us out of there until they catch the man.”
“The marshals didn’t see him?”
“You know how many ways there are to sneak close to our house. He may have climbed up the cliff, and there’d be no one to see him unless he went around to the front of the house. It will be much easier for everyone in the house we’re moving to.”
Emma squeezed her mother tightly to her. “It’s all right, Mom. We’ll get through. The boys will think it’s a cool game. I’ll help.”
Molly had hugged this precious human being tightly in return, whispered against her hair, “We’re bringing your piano.”
Those few words had earned her a quick smile from her daughter.
Molly watched the men maneuver Emma’s piano to the base of the three front steps of the large Mediterranean house.
Savich looked at Harry, and they tried to join them in carrying the piano up the steps, but the foreman held them back. “Thanks, gentlemen, but we can’t have you hurting yourselves. We’ve got this.”
One of his young assistants, who had a tall red Mohawk, said between grunts, “It’s the insurance he’s worried about. You’re right, though, this freakin’ sucker’s heavy.”
Emma hung back, ever watchful. Molly was standing inside the doorway, one eye on the twins, who were examining every inch of the living room, and the other on Emma. The Steinway had never been moved an inch since it was reverently placed in their home in Sea Cliff five years before. This was a huge deal for Emma, and on top of everything else. How could Emma function? How would she react? Could she still see herself playing in front of a huge audience at Davies Hall in nine days? Molly saw her smile at Red Mohawk, who was grunting big-time, just for her, and hoped.
Once they carried the piano into the entrance hall, Red Mohawk grinned down at Emma. “Your mama said you’re a big deal, that you’re so good you even play with the San Francisco Symphony. That true?”
Emma never knew what to say to this sort of question. She was aware her mother was watching her, ready to speak for her, but she knew she was old enough to answer for herself. “I’m not playing with the orchestra this time. I’m playing by myself—George Gershwin’s
The young man laughed and touched his bush of hair. “You can call me Mohawk. Let me see the size of your hands.” Emma held up her hands. The young guy studied them, placed them palm to palm. “Unbelievable,” he said.
The foreman said, “Do you know what my name is? I’m Sam Davis, but there’s no relation.”
Emma stared at him. She didn’t have a clue what he was talking about.
“Sammy Davis Jr.; he was one of the Rat Pack,” he said, but Emma was still in the dark.
He grinned at her. “Ask your dad or maybe your granddad; one of them will know.”
Once they lifted the piano back onto the roller board, Emma trailed behind them as they steered the Steinway through the doorway into the long living room.
“Here,” she said, “in this corner, wide part of the case out.”
When the piano was placed exactly, Red Mohawk brought in her piano bench and set it just so in front of the keyboard.
Emma looked at each man in turn. “Thank you for taking such good care of my piano.”
Red Mohawk said, “Play us something if you really want to thank us.”
Gage, whose hand was now being firmly held by his mother, shouted, “Emmie, play them the theme from
Cal shouted louder, “No, the theme from
Emma grinned at her little brothers, sat down, and played “Nobody Does It Better.” There were whistles and applause, and a couple of boos from Cal and Gage.
When the movers left, Emma took Gage and Cal upstairs to show them their new bedroom, the twins chattering away in the twin talk they spoke when they didn’t want anyone to know what they were saying.
Molly waved her hand around the living room. “This is very nice. However did you manage to get us this beautiful house on such short notice?”
Savich said, “The house is for sale. When the owner found out Judge Dredd needed it as a safe house for his family, he offered it to us immediately.”
“It has some of the feel of our home,” Molly said. “Built a long time ago and beautifully remodeled.” Her voice hitched, and she added quickly, “Come along, I’ll make us all coffee. Tea, Dillon?” She motioned away Sherlock. “No, let me do this. At least I still have control over making coffee.”
When they were all seated around the authentic-looking fake Chippendale dining room table, Molly said, “The red-and-cream walls blend so well with this rich furniture. It makes this room oddly peaceful. Thank you all so much for coming here with us. It makes this all less difficult.”
Sherlock said, “The backyard is fenced in, so the boys will be fine. The owner is sending over a jungle gym for Cal and Gage, said his granddaughter’s outgrown it.”
Savich’s cell phone rang, and he left the room to answer it.
Sherlock said, “We’re hoping for a phone call from Clive Cahill, telling us he’s ready to deal. It’s been nearly an hour since Dillon and Eve talked to them.”
“Not Cindy?” Molly asked.
Sherlock shook her head. “Dillon thinks Clive’s the weak link in this chain, or maybe he’s the more realistic.”
Harry nodded. “Eve said her money’s on him as well. I know she has all her digits crossed. She wanted to be here, but she’s meeting Marshal Maynard, going over plans for Judge Hunt’s protection. Last time I saw she had her cell phone attached to her ear.”
Molly asked, “Do you think the Cahills will talk?”
Sherlock said, “We’ll know soon. We tried to reach Milo Siles, their lawyer, but his secretary told us Milo was in a divorce mediation session with his wife and her lawyer this morning and hasn’t returned to the office yet. She let drop he was probably in a rage and she’d bet he’d turned off his cell until he calmed down. Still, Dillon tried to call him, but it went right to voice mail.”
Molly said, “What do you think is going on?”
Sherlock said, “Since Siles was angry, it could be as simple as his sitting in some bar somewhere sulking.”
When Savich walked back to the dining room it was to tell them it was Cheney, who’d gotten a call from his buddy, Marin County Sheriff Bud Hibbert.
It wasn’t good.
A chill, thick mist cloaked the golden Marin hills in gray. They hit heavy rush-hour traffic on the approach to the Golden Gate Bridge. Harry passed Cheney the emergency light bar, and Cheney stuck his arm out of the window and plopped its magnetic base on the roof. Traffic, thankfully, made way for them as best it could. Harry always got a kick out of using a magic blinking light bar, made him feel like Moses parting the Red Sea.
Cheney said, “Let me give you some background on Pixie McCray, some of which I learned from Milo Siles’s secretary. Pixie was divorced, no kids, and she was a legal secretary for Mifflin, LaRochette, and Kent, a firm Milo has litigated against many times over the years. That’s how they met. We don’t yet know how long they’ve been together, but I found out Milo bought Pixie’s house about four and a half years ago. He bought a Sea Ray Sundancer to go with it, a fast luxury yacht that even has a swimming platform. It’s parked right on his own private dock on the lagoon.”
