“Hello?” said a voice in her ear.
“Gwen, it’s Maggie. I’m glad I caught you.”
“Where in the world are you? It sounds like you’re calling from the bottom of the Potomac River.”
“No, no. Not the bottom of the Potomac. Worse. Airport security at National.” She smiled when she saw one of the security officers scowl at her words. The woman wasn’t amused. She waved Maggie to the side with her wand. “Oh, shoot, hold on a minute, Gwen.”
“Arms at your sides and out,” the woman barked at Maggie. She set her laptop case on a nearby chair, the cell phone on top, and followed the instructions she knew by heart. It never failed. She was always getting pulled aside. And as usual she immediately set the security wand chirping. She dug her keys and badge out of her pocket and tossed those on the case, too.
“Sit down and remove your shoes, please.”
Maggie slipped off the leather flats and held up the soles of her feet for the wand. The entire time she still smiled at the woman, who refused to return the gesture. With only a nod of release, she left Maggie and went back to the trenches to capture the next potential terrorist or the next wiseass.
Maggie picked up the cell phone. “Gwen, are you still there?”
“You’ll never learn, will you?” her friend started the lecture. “You’re an FBI agent. You of all people know how important airport security is, and yet you insist on egging them on.”
“I don’t egg them on. I just don’t understand why I have to check my sense of humor with my luggage at the ticket counter.”
“I thought you were taking some time off. Where’s Cunningham sending you this time?”
“I’m going to Connecticut.”
Silence. Such a long silence that Maggie thought she may have lost the connection.
“Gwen?”
“You found something out about Joan?”
“No, not yet.” Maggie searched for Gate 11. Of course, it was the one with the line already boarding. “I thought I’d go check on her myself. Who knows, maybe I’ll find her at the Ramada Plaza Hotel’s pool, drinking pina coladas.”
“Maggie, I didn’t expect you to do that. I just thought you might be able to make a few phone calls. I didn’t mean for you to go to Connecticut, especially on your vacation.”
“Why not? You’re always telling me I need to get away.” Where had she put her boarding pass? Usually she slid it into her jacket pocket.
“Yes, get away and go on a real vacation. When was the last time you took a real vacation, Maggie?”
“I don’t know. I was in Kansas City last year.” She started to search her computer case’s many pockets. Somewhere she knew she had a boarding pass. Maybe Tully’s disorganization was rubbing off on her.
“Kansas City? That was two years ago and it was for a law enforcement conference. That’s not a vacation. Do you even know what a vacation is?”
“Of course, I know what it is. It’s that thing where you sit around on a beach somewhere, getting drunk on pina coladas with those little pink umbrellas and ending up with a miserable sunburn and sand in places where I really don’t like to have sand. That’s just not something that interests me.”
“And looking for a missing person on your vacation does interest you? You know, if you’re going to Connecticut, maybe you could finally look up a certain man in the vicinity?”
“Here it is,” Maggie said, relieved to find that the boarding ticket must have slipped behind her laptop when she was mastering the Velcro straps. She ignored Gwen’s comment about “a certain man,” knowing full well she meant a certain assistant D.A. in Boston. “Gwen, if there’s anything you haven’t told me about Joan Begley, now would be a good time.”
Her friend was silent again.
“Gwen?”
“I’ve faxed you everything I could.”
She noticed Gwen’s careful choice of words.
“Look, Gwen, before you hear about it on the news, there’s something you should know. Yesterday morning a woman’s body was found outside of Wallingford in a rock quarry.”
“Oh, my God! It’s Joan, isn’t it?”
She hated hearing the panic in her friend’s voice. This was a woman Maggie always looked to for strength.
“No, I don’t know that. I wouldn’t have even told you, but it’s made the national news already. They haven’t identified her yet. I’m trying to get in touch with the sheriff who’s heading the investigation. He’s supposed to be calling me back, but I’m sure I’m on the bottom of a very long list.” Maggie tucked the phone into her neck again as she prepared her ID and ticket for the attendant. “Look, my flight’s boarding, Gwen. I’ll give you a call as soon as I know something, okay?”
“Maggie, thanks for doing this. I hope it’s not Joan, but I have to tell you, I just don’t have a good feeling about this.”
“Try not to worry until it’s time to worry. I’ll talk to you later.”
She shoved the phone into her pocket just as the attendant reached for her ticket.
On board, Maggie unzipped pockets, searching—why was she suddenly so disorganized?—for the paperback she had bought in the airport bookstore: Lisa Scottoline’s latest legal thriller. Past titles had succeeded in keeping her mind off being 38,000 feet above control. With the paperback came the envelope she had shoved into the side pocket at the last minute while deciding to leave the file folders behind.
She slid her case into the overhead compartment and squeezed into the window seat. A small gray-haired woman fussed and fidgeted into the seat next to her, and Maggie opened the paperback to read but, instead, stared at the envelope.
Maggie knew Gwen had meant Nick Morrelli when she asked if she would attempt to see “a certain man in the vicinity.” And why wouldn’t she? Nick was in Boston, probably only an hour’s drive from the middle of Connecticut. Whatever had started between Nick and Maggie several years ago while they worked on a case together in Nebraska had fizzled out during Maggie’s prolonged divorce. She had refused to start a relationship before her divorce was finalized, not so much out of legalities or principles, but perhaps because she couldn’t risk the emotional drain. Quite honestly she had never trusted her feelings for Nick—too much heat and intensity. What they lacked in common interests, they made up for in chemistry. It was the exact opposite of her relationship with Greg. Maybe that’s what had attracted her to Nick in the first place.
Then last year, sometime before Thanksgiving, she had called Nick’s apartment, except a woman answered, telling Maggie Nick couldn’t come to the phone because he was in the shower. Since then, Maggie had kept the distance between them, increasing it by increments with shorter phone conversations replaced by missed phone calls and then never-returned voice messages. She hadn’t expected Nick to wait for her to be free. And, though she had been surprised—and yes, a bit hurt—to discover that he had moved on, in the days that followed, she felt an unexpected sense of relief that only galvanized her decision. It was better to be alone, she had decided. At least for a while.
The flight attendant interrupted her thoughts with preflight instructions, something Maggie politely ignored. The woman beside her seemed frantic to find the laminated guide in the seat pocket in front of her. Maggie took out her own and handed it to the woman, who thanked her quickly as she searched with an index finger to catch up.
Maggie opened her paperback again and began to read, using the envelope as a bookmark.
CHAPTER 16
Lillian Hobbs carried an armful of paperbacks and gently placed them on the front table where Rosie had started setting up the new display. Rosie had another excellent idea, only Lillian’s mind was off somewhere. How could she concentrate with a different media van driving by almost every half hour? It was much more exciting than her regular view of the gray, bleak headstones peeking up over the brick fence from the Center Street
