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nodded toward the sign that hung from the railing. “Lost Lamb Ranch? Because you have two very pregnant ladies here, I’m guessing you’re not sheep herders.”
    “This is a home for unwed mothers.”
    Instead of inviting them in or rushing to take care of Dee, Francine blocked their way like a sentry, which made Petra aware of the secrets she was guarding.
    Dee sagged against her, and Petra had to exert an effort to stay standing. She took a step forward. This was her excuse to get inside the house and have a look around. “We need to get Dee out of these wet clothes.”
    From behind her back, she heard Margaret cry out. “I’ve got her. I’ll take it from here.”
    “I’m weak,” Dee moaned. “I’m going to faint.”
    Margaret, who was out of breath from running, grabbed Dee’s other arm just in time. Even with both of them holding her, the pregnant woman was slipping from their grasp as she fainted.
    In a bit of perfect timing, Brady came to the rescue. He caught Dee under her knees and around her shoulders. With an effort, he lifted her.
    “My husband, Brady,” Petra said to Francine. “I don’t believe I caught your name.”
    “Francine Kelso. I’m in charge here.”
    “Great,” Brady said. “Where should I put this lady?”
    “Drop her on the porch,” Margaret snapped. “She’s faking.”
    Even though Petra agreed that Dee’s swoon probably wasn’t the real thing, she was determined to get inside. She climbed the stairs and confronted Francine directly. “I’m sure you have the proper facilities. Brady should carry Dee to your clinic or birthing room where she can be examined.”
    Francine’s gaze held a full measure of hostility, but there was also calculation in her heavily made-up eyes. Lost Lamb had a reputation to protect. She couldn’t have Petra and Brady telling people that she wasn’t treating these young women well.
    “Follow me.” She pivoted and entered the house.
    Petra held the door for Brady who carried his heavy burden without too much effort. As he trailed Francine down a carpeted hallway, he glanced to the right and nodded to another pregnant woman who sprawled across a sofa in a living room area, furnished with unremarkable sofas and chairs in various shades of beige and brown.
    To the left of the front foyer and staircase, Petra glimpsed an office with a gorgeous Aubusson rug, an antique cherry desk and a credenza with fresh flowers. She guessed that the left was Francine’s side of the house, and it was furnished with far more care and expense than the area used by the other denizens of this institution. The hallway led past a dining area with a long table and into an institutional kitchen where two Hispanic women—one pregnant and the other not—were washing dishes.
    With each woman she encountered, Petra studied their features, comparing them to the mug shots from the Missing Persons files. None matched. All these women were young. Some appeared to be nervous, and others were hostile.
    “Move along,” Margaret said brusquely. “And don’t stare.”
    “I’m not,” Petra said.
    “You’re judging them. Everybody who comes here does. They think bad things about these girls because they got pregnant.”
    Petra stopped short at the edge of the kitchen. She should have kept going, trying to get on the good side of Francine, but she couldn’t let this accusation go unanswered. “I’d never look down on another woman because she was pregnant. Having a baby is the highest calling in life. Even after delivering dozens of babies, I’m still amazed. A pregnant woman is a miracle.”
    Margaret pulled her bangs off her forehead and stared. For an instant, the anger in her eyes softened. “You’re telling the truth.”
    “I don’t lie,” Petra said. “It’s bad karma.”
    “We shouldn’t keep Francine waiting.”
    Beyond the kitchen was an examination room that was large, white and sterile. Stacked on one of the stainless steel countertops were several