her head throbbed. She couldn’t remember when she had last eaten. It had probably been on the flight last night.
She considered changing and going for a run. It was getting dark but that had never stopped her before. No, what did stop her was knowing Stucky could be watching. Had he returned from Kansas City? Was he out there somewhere hiding, waiting, watching? She paced from window to window, examining the street and then the woods behind her house, squinting to study the twilight shadows dancing behind the trees. She searched for anything out of the ordinary, anything that moved, but in the light breeze every rustle of a bush, every sway of a branch made her uneasy. She could already feel her muscles tightening, her nerves unraveling.
Earlier she had noticed a construction worker at the end of her street inspecting sewage grates and setting up pylons. His coveralls had been too clean, his shoes too polished. Maggie knew immediately that he had to be one of Cunningham’s surveillance crew. How the hell did Cunningham expect to catch Stucky with such amateurish strategies? If Maggie had been able to see through the impostor, certainly Stucky, a professional chameleon, would find it laughable. Stucky took on identities and roles with such ease that surely he would spot someone doing the same thing, only doing it poorly.
She hated feeling like a caged animal in her own home. To make matters worse, the house was deathly quiet. Other than the clicking of her heels on the polished wood floor, Maggie heard nothing. No lawn mowers, no car engines, no children playing. But wasn’t the peace and quiet, a piece of seclusion, exactly what she longed for when she bought this house? Hadn’t that been her intention? What was that old saying—be careful what you wish for?
She unearthed her CD player, an inexpensive oversize boom box. She dug through the overflowing box of CDs. Some were in sealed wrappers, gifts from friends she hadn’t taken time to open, let alone enjoy. Finally she decided on an early Jim Brickman, hoping the piano solos would soothe her agitated insides. The music barely began when Maggie noticed Susan Lyndell making her way up the circular drive. It looked as though there would be no stress relief.
She opened the door before Susan made it up the steps to the portico. Her eyes darted everywhere but at Susan, checking, double-checking.
“How was your trip?” Susan asked as though they were old friends.
“It was fine.” Maggie grabbed the woman’s elbow gently and quickly urged her into the foyer.
Susan stared at her, surprised. On her first visit Maggie had barely let the woman through the door, and now she was pulling her in.
“I got back late last night,” Maggie continued, closing the door. All she could think about was Stucky watching. Stucky choosing his next victim.
“I tried to call but you’re not listed yet.”
“No, I’m not,” she said with finality in case Susan expected she might tell her. “Did you speak with Detective Manx?”
“Actually, that’s what I wanted to tell you. I think I was mistaken about what we discussed the other day.”
“Why do think you were mistaken?” Maggie waited while her neighbor glanced around at her stacked cartons, taking in Maggie’s living room and probably wondering how Maggie could ever afford such a house.
“I spoke with Sid,” Susan told her, finally looking at Maggie, though she still seemed distracted by Maggie’s things, or rather her lack of things.
“Mr. Endicott? What exactly did you speak to him about?”
“Sid’s a good man. I hate to see him going through this all alone. I felt he had a right to know. Well, you know…about Rachel and that man.”
“The telephone repairman?”
“Yes.” Now Susan wouldn’t meet Maggie’s eyes, but it had nothing to do with the surroundings.
“What did you tell him?”
“Just that quite possibly she may have left with him.”
“I see.” She wondered why Susan Lyndell could so easily betray her friend. And why was it suddenly so easy to believe Rachel had left with some stranger who, only days ago, Susan thought might hurt her friend? “And what did Mr. Endicott say?”
“Oh, maybe you haven’t heard. Rachel’s car was not in the garage. The police initially saw Sid’s Mercedes and didn’t realize that Rachel’s was gone. See, she usually drives Sid to the airport when he goes out of town so he won’t need to leave the car in airport parking. Sid’s always worried about his car. Anyway, I think Rachel must have taken off with this guy. She was certainly infatuated by him.”
“What about the dog?”
“The dog?”
“We found her dog stabbed…injured under the bed.”
Susan shrugged. “I have no idea about that,” she said as if she couldn’t be expected to figure out everything.
Maggie’s cellular phone started ringing from inside her jacket pocket. She hesitated. Susan waved a birdlike hand at her to go ahead and get it as she backed away. “I won’t keep you. Just wanted to fill you in.” Before Maggie could protest, her neighbor was out the door and walking down the driveway in what Maggie thought looked almost like a skip. She definitely didn’t seem like the same nervous, anxious woman she had met a few days ago.
Maggie quickly closed the door and took time to activate the alarm system while the phone continued to ring. Finished, she twisted the contraption out of her pocket.
“Maggie O’Dell.”
“Jesus, finally. You need a better cell phone, Maggie. I think your battery must be low again.”
Immediately, Maggie felt the tension return to her neck and shoulders. Greg’s greetings always sounded like scoldings.
“My phone’s been off. I’ve been out of town. You got my message.” She went directly to the point, not wanting to encourage his attempt to chastise her for being unreachable.
“You should have some sort of messaging service,” he persisted. “Your mother called me a couple of days ago. She didn’t even know you moved. For Christ’s sake, Maggie, you could at least call your mother and give her your new number.”
“I did call her. Is she okay?”
“She sounded great. Said she was in Las Vegas.”
“Las Vegas?” Her mother never left Richmond. And what a choice. Yes, LasVegas was the perfect place for a suicidal alcoholic.
“She said she was with a Reverend Everett. You need to keep better tabs on her, Maggie. She is your mother.”
Maggie leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. Greg had never understood the dynamics between Maggie and her mother. How could he? He came from a family that looked as if it had been special-ordered from a 1950s family catalog.
“Greg, did I leave a carton at the condo?”
“No, there’s nothing here. You do realize that none of this would have happened if you had used United?”
Maggie ignored his I-told-you-so. “Are you sure? Look, I don’t care if you’ve opened it or if you’ve gone through it.”
“Listen to you. You don’t trust or believe anybody anymore. Can’t you see what this goddamn job is doing to you?”
She rubbed her neck and squeezed at the knot. Why did he have to make this so difficult?
“Did you check in the basement?” she asked, knowing there was no way it had ended up there, but giving him one last chance for a way out if he had, indeed, opened the box.
“No, there’s nothing. What was in it? One of your precious guns? Are you not able to sleep at night without all three or four or however many of those things you have?”
“I have two, Greg. It’s not unusual for an agent to have a backup.”
“Right. Well, that’s one too many for me.”
“Would you just call me if the carton shows up?”
