Count to Ten (17 page)
“And he wouldn’t have.”
She shook her head. “Secrest found matches in his room.”
Julian narrowed his eyes. “Not possible.”
“Talk to Secrest. He’ll tell you. Manny could have started a fire that put every teacher and student in danger. I did the right thing, even if you don’t agree.”
Shaking from head to toe but proud she hadn’t caved and apologized, she made it to her car and drew a deep breath as she buckled herself in. Hands trembling, she pulled the two articles she’d copied in the last two days. One from -Monday’s
Trib,
the other from today’s
Bulletin.
Two fires, local. Two fatalities. Manny had been withdrawn that morning in class. Preoccupied. Disturbed. And they’d found matches in his room.
That Manny could have been involved in these fires was impossible. He couldn’t leave the property. But someone had managed to smuggle matches in. These two fires were the only local articles he’d clipped. What made these fires so special? Or had she reignited Manny’s compulsion and any articles on fire would have sufficed?
She winced.
Ignited.
Poor choice of words. Two people were dead because of these fires. She wouldn’t be able to sleep as long as she worried she herself was somehow...
To blame
was also a poor choice of words.
Connected
was better. She needed to find out if Manny was somehow connected, and through him...
me.
She could call the police. That would be the sensible thing to do. But it was more than likely she was being compulsively ridiculous and there was no connection at all. It would be a wild-goose chase for the police and that wouldn’t be good.
But if there was a connection, the police should be told. There was one way to find out. The second fire was in a neighborhood close to the school. She’d see for herself.
Tuesday, November 28, 4:15 P.M.
“Mia.
Mia.
”
She looked up from Burnette’s files with a jolt, blinking furiously to bring Solliday into focus.
Shit.
She’d dropped off, right here at her desk. “You ready to trade names?”
He shook his head. “We have company,” he said quietly. A woman was crossing the bullpen, her eyes red and swollen. “She matches the description of Hill’s daughter.”
Mia came to her feet, alert now. In the woman’s hand was a copy of the
Bulletin.
“I’m Margaret Hill. I’m looking for Detective Mitchell. She left me a message.”
“That’s me. You’re here about your mother.”
“Is it true?” she whispered, holding the paper. “What this says about my mother?”
“I’m sorry, Miss Hill. Let’s go somewhere we can talk more privately.” She led her into a small room next to -Spinnelli’s office. Still clutching the newspaper, Margaret Hill sank into the chair and closed her eyes. Sollliday closed the door behind them.
“Miss Hill, I’m so sorry for your loss. This is Lieutenant Solliday with the fire marshal’s office. We’re investigating your mother’s death together.”
Margaret nodded and swiped her cheeks with her fingertips. Solliday put a box of tissues in her lap and leaned against the edge of the table so that Margaret was between them. “Miss Hill.” His voice was so very gentle it made Mia’s throat thicken. “You know from the newspaper that your mother’s house burned down last night.”
Margaret looked up, her cheeks streaked. Her gaze locked onto Solliday’s face. “It says... It says the police think she was murdered.”
“She was, ma’am,” Solliday said and Margaret began to cry again.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just can’t... My God. Oh, Mom.”
Mia touched her hand. “Did she mention anyone or anything that worried her?”
Margaret visibly controlled herself. “Mom was a social worker. She took children from crackhead mothers and abusive fathers every week for twenty-five years.”
“Did she worry about all those mothers and fathers?” -Solliday asked.
“Not really. She worried sometimes about going into their houses. Once she was shot and she almost died. I was so happy she was retiring. I thought for once she could finally sleep at night.”
“She wasn’t sleeping? You said she didn’t worry about the parents,” Mia said.
“She didn’t.” Margaret’s smile was hard and bitter. “She was so terrified she’d miss something. Miss a detail, and a child would get hurt. She used to wake up screaming. It got worse after she got shot. We thought we’d lost her then. I was only fifteen.”
“What happened to the shooter?”
“He got jail time. He only shot Mom. He killed his wife.”
“Is he still in jail?”
“I think so. They were supposed to tell us if he got out.”
Mia noted it. “Miss Hill, did anyone else have a personal issue with your mother?”
Margaret nodded. Slowly. “My ex-husband wanted to kill her.”
Solliday’s brows lifted. “Why?”
“Because my mother finally convinced me to leave him. Two months ago I filed for divorce. Mom should have said ‘I told you so.’ But she never did.”
“Why did you leave him?” Mia asked and Margaret rolled up her sleeves. Solliday didn’t quite manage to control his flinch. Small round scars were scattered up and down her arms. Cigarette burns. Mia pursed her lips briefly. “Okay. That answers that.”
“Where is your ex-husband now, Miss Hill?” Solliday asked tightly. He was very angry, Mia could tell. But still in control. That was good.
“In Milwaukee.”
Mia pulled Margaret’s sleeves back down. “Your mother knew about the abuse?”
“I managed to hide it from her for a while. But she found out.”
“So what did your ex-husband do when he found out you were gone?”
“Doug tried to push his way into Mom’s house, but she threatened to call the cops and he left, cursing her. I was hiding in the back room the whole time. Looks like I ended up running from Doug just like I ran from Mom.”
Solliday’s brows crunched. “How do you mean?”
“Mom and I had a hard relationship. I think I married Doug just to punish her. High-and-mighty social worker, can’t control her own kid. You can’t possibly understand.”
Mia thought about her own sister.
I need to tell Kelsey what happened at Bobby’s grave.
“Yes, I can. We’ll need your husband’s full name and address.”
Her jaw tight, Margaret wrote. “His last name is Davis. I hate that SOB.”
“I can understand that, too,” Mia said. She could feel -Solliday’s eyes watching her, looking deeper than she wanted him to see. It sent a prickling shiver down her spine. Steadfastly she focused on Margaret. “Miss Hill, does your ex-husband like animals?”
“No. He hates dogs. When I left, I took Milo to Mom’s and... Oh, no. Is Milo alive?”
“He didn’t appear to be in the house at the time of the fire,” Solliday said.
Relief and confusion battled in her eyes. “Mom never let him out without his leash.”
“We’ll call you if we find him,” she said. “Your brother is coming up tomorrow.”
Margaret closed her eyes. “Oh, wonderful.”
“You don’t get along with your brother?” Solliday asked.
“My brother is a good man, but no, we don’t get along. He warned me that one day I’d cause more trouble for Mom than she’d be able to clean up. I guess he was right. He usually is.” She stood up unsteadily. “When can I see my mother?”
“You can’t,” Mia said gently. “I’m sorry.”
Tortured emotion twisted the woman’s face before she nodded and walked away.
“Well,” Mia said. “Doug may be a spouse-abusing prick, but I don’t think he did this.”
“Me, either. But the sooner we rule him out, the sooner Margaret Hill can let go of some of her guilt.” He checked his watch. “You can call Milwaukee PD while I drive.”
Mia frowned. “Where are we going?”
“Back to the university. We still have to talk to Caitlin’s friends. I called the housemother at the sorority house. She’s going to have all the girls there at five thirty.”
“When did you do that?”
“When you were asleep.” He waved her quiet when she opened her mouth. “Don’t say you’re sorry. You were up all night. You tackled that guy yesterday and you should still be on disability. I think even you need to sleep, Mia.”
There’d been a wry admiration under his criticism. “Thanks. I think.”
Tuesday, November 28, 4:30 P.M.
“Hello,” he drawled. “May I speak with Emily Richter, please?”
Her sigh was long-suffering. “This is she. With whom am I speaking?”
“My name is Tom Johnson. I’m calling from the Chicago
Bulletin.
”
“How do you reporters keep getting my phone number?” she demanded.
“You’re listed in the phone book, ma’am,” he said politely.
Damn idiot woman.
“Well.” She sniffed. “I talked to one of your reporters already. A woman. Her name was... Carmichael. You should talk to her if you want details about the fire.”
“Well, ma’am, I’m not covering the fire itself. I’m with a different department. I’d like to feature your neighbors in a small piece. Let the community know they have a need. Give folks a way to help out, this being the holiday season and all. My deadline’s in just a few hours. If you could help me out, I’d sure appreciate it.”
“Well, what do you want from me?” she snapped.
I’d love to shut you up, you old bag,
he thought, then injected a lazy smile into his voice. “I’ve been trying to reach the Doughertys, but nobody knows where they are. I’d like to talk to them, find out what they need the most, things like that.”
“They just got back this morning.” She sniffed. “From Florida. They were here, talking to the police. I went out after the police were gone, to offer my help, of course.”
Of course.
“Did they mention where they were staying by any chance?”
“I didn’t ask. But they had a parking permit from the -Beacon Inn.”
Thank God for gossiping old busybodies,
he thought with a grin. “Thank you, ma’am. Happy holidays.” He hung up, satisfied.
Mrs. Dougherty, you and I have a date. A hot one.
He chuckled. A hot date.
Sometimes I slay myself.
He dragged the mammoth phone book from below the phone and found the hotel’s number, dug in his pocket for more change and dialed.
A perky voice answered. “Beacon Inn, this is Tania. How can I help you?”
He deepened his voice. “Yes. I’d like the room number for Joe Dougherty, please.”
“I’m sorry, sir. We don’t give out the room numbers of guests. I can connect you.”
The back of his neck heated in anger. “Actually, I’m having flowers delivered to him and his wife. I just need the room number to tell the florist.”
“Just tell the florist our hotel name and location. We’ll deliver them for you.”
Her smug tone clawed at him.
We’ll deliver them for you.
She wasn’t going to tell him, the high-and-mighty bitch. He gritted his teeth against the impotent rage. “Thank you, Tania. You’ve been so helpful.” He hung up and narrowed his eyes at the phone.
Flowers it would have to be. And Tania would wish she really had been helpful.
Tuesday, November 28, 6:45 P.M.
R
eed yawned as he pulled into the parking space beside Mitchell’s little Alfa.
“Don’t do that,” she protested. “I still have tons of reading to do tonight.”
“You’re not going back to your desk. I know I need some sleep. So do you, Mia.”
“I won’t go back right away. I have something I need to do first. But I’ve got to get through some of those files. We’ve got nothing so far.”
“The info we got from the sorority was disappointing,” he agreed glumly.
“They can’t tell us what they didn’t see. If this guy stalked Caitlin, he was damn careful about it. At least we can rule out Doug Davis and Joel Rebinowitz.”
“Lucky for Doug he has a temper. Being held without bail for aggravated assault in a Milwaukee jail gives him a tight alibi. We can tell Margaret Hill he’s not to blame.”
“And luckily the arcade has a security camera.” It had clearly shown Joel playing pinball during the hours in question. She scrubbed her cheeks with her palms and shot him a weak smile. “Go home and see your daughter, Solliday. Fluffy is dead so he just isn’t the conversationalist he used to be. I won’t be missing anything at home.”
He didn’t smile back. Fatigued frustration flared and with it his temper. “No way. Tired people have accidents. People die. Go the hell home.”
She blinked at him, surprised. “I’m not that tired.”
“That’s what the guy said who ran a red light and broadsided my wife.” Immediately he wished the words back, but it was too late.
Her blue eyes flickered sympathy. “And she died?”
“Yes.” The one word vibrated with an anger that surprised him. But at the moment he wasn’t sure whom he was most angry with.
She sighed. “I’m so sorry.”
So was he. “It was a long time ago.” He gentled his voice. “Go home, Mia. Please.”
She nodded. “Okay. I will.”
That had been too easy. It didn’t take a detective to realize she wasn’t going home.
Something perverse nagged at him. She was going to get herself killed, and dammit, she was starting to grow on him. He now understood why Spinnelli spoke so highly of her. He also had to admit she’d piqued his own curiosity.
Reed waited until she’d driven away, and then followed. At the first traffic light she hadn’t detected his presence.
She really must be tired,
he thought. He pulled out his phone and said, “Home,” and waited for voice recognition to do its thing.
“Hey, Dad,” Beth said, startling him. Caller ID still caught him unaware sometimes.
“Hi, sweetie. How was school today?” The light changed and Mitchell continued onward, not trying to lose him. So far, so good.
“Okay. When are you coming home?”
“I’ll be a little while. Something’s come up on this case.”
“
What?
You promised you’d take me to Jenny Q’s tonight. Meet her mother. So I can go to her party this weekend, remember?”
The vehemence in her voice took him aback. “Well, I can go over there tomorrow.”
“I have to study with her
tonight.
”
It sounded as if every word was being spat from her mouth. “Beth, what’s wrong?”
“You’re not keeping your promise is what’s wrong. Oh!”
It sounded like she stifled a sob and alarmed, he sat up straighter. Hormones again. He could never keep track of which week to be careful. “Honey? This will be all right. I’ll ask Aunt Lauren to go meet her mother if it’s that important to you.”
“Okay.” She shuddered a breath. “Sorry, Dad.”
Reed blinked. “It’s okay, honey. I think. Put Aunt Lauren on the phone.”
“What was that about?” Lauren asked a minute later.
“She wants to go to a party at her friend’s house this -weekend and I was going to meet the girl’s mother tonight, but I’m working late.” It was a small lie. Little and white. Still he winced. But made no move to turn around. “Can you take her over there to study and give the mom the third degree?”
“Do I get to use the bright lights and rubber hoses?”
He chuckled. “Knock yourself out. I’m not sure when I’ll be home.”
“Reed, are you working that fire that killed the social worker?”
Reed grimaced. “How do you know about that?”
“It’s all over the news. My God. That poor woman.”
“Which news?”
“Local. It was one of their lead stories. You want me to tape it for you at ten?”
“That’d be great. Remember, Beth’s got to be home by nine.”
“I’ve been doing this a long time, Reed,” Lauren said patiently. “You shouldn’t worry about my taking care of Beth. You should be more worried I’ll get married.”
“Are you planning a big wedding any time soon?” he teased.
“I’m serious. One of these days I’ll leave. You need to consider my replacement.”
“Oh. This is about me dating.” Lauren was good at back-alley arguing.
“Finding a good wife is a lot easier than hiring a good nanny. And my biological clock is ticking. I’ve got to find a husband before they’re all taken. Talk to you later.”
Reed hung up, a scowl furrowing his forehead. What
would
he do with Beth when Lauren flew the nest? He did know he wasn’t going to get married just to get a live-in nanny-slash-maid. He’d had a good marriage once. There was no way in hell he’d make do with anything less. He let his mind drift as he tailed Mia Mitchell’s car, remembering Christine. She’d been the perfect wife. Beautiful, smart, sexy. He sighed. Yes, sexy. He had to stop letting his mind drift, because it kept drifting to sex.
But it was hard to control his mind when he was this tired, much less his body. He could remember everything so vividly. Just how she’d looked, how it had felt to make love to her in the quiet of the night. Touching her skin, her hair. The way she whispered his name when she was so close, begging him to take her to the sun. And how it had felt when she came, taking him with her. But most of all, he remembered the amazing peace he’d felt afterward, holding her spooned against him.
Stop.
Something was wrong with that fantasy. Different. Reed blinked hard, bringing all the taillights in his path back into focus.
Whoa.
Troubled, he blinked again, but the picture in his mind was unchanged. The woman in his mental wanderings wasn’t tall and dark with the lithe body of a dancer. The woman in his mind was blond. Her body strong and compact. Her breasts... her legs... different. Her eyes weren’t dark and mysterious. They were wide and blue like the summer sky.
Hell.
The woman he’d been making love to in his mind hadn’t been Christine. It had been Mia Mitchell. Restlessly he shifted, the picture of Mitchell still stubbornly filling his mind. Naked and waiting for him. And now that he’d seen her like that, even if it was only in his mind, it was going to be damn difficult to see her any other way.
“Well, that’s just perfect,” he muttered. Making love to a memory was safe. Dreaming about a real live woman was way too dangerous. So he’d push the very thought from his mind. This he could do. This he’d done before. This was discipline.
Four cars ahead, Mia was signaling her merge onto the interstate, going south. If he had a brain in his head he’d drive right on past the merge ramp, turn around at the next intersection and go home. But he didn’t. For some reason he didn’t try to fathom, he followed, wondering where she would take them.
Tuesday, November 28, 7:00 P.M.
He slid the vase full of flowers onto the hotel’s counter. -“Delivery, ma’am.”
A small woman stood behind the counter, typing. Her name tag said
TANIA
and below it in smaller letters, -
ASSISTANT MANAGER
. Around her neck she wore a photo ID and clipped behind it, a key card. He’d bet it was a master key. And he needed one of those.
She looked up with a tired smile. “I’ll be with you in just a minute.”
He yawned, then pushed the dark-rimmed glasses up on his nose. They were just ten-dollar reading glasses, but they altered his looks. Combined with the long wig he’d picked up cheap, the difference would be enough to fool the security camera. “Take your time.”
“You’re working late,” she said sympathetically.
His yawn had been no fake. He’d had a couple of very late nights recently. “Got a few last-minute orders. But this is my last delivery tonight. I get to go home.”
Her smile was rueful. “Lucky you.”
He let her type another thirty seconds. “The roads are really slick, so be careful when you drive home. They’re call-ing for more snow tonight.”
“Thanks, but I’m not going home any time soon. I’m here all night.”
He grimaced. “All night? Jeez.”
All night? Damn.
He wanted her key.
She shrugged as she typed efficiently. “I have two people out with the flu, so I’m pulling a double. Don’t get off till seven tomorrow morning.” She finished typing and turned, giving him her full attention. “Oh, what pretty flowers.”
They should be. They cost him fifty bucks. “They go to...” He pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket. -“Dougherty. Can you confirm I’ve got the right place?”
“You do,” she said. “The Doughertys are guests.”
“They’ll get delivered tonight?”
“I’ll deliver them myself as soon as I can step away.”
Tuesday, November 28, 8:15 P.M.
After twelve years Mia should have been used to watching her little sister walk across the visitation area in a prison uniform. Kelsey dropped into the chair, waiting.
Mia picked up the phone on her side of the Plexiglas and after a moment’s hesitation, Kelsey did the same. “He’s buried,” Mia said and Kelsey’s lips quirked up.
“I should hope so. He’d be pretty ripe by now.”
Mia’s own mouth curved sadly. “I wish you’d been there.”
“Dana was there for you.”
“Yeah. She was and I’m grateful for it. But I needed you.”
Kelsey’s eyes flickered. “I would have been there for you. Not for him.”
It was understandable. “I know.”
“Why are you here, M?” It was always “M.” Never “Mia.” Kelsey took pains to keep herself removed in case somebody inside recognized Mia for the cop she was. Fortunately there was no family resemblance to link them. Kelsey looked like their mother, while Mia was the image of Bobby Mitchell. He’d been a blond charmer in his younger days, blinking those blue eyes to look sincere when the occasion called for it. Mia had always suspected he’d been a ladies’ man. Now she knew for sure.
“Something happened you need to know about. When I got to the cemetery the day of Bobby’s funeral...” She could see the small headstone in her mind. It had been a cold shock. One more betrayal to add to all those that had come before. “The plot next to him had already been taken.”
Kelsey tilted her head back, her eyes narrowing. “By good old Liam.”
Mia’s mouth dropped open. Finally she found her voice. “You
knew
?”
Kelsey’s brows lifted, her eyes cool. “You didn’t? Interesting.”
“
How
did you know?”
“Found a picture in a box in his closet when I was looking for money once. Cute kid, sitting in our chair. The ‘true heir’ to the kingdom.”
Mia was floored. “I found the box when I was going through his suits for the funeral home. I didn’t open it until I got home from the cemetery. I saw Liam’s name on the gravestone on the plot next to Bobby’s when I got to the cemetery for the burial. Until that moment, I had no idea Liam even existed.”
Liam Charles Mitchell, Beloved Son.
A shadow passed over Kelsey’s face. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have wanted you to find out that way. I really thought you knew. So what did
she
do?”
“She”
was their mother. “At the cemetery? She zoned out.” Later, she’d talked. Mia hadn’t been patient with her mother. It would be a long time before the two of them spoke cordially again.
That should bother me more than it does.
“He was born when I was ten months old. He died a year later. I checked Liam’s birth certificate. It said his mother was a Bridget Condon.”
“I know.”
Mia blinked. “Bobby told you?”
Kelsey lifted a shoulder. “I waited till he was drunk one day and asked him.”
Mia closed her eyes. “Which time was that?”
“Just before Christmas when I was thirteen.”
Mia remembered. “You had to get six stitches in your lip.”
“And
she
told the hospital I’d fallen off my skateboard.”
It was their mother’s way. Juggle emergency rooms, juggle the lies. Anything to keep the secret. “Hell, Kelsey.”
“It’s done, M. He’s in his own private hell now.”
“He gave the baby his name.” It had been bothering Mia for three weeks.
“He’d moved in with Bridget. He was going to marry the mother of his son.”
“He was going to leave us because Bridget had a son. And Annabelle didn’t.”
“And he came back after the baby died.”