal safety, but for fear of what she might in fact be feeling for him. After a day and a night of avoiding him, however, she had eventually come to the conclusion that she needed to face her fears and confront him, the result being her discovery that the mysterious Anna in his journal was merely a child, which had raised a whole new set of questions and fears, especially when the child had called him “Papa.”

  Upon discovering the two of them in the hut that day Elsie almost fled in her mortification and her sorrow and probably would have, had it not been for the look of panic on Gunther’s face and the broken utterance of her name.

  “Elsie . . .”

  His whisper had given her sufficient pause—enough to see the silent “please” that followed—his lips forming the word, but no sound escaping. His plea and the desperate longing she saw in his eyes were palpable and hovered in the short space between them, paralyzing and holding her there against her will.

  “Elsie, please, come in,” he said hoarsely, slowly gesturing toward the interior of the small cottage, as if he suspected she might bolt at any moment and therefore should not employ any sudden movements. She did not bolt, however, though every nerve in her body was taut and ready. She instead took a deep breath and sternly reminded herself that this was why she had come: to hear him out. Hadn’t she stood at her bedroom window through most of the night, puzzling out what to do? Near dawn, she had finally come to the decision that she would go to him and listen without interrupting or judging, just as he had done for her, no matter how shocking his explanation turned out to be. And yet there in the frigid morning air, the sun having just crested the horizon, she had already been tempted to run; seeing a little girl standing in front of him addressing him as “Papa” was certainly beyond anything she had heretofore imagined. But as difficult as his explanation promised to be, she knew there was no turning back now. So with just a slight pause, she had stepped across his threshold and thus into his world.

  Once inside the small hut, Gunther indicated for her to sit in one of the chairs next to a little wooden table. Anna retreated to a rumpled trundle that sat pulled out from under the main bed, which was also unmade and looked as though it had been recently occupied. Elsie averted her eyes from what was obviously Gunther’s bed and instead looked at Anna, who sat cross-legged on her thin mattress, warily watching Elsie with her finger in her mouth, very much reminding Elsie of her little sister, Doris.

  Silently, Gunther placed a steaming mug of coffee on the table before Elsie and sat down across from her. Elsie stared at the mug for a moment and then took hold of it, her cold fingers finding comfort in the warmth before she forced herself to look up at him. He in turn was looking at her with such worried, sad eyes that she felt her stomach clench.

  “Elsie, please. Do not look at me in such way. I can explain. I tried to explain to you in the greenhouse.” He paused. “Many times.”

  Elsie wasn’t sure what to say to that. She looked back at the little girl, if only to avoid his eyes.

  “This is Anna Klinkhammer,” he said, his eyes following Elsie’s, anticipating at least one of her silent questions.

  The girl was thin—scrawny even—with very blue eyes and fine blonde hair that looked as though it hadn’t been brushed in quite some time, certainly not yet today, at any rate. She had on a plain, brown dress and held what looked like some sort of soft doll, though Elsie couldn’t see the face of it. Elsie guessed her to be no more than five. Her face was dirty, smeared at the corners of her mouth with what looked to be jam. At least she hoped it was jam. She glanced over at Gunther, who was still staring at Anna, almost as if he were trying to see her through Elsie’s eyes—for the first time, as it were.

  “Ach. You have jam, Anna,” he said. He stood up and walked the few steps to a small sink.

  As he did so, Elsie took the opportunity to quickly glance around. It was warm and dry in this little hut of a home, clearly intended for one person only. It consisted mainly of one large room, with a bed in one corner and a sink and a stove in the other. Above the sink, various dishes were carefully stacked on a shelf, under which hung a few mugs on hooks. Along the back wall was a chest of drawers, and in the middle of the room stood a table and chairs for two, where Elsie currently sat. Though terribly small, it was clean and cozy and just the sort of room that Elsie liked. In a way, it reminded her of the shabby apartment on Armitage, where they had lived before discovering they were actually part of the wealthy Exley family.

  Gunther took up a rag from somewhere in the sink and brought it to where Anna sat. Awkwardly, he attempted to wipe her face despite her squirms. Elsie felt herself wanting to help, but she forced herself to remain seated and instead looked back into her coffee.

  “She is not mine,” Gunther said quietly, as if reading Elsie’s thoughts. “I swear this.”

  Elsie’s eyes darted back up at him.

  He stood up tall, and Elsie felt her pulse quicken as he locked his gaze on her. She struggled to gauge the truth of his words, and pulled her eyes away to glance back at Anna, who seemed to have shrunk even smaller, if that were possible, at Gunther’s last words. Elsie bit her lip at the little girl’s distress.

  Gunther followed Elsie’s gaze, and when he saw the tears welling in Anna’s eyes, his face contorted. “Ach!” he said and reached out and patted her head. His voice softened. “I did not mean that, Anna. Aber du bist mein Mädchen, genau so, nein? You are my girl. You will always be my girl, yes?”

  The little girl merely gave a slow, methodical nod and put her ragged toy in front of her face. Suddenly, Elsie’s heart ached for her—how many times had she herself wanted to hide behind something in her grief and loneliness? She desperately wanted to go to the girl and scoop her into her lap, but she remained seated. Besides the impropriety of it, Elsie felt sure Anna would draw little comfort from a strange lady.

  As if he were thinking the same thing, Gunther reached down and picked up the girl, who wrapped herself around him and rested her head on his shoulder, her eyes watery and a finger in her mouth. “Shhh,” he said in a low voice as he rubbed the girl’s back. He exhaled loudly, then, and steadied himself, as if wondering how to proceed.

  “I do not know where to start,” he said with a heavy sigh, his voice low. “But I will try. My father was mathematics professor, as I told you, at University in Heidelberg. He was part of intelligenz of German society at this time. When the war broke out, he did not believe in this war, but he was anyway forced to fight in it. He was very patriotic, but he thought the Kaiser had stumbled . . .” Gunther paused here, seeming to search for the right words, “. . . lost his way. Victoria was, you know maybe, the Kaiser’s grandmother. The people of England and Germany were very close before the war; my mother was English. How could my father fight them? And yet he was made to. He was killed. He had no idea how to fight,” he said sadly, rubbing Anna’s back again.

  “I’m sorry,” Elsie murmured, realizing that it was the first words she had spoken since entering the cottage.

  “My mother,” Gunther went on, after catching Elsie’s eye for just a moment, “especially as English woman, had no way of making money except to take in sewing and rent out rooms in our very old . . .” he made a gesture as if searching for the right word . . . “big? rambling? . . . house that was no good for nothing else. A big house full of books and some said Geister . . . ach . . . how
do you say? . . . ghosts,” he said with a little flourish of triumph. “When I became older, I asked my mother why she did not return to England after war. She said she could not leave my father buried somewhere near border of France in mass grave. Also, that Heidelberg had been her home from time she was little girl. There is nothing and no one for her in England, she said. And so we rented out rooms, mostly to students, who became like older brothers or sisters to me. One or two were not so nice, but mostly they were kind; that or they ignored me. I liked to sit in corner and listen to them debate politics of day or discuss literature—Rilke versus Schiller, as example—before Mother would find me and put me to bed.

  “Then about five years ago,” he continued methodically, “just as I am finishing my degree at university, a young woman by name of Liesel Klinkhammer came to rent room from us. She was not student, but she had job in one of the cafés in town. How she can afford this room, I do not know. Maybe it was that my mother felt sorry for her. I was not at home most days, either at university studying or working at local school, where I had just found job as a teacher.”

  Anna murmured, then, and Elsie watched as Gunther began to sway a bit, rocking the child until she quieted.

  “When I did see her,” he went on more quietly, “Fraulein Klinkhammer rarely speaks to me. She was very quiet and keeps to herself, but little bit by little bits, she begins to trust my mother. She tells her things. She was what my mother would call a Bauer . . . peasant? Like poor person. She tells my mother where she comes from. From a farm outside of city. As a young girl, she fell in love with boy from next farm over, she tells my mother. Heinrich is his name. He left countryside to travel to Heidelberg to find work. Fraulein Klinkhammer was . . . how do you say it? Verrückt in der Liebe? . . . crazy in love for him? . . . is what my mother said. So the fraulein followed this Heinrich to Heidelberg and found job and room. It is impressive, no?”

  Without waiting for Elsie to answer, he went on. “My mother was very glad for the money. But she told Fraulein Klinkhammer to forget this man, to go home. As it was, Fraulein Klinkhammer did not listen to her. And you can take guess what happened,” he said, shifting his eyes toward the back of Anna’s head, still resting on his shoulder.