would linger too long, she could feel his grip tighten against her. She could feel the heat then, the rush, the tingle.
“So whose phone is it?” she asked.
“A man named David Pierce.”
“And who is he?”
“I’m not sure. He’s a labor attorney in Jersey City. I don’t see any connection to our work here. He seems to be a citizen. Married, two kids.”
“A woman called Harry Sutton’s cell phone,” Barbie said.
Ken nodded. “There are four T-Mobile cell phone lines under this account. I assume one for him, one for his wife, one for each of his two children. The number we traced was not the main number-the one usually used by the billing name.”
“How old is the daughter?”
“Fifteen. Her name is Kaylie.”
“The woman I spoke with was, well, a woman.”
“It has to be the wife then. Her name is Megan.”
“How does she fit in?”
Ken shrugged. “I don’t know yet. I just plugged in their address in Kasselton into MapQuest. The drive shouldn’t take us more than two hours.” He turned toward her, and she could see the glint in his eye. “We could go up there right now and get the answers. The kids might not even be in bed yet.”
Barbie bit her fingernail. “A suburban mother with two children?”
Ken said nothing.
“We normally hurt those who deserve it,” she went on. “It is why we work in this particular world.”
Ken rubbed his chin, considered her point. “If this Megan Pierce is involved with Harry Sutton, then she is far from an innocent.”
“Are you sure about that?”
He held up his car keys and gave them a little jangle. “Only one way to find out for sure.”
Barbie shook her head. “This is really big. We should check in with our employer first.”
“And if he gives us the okay?”
“Like you said.” Barbie gave a shrug. “They’re less than two hours away.”
18
Half an hour earlier, Megan had heard the sickly sweet voice on Harry Sutton’s phone say, “Mr. Sutton’s phone automatically rings to me when he’s indisposed. I’m sorry, Cassie. I didn’t catch your last name.”
Megan disconnected the call.
Fester was standing next to her at the bar. “Something wrong?”
Megan stared at her phone. She tried to conjure up Harry’s office in her head. There was one desk, one window, a file cabinet, a worn couch…
But there was no place for a receptionist.
So who had just answered his phone?
A very bad feeling started gnawing in the pit of her stomach.
Fester said, “Hello? You still here?”
“I have to go.”
“Whoa, I thought you were looking for Ray. Why don’t we wait till he replies?”
“Tell him I’ll meet him at Lucy.”
“Huh?”
“Just tell him that. Lucy at eleven o’clock. If I can’t make it, I’ll call you at this bar.”
“Wait a second,” Fester said.
But she didn’t. She hurried out of the Weak Signal, wading her way through the crowd, desperation coming off them in waves. When she reached the street, she had to stop for a moment and suck in oxygen. She hurried over to Harry Sutton’s office, passing a young couple in the hallway, but the lights were out and the door was locked.
That was when she decided to find Broome.
At the station, after Broome’s partner, a woman who introduced herself as Detective Erin Anderson, left the room, Megan filled Broome in. He listened without interrupting. She finished up by saying, “I’m worried about Harry.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be,” Broome said. “I mean, not based on this. You know Harry. He’s a player from the word go. I know he loves the girls, but he also loves the girls, if you know what I mean. One of them probably answered his phone.”
“And pretended to be his receptionist?”
“Sure, why not? She was probably just trying to be funny.”
“Yeah,” Megan said with a frown. “Hilarious.”
“You think Harry chooses them for their witty repartee?”
Megan shook her head. “I got a bad feeling about this.”
“We can call him again.”
“I tried. No answer.”
“I’d send a squad car by his house, but what’s the point? He goes out every night. Did you tell anyone you were going to see him?”
“No.”
“So I’m not sure I follow. What makes you think he’s in danger?”
“Nothing, I guess. The woman’s voice. I don’t know. It sounded so sickly sweet.”
“Oh,” Broome said, “well, why didn’t you say so in the first place?”
Megan frowned. “Could you be, I don’t know, a little more patronizing?”
“‘Sickly sweet’?”
“Okay, I get it.”
“No, Cassie or whatever your name is, I don’t think you do.” Broome moved a little closer. “May I be blunt?”
“Because so far you’ve been circumspect? Sure.”
“You look good. Really, really good.”
“Uh, thanks.”
“Not that way. I mean you look like the years have been a friend to you. You look healthy and happy and, most important of all, you look like you have someplace to go. Do you know what I mean?”
She said nothing.
“That’s the definition of happiness, you know. Most of the girls down here, they’ll never have that. A place to go.”
“Detective Broome?” she said.
“Yes?”
“You’re deep.”
Broome smiled at that one. “Yeah, philosopher detective. Do yourself a favor anyway. Go to that place.”
“The, uh, place to go?”
“Yeah, home or whatever. The place where you have people waiting for you.”
“You’re not listening to me, Detective.”
“No, I am. Now you need to listen to me. What are you still doing down here?”
She stayed quiet for a moment. He waited, watched her. The truth was, despite her sarcasm, Broome was scoring points.
What was she still doing here?
She thought now about her home, her “place to go”-about Kaylie and Jordan, about poor Dave, probably
