Authors: Barbara Freethy
"Christian?" he echoed in surprise. "You like Christian for this, even with his father's bar as one of the targets?"
"Maybe it was meant to throw us off. It's just a hunch, Scott. I could be off base."
"I've always had a lot of respect for your hunches. I'll look at Christian's records."
"Thanks."
"I also wanted to let you know that the brass want a meeting later this morning with you and me. Can you be here in an hour?"
She didn't like the sound of that. "Yes, I can be there."
"Good. I would urge you to be a little more cautious than normal, Emma. You could be in danger."
"It's more likely any building I set foot in could be in danger."
"Are you staying at your parents' house?"
"No, I'm staying with a friend. I'll see you in a while," she said, ending the call before he could ask her about her
friend
.
Max returned to his desk and sat down. He took the rosary out of a plastic bag and looked at the crucifix.
"Is the date zero-four?" she asked.
"Was that a guess?" he asked with surprise. "Because you're right on the money."
"It was in the forensics report. They thought it was a unit or serial number. That's the year the Morettis and Christian Brady graduated from St. Andrew's. Aiden was in that class as well. There may be other suspects in the group. We should run down the entire class list and see where everyone ended up and what they're doing now."
"I'll ask Mrs. Harbough for that."
"I feel like we're about to make a breakthrough, Max."
"I hope so." Frowning, he added, "I wish I'd shown you that rosary earlier—or that I'd shown it to Ruth Harbough. I made an incorrect assumption. That was sloppy work."
Max was very hard on himself. She could relate, because she held herself to the same kind of high standard. "Sometimes seemingly unimportant things became more important when you know the context. I had an advantage. I went to St. Andrew's, you didn't."
"Don't make excuses for me, Emma."
She sighed. "Fine, be pissed off at yourself. But we can't go back in time, so let's focus on the present. Was the rosary left in Sister Margaret's pocket as a clue—"
"Or was it a taunt from the kidnapper?" Max finished.
"Or maybe Sister Margaret put the rosary in her pocket to give us a clue."
Max met her gaze, not looking quite as eager to follow her logic. "Why would our suspect be carrying a rosary from his eighth grade graduation? Who does that?"
She sat back in her seat, frowning at his question. "I don't know. My rosary has been sitting in my jewelry box for years. I certainly don't carry it around with me. What if the kidnapper took Margaret to his home?"
"Christian is living with his father, so that's unlikely. Isn't Tony with his dad? Jarod has his own place…" Max shook his head. "I don’t think Margaret was taken to anyone's home. We have to find a way to get her to Tahoe."
Emma thought for a long moment, different scenarios playing through her mind, but none of them quite ringing true. "I hate to admit it, but I'm stumped."
"Yeah," he said. "Me, too."
"Let's talk about it later. I have to go to my office. My bosses want a meeting."
"Maybe I should go with you."
She shook her head. "This is my job, Max."
"I just don't want to let you out of my sight."
She was touched. "That's sweet."
"But completely unappreciated," he said with a knowing smile. "I know—you can take care of yourself. I get it. I do respect you, Emma. Just so you know."
"What you just said…" She dropped her voice down to a whisper. "Best foreplay ever."
He laughed. "Respect gets you going, huh?"
"I'd like to kiss you goodbye, but that wouldn't look good."
Max's eyes sparkled. "You know that I'm going to be thinking about that missed opportunity as soon as you leave, don't you?"
"Of course," she said teasingly. "And I kind of like the idea of you thinking about me."
"That's pretty much all I've been doing the last few months," he said.
The familiar pack of butterflies danced through her stomach at the intent look in his eyes. "I'll be thinking about you, too."
* * *
Emma's meeting with the fire department brass included her father, which did not make her happy. She doubted he would have been involved if she wasn't the fire investigator on the case and now the target of an arsonist. But there was nothing she could do. Fortunately, Jack didn't say much, letting Scott McAvoy run the meeting.
She explained where they were on the joint investigation with the police department, and together the group reviewed her notes on the various fires under investigation. As they wrapped up, Scott told the group that he was compiling a list of people who had applied for fire investigator positions over the last five years, and that it should be ready by the end of the day. Then the meeting was over.
Her father lingered behind in the conference room, waiting for them to be alone before he said, "Nice job, Emma."
"Thank you." She liked seeing the fatherly pride in his eyes. It always felt good to impress Jack.
"Where are you staying?" he asked.
For a split second, she thought about saying she was staying with a girlfriend, but she was twenty-nine years old, and she didn't need to be lying to her father. "I'm staying with Max Harrison. I didn't want to bring the target on my back to the house. It would kill me if anything happened to our home, to Mom or Shayla, Colton, Aiden… I couldn't live with myself."
Her father nodded. "And Max Harrison—he can protect you?"
"I can protect myself," she retorted. "But yes, he's also quite capable. He is a cop after all."
"I know you're tough and independent, Emma. I just don't want you to underestimate your opponent, because that's what this guy has become. Fire is a game to him, and you're the one he has to beat."
"I understand that, and I appreciate the concern." As they walked to the door, she decided to change the subject. "How are things going with Grandma? Is Grandpa still trying to put her in a home in Monterey?"
Jack paused in the doorway, a tense line to his lips. "Your grandfather is being incredibly stubborn and short-sighted. I'm still hoping to change his mind."
She hated the idea of both her grandparents being so far away when her grandmother might not be able to enjoy her family for too much longer. "It's too soon," she said. "Grandma still has good days. She's going to miss us. She'll be lonely away from everyone."
"I've told him exactly that."
She stared at her dad, feeling a little uneasy about broaching the subject of secrets, but she felt compelled to say something. "Was there some tragedy in the past that I don't know about?" she asked.
He raised an eyebrow at her question. "What do you mean?"
"Grandma mentioned a bad, bad day. And then Grandpa quickly cut her off. It's not the first time she's alluded to some family secret. Do you know what she's talking about?"
"No idea. She could be remembering anything or nothing. Don't worry about it, Emma."
With everyone on the same page but her, she was beginning to think she was putting too much importance on her grandmother's words, but she'd always relied on her instincts, and her gut told her there was something to her grandmother's story. "Well, I hope you can convince Grandpa not to make any big moves yet."
"He's a stubborn man."
"Like all the Callaways."
"You got that right. Take care, Emma. I know you're not a teenager any more, but you can still call me any time, day or night, and I will come and get you."
"Thank you," she said.
"Call your mother later and check in with her. She's worrying," Jack added, as he headed out the door.
"I will." After her dad left, she returned to her office. She looked through her emails and tapped her fingers on the desk in restlessness and frustration. She felt like she was on the verge of discovery, but she couldn't quite get all the way there. She'd already spoken to Jarod and to Christian. Maybe it was time to speak to Tony on a more serious note.
She picked up her phone. Tony answered a moment later.
"It's Emma," she said. "Are you busy?"
"I'm working right now, but I'll be done around four o'clock. What's up?"
"I just need to talk to you for a few minutes."
"Is this about the fire at St. Andrew's?"
"Yes. Where can I meet you?"
"Why don't you come to my house at four-thirty? I'm going out to dinner later, but I can give you a half hour."
"Great. See you at four-thirty."
As she ended the call, an odd feeling of fear ran through her. She should have told Tony she'd meet him at a restaurant or some other neutral location, any place besides his house. But that was silly, she told herself. She'd known Tony since she was five years old. He wasn't going to hurt her. They were friends. And she didn't honestly believe he was the arsonist. Although, he was a painter, and that spray-painted message could have been another clue. Tony could have been trying to tell her he was right in front of her; she just didn't see him.
Her brows knit together as she frowned. It was both a good and a bad thing to have a big imagination. It opened her mind to the possibilities but sometimes her imagination blurred reality. Tony had no motive to set fires or try to take her down. Although, he had been asking to take her to dinner, and she had been putting him off.
Shaking her head, she got up from her desk and walked down to the lab to speak to the forensic specialists. Maybe if she looked at the science again, she could get back to the facts.
* * *
Max stopped by St. Andrew's school after lunch. He showed the rosary to Ruth Harbough, who confirmed that the rosary did not belong to Margaret.
"I don't understand why she would have had this in her pocket," Ruth said. "And where is her rosary, the one she always carried?"
"Probably with the rest of her missing items," he said. "Can you give me a list of students from the graduation class that would have received this rosary?"
"Yes, it will take me a few minutes."
"I'll wait." While she got on the computer, he said, "Did Sister Margaret ever work with any students outside of school hours?"
"She tutored many children," Ruth answered. Looking up, she added, "Do you think a former student kidnapped her?"
"I'm just wondering why she'd have a rosary from that particular year."
"I don't know."
The printer began to hum, and a moment later, Ruth handed him the class list. He ran down the names. Besides Aiden, Jarod and Tony Moretti and Christian Brady, none of the other names meant anything to him. Aiden wasn't a suspect. And he'd already eliminated Jarod in his mind, so that left two. Or there could be someone on this list that Emma would recognize as a suspect. She was the expert on former students.
He looked at Ruth Harbough. "You know every kid in this school, don't you?"
"Yes," she said without hesitation.
"What can you tell me about Christian Brady?"
"He wasn't a good student; he struggled with academics. As for behavioral issues, Christian didn't have many. He was a good kid. He looked out for others, not just his younger brother, Robert, but also the kids in the class who tended to get picked on. Christian was well liked and respected for standing up to the bullies. Sometimes those moments landed him in a fight, which is when he ended up in detention. But I remember Margaret telling me that she always had a soft spot for Christian, because she never thought he threw the first punch."
Max filed that away in his brain. "What about Tony Moretti?"
"Tony was a mischievous troublemaker. He didn't like rules, and he was caught in lies many times. That boy spent more time in detention and confession than anyone. But it seems like he has turned his life around. I spoke to him the other day, and he has a job, and appears to have more goals than he used to have. He seemed quite excited about the future."
Max wondered if that excitement had come from the adrenaline rush of starting fires all over town.
"What about Jarod?"
"Aside from that one incident with the fire in the dumpster, I don't recall Jarod being in trouble. He was much quieter than Tony and a better student. I always felt a little sad for them. Their mother died when they were in the sixth grade, and their last two years here were rough. Their stepfather tried to be involved, but he was a busy man, and he never seemed to show up for their events."
"Stepfather?" he queried, the word sticking in his head. "I didn't realize they had a stepfather. Where was their real father?"
"He died when they were babies. It was so tragic that they lost both of their parents."
His gut tightened. "Was the stepfather's name Moretti?"
"No. His name was Palermo—Kent Palermo."
"Can you tell me anything about him?"
"No, I'm sorry. I haven't seen him in years." She paused. "Shall I assume from all these questions that you're no closer to finding Margaret's kidnapper?"
Her question had a bit of an edge to it. "We're doing everything we can. I'm not going to stop until we bring her kidnapper to justice."
"Thank you," she said, her eyes blurring with tears. "Margaret was a dear friend. And I have trouble sleeping thinking about her last days and how scared she must have been. Although, knowing Margaret, I bet she gave her kidnapper a hard time. She was not a woman to sit back and say nothing or do nothing. Unfortunately, sometimes her honesty got her into trouble."
"Thanks for your time."
When Max got back to the office, he ran the name Kent Palermo through the computer. He didn't know why he couldn't get past the Morettis, but he wasn't going to question his gut. At the moment, instinct was all he had.
A few minutes later, his instinct was rewarded. Kent Palermo owned two houses, one in San Francisco and another in Lake Tahoe. His heart began to pound. He needed to get in touch with Palermo and find out if he'd been in Lake Tahoe over the last two weeks or if he'd lent his cabin out to anyone—maybe one of his sons, or one of their friends.