Authors: Mariah Stewart
He lay in bed until he heard the old grandfather’s clock in the front hall chime eight times, then, surprised at how late it was, jumped out of bed and grabbed his clothes before going down the hall to the bathroom. Once showered and shaved and dressed, he knocked quietly on Fiona’s door. When there was no answer, he opened the door slowly, hoping to find that she, too, had overslept. The thought of kissing her awake was hugely appealing. But when he stepped into her room, he found the bed already made. Disappointed, he made his way downstairs, the tantalizing scent of pancakes and sausages leading the way.
“Smells incredible, Kitty,” he said as he came into the kitchen. Tom and his son were already chowing down, but no Fiona. He walked to the open back door. “Did Fiona go out to the garden? She mentioned
last night that she wanted to see just what all you were growing out there that smelled so good.”
Kitty turned from the stove, a bowl of batter in one hand, a large wooden spoon in the other.
“She left around five,” Kitty told him. “She said something came up unexpectedly and she had to go. She said she had to take the car but I told her not to worry, that you could use one of ours. Now she did say that you could rent one and the Bureau would pay for it, but I told her—”
“Did she say where she was going?” Sam frowned. Fiona left? Without even waking him to tell him she was leaving?
Kitty shook her head. “No. Just that she got a message and there was something she had to do. I thought maybe it might be something to do with your case … but then again, I guess she would have told you. She was in a big hurry, though. She was starting to write a note when I came down but I told her not to worry, that I’d give you the message.”
He stood in the center of the room feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of him.
“Sam?” Kitty was saying. “Should I have let her write the note?”
“No, no, it’s okay.” He went to the table and took a seat, feeling anything but okay.
Why would she run off like that? Had something come up on the case? If so, why didn’t she share whatever it was with him?
Whatever it was, why hadn’t she shared it with him?
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his
phone. Excusing himself, he went outside and dialed John Mancini’s number.
“John, it’s Sam. Have you heard from Fiona today?”
John hesitated for just a beat too long.
Sam didn’t give him time to respond. “What’s come up on the case that you’re not telling me?”
“Nothing’s come up on the case, Sam,” John replied.
“Fiona was here, in Nebraska, with me. She left at the crack of dawn. Are you telling me you haven’t heard from her this morning?”
“I’ve heard from her, yes.”
“So where is she?”
John took his time answering. “There was an emergency. She needed to be somewhere.”
“John, cut the cryptic crap, will you? Where did she go?” Sam had to work at not sounding as desperate as he felt.
“She’ll have to discuss that with you herself, Sam. It isn’t my place to—”
“What kind of bullshit is this? Is she on some kind of secret mission or something?”
“It’s a personal thing. If she wants to tell you about it, she will.” John sighed. “Sam, we all have our secrets. If Fiona wants to share hers with you, she will. Right now, I suspect she’s having a very hard time, so respect that, will you?”
“Sure. Thanks a lot.”
“She did ask that we send some backup out there, so you can expect a few more agents to show up before the day is over.”
“Well, they won’t exactly be
backup
, now, will they? Since there’s no agent here to back up?”
Sam disconnected the call and walked back into the kitchen, an uneasy feeling spreading through him. What had been so important that she’d leave without telling him? He’d thought they’d forged a bond, not just the night before, but over the past week. Why would she just walk out?
“Everything all right?” Tom asked.
“Everything’s fine,” Sam said.
“Here’s your coffee.” Kitty handed him a cup and pointed to the chair next to Tom. “Sit down and help yourself before it gets cold.”
“So what’s on the news this morning, momma?” Tom asked his wife, who’d been watching one of the early morning TV shows on a small set on the counter since dawn.
“Oh, the usual. The president is giving a speech on the economy at one this afternoon. They found remains of a small child in the Arizona desert last night—they think it might be that little girl who went missing from Cleveland last month. Your favorite baseball team lost again. The guy who used to play the cop on that TV show set in Boston—you know the one, it’s been in reruns forever, we used to watch it all the time. Anyway, he’s in the hospital and they don’t think he’s going to make it. Oh, and a private plane crashed in Nevada, right outside of Reno. They don’t know if there were any survivors.”
Tom looked up at Sam and said, “I don’t have to watch a minute of TV to keep up with the news. I can always count on my wife to keep me up to the minute.
It’s a miracle she can get breakfast on the table in the morning, she’s so glued to that set.”
“I like to know what’s going on in my world when I start the day,” Kitty said, defending her TV habit. “Besides, I like the folks on this show. They always have good guests. I like hearing points of view other than the ones held by certain members of this family.”
Tom rolled his eyes, passed his brother the platter of pancakes, and with his customary sarcasm, said, “Now, little brother, tell me what your plans are for today, and how you’re going to go about making Nebraska safe for DelVecchios.”
H
as Susanna gotten here yet?” Robert looked anxiously out the kitchen window.
Trula glanced at the clock on the oven.
“It’s barely eight o’clock in the morning, Robert. Susanna usually isn’t here until eight thirty.”
“Maybe she’s hung over,” he said. “Do you think maybe she has a hangover?”
She frowned. “Have you ever known Susanna to drink too much?”
“First time for everything,” he muttered.
“Why would you even think such a thing?”
“She went out drinking last night with that FBI guy who’s supposed to be looking for my son. Not trying to make moves on my … employees.”
Trula sighed. “Robert, they went to dinner.”
“Dinner usually means wine,” he reminded her. “And it was the third time this week.”
“Dear lord, Robert, the woman’s allowed to have a life.”
He mumbled something unintelligible under his breath and Trula turned around, her hands on her hips.
“You know, Rob, if I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were jealous.”
“Yeah, well, you do know me better, so you know I’m not.”
Trula laughed out loud. He scowled and started to say something when they heard a car in the driveway. Trula peered out the window, and chuckled.
“Well, here comes that old drunk now. Maybe I should get out the aspirin. Maybe I should be making Bloody Marys instead of orange juice this morning.”
“Maybe you can forget the part about the hangover,” he said as Susanna breezed in the back door.
“Who has a hangover?” she asked.
“No one.” He waved off the question.
“Robert thought you might,” Trula said, ignoring the dirty look he shot in her direction. “Because you were late.”
“Why would you think that?” Susanna frowned as she poured her coffee. “And I wasn’t late. Actually, I’m early.”
He chose not to answer, pretending instead to be absorbed in the morning paper.
“So how are we this morning?” Susanna asked him.
“Fine,” he replied coolly from behind the front page.
“Did you want me for some reason, Robert?”
“No, why?”
“Because you seemed concerned that I wasn’t here.”
“I wasn’t concerned. I was just … curious, that’s all.”
A moment later, he asked, “How’s Agent Parrish?”
“He’s fine.”
“How was dinner?’
“Great. Terrific. We went to Loki over in Toby Falls.” She looked over that morning’s plate of muffins and picked one that she recognized as peach and pecan, one of her favorites. “They have a new chef. You should try it sometime. The fish was excellent.”
Robert’s reply was a grouchy
hrrrmph
.
Susanna smiled from ear to ear, and winked con-spiratorially at Trula.
“The new décor is lovely, by the way, Trula. All in chocolate brown and pale blue.”
“I’ll have to try it some night.” Trula smiled back. Robert was still hiding behind his newspaper.
“Let me know when you’d like to go and I’ll go with you,” Susanna told her. “I’d love to go back. Maybe we can go on Friday.”
“Maybe Agent Parrish will take you,” Robert grumped.
It was all Trula could do not to laugh out loud.
Susanna let it ride. Years of working for Robert had taught her when to change the subject. She leaned against the countertop and asked, “Robert, what’s the one thing you always said you most admire about me?”
“Is this a trick question?” He lowered the paper.
“No, seriously. What is it you first noticed about me?”
He looked her up and down, head to toe, not sure what he was being asked. “This is a trick question.”
“Robert …”
“Okay. Well, I guess your organizational skills.”
Good answer
, he told himself.
“Which are legendary, I don’t mind saying, but no. That’s not what I had in mind.”
“Your sense of humor?” He tried again.
“Also fine, but no once again.”
“I don’t know, Suse.” He looked up at her, wondering what she was getting at. “The fact that you know me better than just about anyone and yet you like me anyway?”
“Good one, but guess again.”
“That you’re smarter than any woman I know? That you have great legs? That you’re very insightful?”
“All true, all part of the whole,” she said, but still she shook her head.
“I give up.” He held up both hands, palms up.
“Think back to all those meetings we used to go to together. You always said that what you most valued—what you found most useful—was the fact that I have a—”
“Photographic memory,” Robert recalled. “It never failed to amaze me, how you could look at something one time and be able to remember everything, pull it all up a week later, if you had to. Just like a computer. Never saw anything like it.” He shook his head. “We haven’t had much cause to use that skill lately, have we?”
“Not until last night,” she told him, her eyes sparkling.
“What happened last night?” He was almost afraid to ask.
“I got Agent Parrish to show me the list.”
“The list?”
“The list of all the people who’d rented the cabin
over the past ten years. Including the names and addresses of all the Sisters of St. Anthony who stayed there.”
“You have it?” His eyes widened. “Where is it?”
Susanna tapped herself on the side of the head.
“For God’s sake, Suse, write it down.” Robert all but tripped himself getting to the desk to look for a piece of paper and a pen.
“Don’t need to. It’s all right here.”
“What if you got hit by a car? Or struck by lightning?”
From the opposite side of the room, Trula cleared her throat.
“Just kidding,” he said.
“Me, too.” Susanna opened her bag and took out a sheet of paper, telling him as she unfolded it, “I couldn’t wait to get home last night to write it all down.”
She spread the paper out on the tabletop. Robert leaned closer for a better look.
“Suse, you’re a wonder. You’re irreplaceable. Amazing. You realize that if I ever see Ian again, it will be because of you.”
“Yes, I do realize it. It’s true.”
“I don’t know how to thank you.”
“I’ll think of something.” She smiled, then a second later was all business. “Okay, let’s get started. Boot up that demon computer of yours. We’re going to give those mad skills of yours a workout …”
She started out of the room ahead of him, then turned and asked, “Do you really think I have great legs?”
“World class,” he assured her. “Absolutely world class …”
Despite interruptions from Emme and Mallory, by the time Trula took a tray of lunch up to Robert’s office, the list had been narrowed down to five people who could possibly look good for the kidnapping of Ian Magellan.
“How did you figure that out so quickly?” Trula set the tray of sandwiches and fruit on the edge of Robert’s desk. “You’ve only been working on it for”—she checked her watch—“four hours and thirty-five minutes.”
“It’s actually easier than it may sound,” Susanna replied, since Robert was still focused on his findings. “We went through the list, first doing the obvious, a general search on—what else—Magellan Express. We were able to weed out several who were deceased, several others who were nowhere near Pennsylvania when the accident occurred.”
“How could you know where any of these people were on that date?” Trula frowned. Other than her email, the occasional use of Magellan Express, and a little online shopping now and then, Trula had little use for the Internet.
“Well, here, let me show you.” Robert typed in the name of one of the people from the list. He clicked a few links, then turned the monitor around to face Trula. “Here’s a picture of one of the women on board a cruise ship that was docked in Cabo, Mexico, on Valentine’s Day, 2007. As we know, the accident was on February eleventh of that year. The cruise set
sail on February ninth, so we could eliminate her right away.”
Robert held up the list. “We were able to cross off a lot of names because they were in places which could easily be confirmed. Many of the nuns are teachers who were, in fact, in their classrooms on that day.”
“How could you know that?” Trula’s eyes narrowed.
“I figured out ways to … figure it out,” Robert said, averting his eyes.
“Robert, is any of this illegal?” she asked sternly.
“Well …” He cleared his throat, scrambling for the right answer. “There could be a gray area.”
“Which means that some of it’s black and white.”
“Depends on how you look at it.”
Trula sighed. “So show me one who could be the kidnapper.”