“Shouldn’t we leave the questions to the police?”
She continued down the walk and let herself out through the front gate. Davee closed the door and turned. Sarah Birch had come up behind her.
“What is it, baby?” She reached out and smoothed away the worry lines creasing Davee’s forehead.
“Nothing, Sarah,” she murmured absently. “Nothing.”
Chapter 36
Very early that morning, before leaving for the office and his conversation with Steffi, Hammond had checked his voice mail. He returned only one message.
“Loretta, this is Hammond. I didn’t get your messages until this morning. Sorry I put you in a huff last night. I mistook your pages for a wrong number. Uh, listen, I appreciate what you did. But the fact is, I don’t want you to bring in this guy you talked to at the fair. Not now anyway. I have my reasons, believe me, and I’ll explain everything later. For now, keep him on ice. If it turns out I need him, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, just… I guess you can… what I’m saying is, you’re free to take on other work. If I need you further, I’ll be in touch. Thanks again. You’re the best. Goodbye. Oh, I’ll send you a check to cover yesterday and last night. You went above and beyond. ’Bye.”
Bev Boothe listened to the message twice, then stared at the telephone, her fingers tapping lightly on the number pad as she reflected on what to do with the message—save or delete?
What she would like to tell Mr. Cross to do with his message was anatomically impossible.
She was tired and cranky. Overnight someone had dented her car while it was parked in the hospital personnel parking lot. A dull lower backache took hold every morning following her twelve-hour shift.
Mostly, she was worried about her mother, whose bedroom was empty and undisturbed. Where had she been all night, and where was she now? Bev remembered that when she left for the hospital last evening, Loretta had seemed preoccupied and depressed.
This message indicated that she was out doing the county solicitor’s dirty work for him, at least for a portion of the night. The bastard didn’t sound very appreciative of her mother’s efforts.
Spitefully, Bev depressed the numeral three to delete the message.
Five minutes later, as she was stepping from the shower, she heard her mother call into her room. “Bev, just wanted to let you know that I’m home.”
Bev grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself. She tracked wet footprints down the hallway into her mother’s bedroom. Loretta was sitting on the side of her bed, easing off a pair of sandals that had cut vivid red stripes into her swollen feet.
“Mom, I was worried,” Bev exclaimed, trying not to sound surprised and relieved that her mother was sober, although she looked haggard and unkempt. “Where’ve you been?”
“It’s a long story that can wait until we’ve both put in a few hours of rack time. I’m exhausted. Did you check the voice mail when you came in? Were there any messages?”
Bev hesitated only a heartbeat. “No, Mom. None.”
“I can’t believe it,” Loretta muttered as she peeled off her dress. “I busted my ass, and Hammond pulls a disappearing act.”
Having stripped to her underwear, she pulled back the covers and lay down. She was almost asleep by the time her head hit the pillow.
Bev returned to her own room, slipped on a nightgown, set her alarm, readjusted the thermostat to a cooler temperature, and got into bed.
Loretta had come home sober this time. But what about the next? She was trying so hard to keep her tenuous hold on sobriety. She needed constant reinforcement and encouragement. She needed to feel useful and productive.
Bev’s last thought before drifting off to sleep was that if Mr. Hammond Cross was going to relieve her mother of the job she desperately needed for her present and future well-being, then he could damn well relieve her of it in person and not via the lousy voice mail.
* * *
“What’s that?”
Rory Smilow glanced up from the manila envelope that Steffi had just plunked down on top of a littered desk. As soon as Hammond left her office, she wasted no time driving to police headquarters. She found the detective in the large, open Criminal Investigation office.
She felt no compunction about informing Smilow of this latest development. Loyalty to her former lover never entered her mind. Nor did she let her pledge of confidentiality deter her. From here on, she was playing for keeps.
“It’s a lab report.” She retrieved the envelope, holding it flat against her chest as though cherishing it. “Can we talk in your office?”
Smilow came to his feet and nodded her in that direction. As they weaved their way through the maze of desks, Detective Mike Collins greeted Steffi in a singsong voice. “Good morning, Miss Mundell.”
“Up yours, Collins.”