Quarry signed a mountain of papers absolving the nursing home of any liability and, at last, Tippi left her prison while the sun was still shining. Quarry squinted against the glare and watched as they loaded his daughter into the back of the ambulance. He climbed in his old truck, gave the nursing home the finger, and led the ambulance down the road to Atlee.
When they arrived home everything was ready. Carlos and Daryl helped the ambulance attendants carry in the gurney. Ruth Ann, tears running down her cheeks, and Gabriel, watched the procession. The adult daughter was returned to the same room she'd occupied as a young girl. Everything that had been in the room when she was young was now in it once more. Quarry and his wife had kept it all, ever since Tippi had headed out in life for what had turned out to be a too brief time. College, a stint at a marketing firm in Atlanta; and then sucking on a breathing tube at a nursing home when she was still in her twenties.
His beautiful girl had come home, though.
The ambulance left after a critical care nurse who had come along made certain that the equipment Quarry had was adequate and was connected up the right way. After that, Quarry closed the door behind all of them, sat next to Tippi, and took her hand in his.
"You're home, little girl. Daddy brought you home, Tippi."
He held up her hand and pointed with it to various items in the room.
"There's that blue ribbon you got for writing that poem. And over there's your prom dress that your ma made for you. And you looked so beautiful in it, Tippi. Didn't want to let you out of the house with that dress on. No sir. Didn't want to let the boys see you like that. So pretty." He pointed her hand at a photo on a small bookcase.
The picture was of the entire family. Mom, Dad, and the three kids when they were still just children. Daryl wasn't thickset yet, just cute with some baby fat. Suzie was in the middle with her usual defiant look. And then there was Tippi wearing a hat she'd made from a newspaper and a strip of leather, cocked sideways on her head, her golden hair draped around her shoulders. She had this wondrous smile on her face and this mischievous look in her eyes. Nothing much could make Quarry weep anymore. Yet every time he stared at that image of Tippi, with her life all ahead of her, in that funny hat, with those eyes burning to take the world head-on, not knowing, not even suspecting for one moment the despair, the devastating loss that they would all have to endure, the tears rose to the man's eyes like chill bumps on a fall evening.
He gently put her hand back down next to her side and rose to look out the window. His girl was home. And he would rejoice in that while he could. And then he would type his next letter.
He turned back to Tippi, listening to the mechanical rise and fall of the machine that was keeping her lungs pumping, and her heart beating. Then he glanced over at the photo and managed, by closing and then reopening his eyes, to transfer the Tippi in the photo to the one in the bed. In this imaginary world, his daughter was merely resting. And at least in his mind, she would wake up, get up, hug her daddy, and get on with life.
Quarry sank into a chair, closed his eyes again, and stayed in this other world for a little bit longer.
CHAPTER 57
MICHELLE'S PHONE RANG again. They had been waiting two days now to hear back from Sean's Army buddy, but apparently getting records on AWOLs in three states was not an easy matter.
"Who is it?" Sean asked as he leaned back in his desk chair.
"Same number who called me before but I didn't know who it was."
"Might as well answer it. We're just sitting in neutral here anyway."
Michelle shrugged and punched the button. "Hello?"
"Michelle Maxwell?"
"Yes, who's this?"
"I'm Nancy Drummond. You left me a message about your mother. I was a friend of hers."
"But the area code on your phone number isn't Nashville. And the caller ID said Tammy Fitzgerald."
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't think about that. I'm using my daughter's cell phone. Fitzgerald is her married name. She lives in Memphis but she's staying with us for a while. It's cheaper to use the cell for long-distance calls. I only have a hard line."
"Oh, right, sure. Why didn't you leave a message?"
"I get flustered with cell phones and voice mail." She added bluntly, "I'm old."
"That's okay. Sometimes I get flustered by them too."
"I was out of town when your mother died. I'm so sorry about her."
"Thank you. I appreciate that." Michelle sat down at her desk while Sean doodled on a legal pad. "I was calling you because, well, I guess you heard my mom's death wasn't by natural causes."
"I heard that someone had killed her."
"Who told you that?"
"Donna Rothwell."
"Right. Look, Mrs. Drummond."
"Please call me Nancy."
"Okay, Nancy, I was calling because I wanted to know if you had any idea about who could have wanted to hurt my mom." Michelle expected the woman to issue a resounding "no" in a shocked, breathless tone, but she didn't.
"When I said I was sorry your mother was dead, I meant that Michelle. I liked her. But I can't in all honesty say I was surprised."
Michelle sat straight up in her chair and motioned at Sean, who stopped doodling. Michelle hit a button on her cell, turning it to speakerphone mode.
"You say you're not surprised that someone killed my mother?"
Sean put down his pen and walked over to Michelle's desk and sat on the edge.
"Why would you say that?"
Nancy Drummond's mellifluous voice swooped into the room. "How well did you know your mother?"
"I guess not all that well, actually."
"This is difficult to say, your being her daughter and all."
"Mrs.-Nancy, don't pull any punches. I just want to find who did this."
"I didn't know your father very well. He and your mom didn't go out much together. But Sally enjoyed the social circle we had down here. Very much."
Michelle noted the emphasis on the last words. "How much is very much?"
"I don't like to talk out of school."
"Listen, if my mom was messing around on my dad, that's very important to know, Nancy. Do you know who she was seeing?"
"It was more than one, actually."
Michelle slumped back in her chair. "How many more than one?"
"Three, at least that I knew of. Two moved away, the last about a month ago."
"Where'd they move to?"
"One to Seattle, the other overseas."
"And who was the third?"
"You didn't hear this from me because it's not common knowledge. Your mother was very discreet, I'll give her that. And I don't know if they were, well, you know, intimate. Maybe they were just spending time with each other. Maybe they were just lonely."
"Who?" Michelle said calmly, although she wanted to fire a round into the phone to make the woman answer without any more qualifiers.
"Doug Reagan."
"Doug Reagan? As in Donna Rothwell's steady, Doug Reagan?"
"That's the one. Do you know him?"
"Not really, but I think I will now. How long were they having an affair?"
"Well, I thought they were still having it, up until your mother died, I mean."
"Wait a minute, how do you know all this?"
"Your mother confided in me. We were very good friends."
"So no one else knows that you know?"
"I don't know if she told anyone else. But I've never talked about it to another soul until right now. A confidence is a confidence. But now that she's gone, well, I thought you had a right to know."
To know that my mother was a slut. Thanks.
"Are you there, dear?"
Michelle snapped back. "Yeah, I'm here. Would you be willing to tell the police what you just told me?"
"Do I have to?"
Sean put a hand on Michelle's arm and shook his head.
"Maybe not," Michelle said quickly. "At least not right now." She paused. "
Uh, did my dad know about… the things my mom was doing?"
"As I said, I didn't know your father that well, but he always struck me as a man that if he did know he would've done something about it."
"Yeah, he strikes me that way too. Thanks, Nancy. Just sit tight and don't tell anyone about this, okay?"
"All right, dear. If you say so."
"I really appreciate you being so candid."
"I have four grown daughters of my own, two of them divorced. I know things happen. Life is never perfect. I want you to know that when your mother told me what she was doing I strongly suggested that she stop seeing these other men. To go back to your father and try and work things out. Like I said, I didn't know him all that well, but I could tell he was a good man. He didn't deserve what was happening."
"Nancy, you're a jewel."
"No, I'm just a mother who's seen it all."
Michelle clicked off and gazed over at Sean. "No wonder I'm so screwed up, right?"
"I think you're remarkably sane, actually."
"Why didn't you want her to talk to the police?"
"I don't know. Just call it a hunch."
"So what do we do now?"
"Until we hear back from my two-star, we don't have a lot to do. How about a quick trip to Nashville to run this down?"
They quickly found that the next direct flight to Nashville wouldn't leave until the next day, unless they wanted to connect through Chicago and then Denver and take most of a day, much of it sitting in airport lounges or else on tarmacs.
"Gotta love air travel," said Sean, clicking off his phone after listening to the flight options. "Fly north or west to head south."
"Screw 'em. Feel like a drive?" Michelle said.
"With you, anytime."
They bought some sandwiches and two giant cups of coffee and set out at eight that night. On the way down Michelle had phoned her brother Bill and learned that all her male siblings had returned to their respective towns except for Bobby, of course, who lived there.
"Got some good news," Bill had told his sister.
"What's that?"
"Dad isn't a suspect anymore. At least not a serious one."
"Why?"
"ME said the blow came from a lefty and Dad hits from the other side."
"They didn't know that before?"
"The wheels of justice move slow, sis, but it's still good news."
"How come you all left Dad?"
"We didn't, actually. He left us."
"Meaning what exactly?"
"Meaning he told us to get the hell out of town because he was sick of us being around. I wish he would've been more direct, you know." Michelle could almost feel her oldest brother smiling through the phone.
"You really think you should leave him alone?"
"Bobby's there. And Dad's a big boy. He can take care of himself."
"That's not what's bothering me."
Before Bill could ask what was bothering his sister she'd already ended the call.
Sean said, "So good news he's been cleared, but bad news because your dad knows the killer's out there and he may take matters into his own hands."
"My brother's are great cops but clueless sons. They could never even contemplate my dad doing something like that. Or my mom cheating on him."
"But you can?"
She glanced at him and then looked away. "Yeah, I can."
Michelle drove with her usual total disregard of all speed limits and, after stopping only twice for bathroom breaks, they arrived at her father's house at a little after five o'clock a.m., beating the arrival time of the nonstop morning flight by a good four hours.
Michelle glanced in the garage and shook her head. The Camry wasn't parked there. She used her key to get into the house. A quick search showed it was empty.
"Does your dad have a gun safe somewhere?"
"Just a pistol box, I think. Probably in the bedroom closet."
Sean checked. He found the box but there was no gun in it.
They sat on the unmade bed and looked at each other.
"Should we call Bobby?" Sean asked.
"Take too long to explain it to him. Maybe we should go see Doug Reagan. Ask him why he forgot to mention he was banging my mom."
"You have an address for the man?"
"Easy enough to find. Like everybody keeps saying, this town just isn't that big. Or we can always check with his hot steady, Donna."
"Well, first how about we shower and change our clothes? I haven't pulled an all-nighter in a car in a long time. In fact, the last time was with you."
"Expanding your horizons. It seems to be my lot in life."
Michelle showered first in the guest room bathroom. When she was done she opened the bedroom door and called down the hall.
"You're up, King."
He walked in as she was finishing wrapping herself in a towel. He held up a fresh cup of coffee. "Interested?"
"Always."
She sat on the bed drinking the coffee while he went into the bathroom.
She raised her voice. "What about the party next door? Maybe we should get a guest list and start hitting that too."
"Or we can get it from your brother," he called back. "I have to believe that was one of the first things the police did."
She moved closer to the door as the shower came on. "I'd rather we did it ourselves."
"What?"
"Do it ourselves," she said in a loud voice.
"Okay, your wish is my command."
"That'll be the day." But the comment still drew from her a smile.
She went into her father's bedroom and looked around. The photo of her mother was gone. She checked the trash can. It wasn't in there either. She looked under the bed for some reason. There it was. She pulled it out. The glass was cracked. She stared down at it. A bit of sharp glass had ripped across her parents' faces.
Is this what a nearly fifty-year marriage came down to? The next thought was equally devastating.
And where exactly is my life going?
She carried the picture back into the guest bedroom, slumped on the bed, and started trembling.
"Damn it!"
She cursed again, stood and walked to the bathroom. She started shivering again and hesitated. She swallowed hard, opened the door, and passed through. She was still trembling, sobs bumping up and down her throat.
Sean saw her through the shower door. "Michelle?" He looked at her questioningly, keeping his gaze on her eyes that looked ready to dissolve into tears. "What are you doing?"
"I don't know. I don't know what the hell I'm doing, Sean!"
He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around himself before stepping out of the shower. He led her out of the bathroom and over to the bed. They sat on the edge, her head cradled against his chest.
"I really think I'm losing it," she said.
"You've been through a lot. It's only natural to feel overwhelmed."
"My parents have been together forever. Had five kids. Four brothers and me the mutt. The bring-up-the-rear mutt."
"I don't think anyone feels that way about you. I certainly don't."
She turned to face him. "How exactly do you feel about me?"
"Michelle, I-"
She picked up the cracked photo. "Nearly fifty years of marriage and five kids and this is what you get? This?"
"Michelle, we don't know what's really going on here yet."
"I feel like I've wasted so much of my life."
"An Olympian, Secret Service agent, and now my partner?" He attempted a smile. "I think a lot of people would like to switch places with you. Especially about being my partner."
She didn't smile. She didn't cry. She leaned over and kissed him gently on the lips.
She breathed into his ear. "I don't want to waste any more time, Sean. Not another second."
She kissed him again and he kissed her back. She leaned into him.
And then Sean pulled back.
Their gazes locked. "You don't
want me?" she said.
"Not like this. Not this way, no. And neither do-"
She slapped him and turned away.
"Michelle-"
"Leave me alone!"
She started to run, but then it was like a hard wall of something both hot and cold slammed into her, inflaming her organs, icing her skin. Her knees buckled and she was on the floor, sobbing, curled into a ball so tight that she seemed to have shrunken down to a child. Her fingers clawed the floor, found the fractured picture where it had fallen. She held it against her chest.
A moment later Michelle was lifted off the floor and her head fell against Sean's chest. He spoke to her, urgently, but she didn't answer.
Sean laid Michelle on the bed, took the photo from her, and covered her with the sheet and sat next to her. He put his hand out and she instinctively gripped it. As the minutes went by and the sun came up, her sobs started to subside. Finally, her grip around his hand loosened and fell away as she slept. He tucked her hand up under the sheet.
Sean lay next to her, a finger sliding against her wet hair. He watched her until, exhausted, his own eyes closed and he fell asleep.
CHAPTER 58
QUARRY MARCHED across the dirt in front of his little house, Carlos behind him. The big man stopped and pointed to the berm.
Quarry said, "The camera feed goes right to where you'll be. The TV monitor is all set up. I checked it out, works fine. It's an exterior shot only, though. No way to hide it inside the house."
"Understood."
They had been over this several times already, but Carlos had learned that the one thing that Sam Quarry lived by was repetition. Like the pilot he was, the man's firm belief was that going over it and over it was the only way to extract out as much potential error as was possible.
"The camera sight line is dead-on," Quarry added. "But I'll check it right up to the last minute."
"Chances of it being discovered and taken out of operation?"
"Slim at best given the time parameters, but if it does you've got to resort to the backup." Quarry slipped a pair of heavy binoculars from his knapsack and handed them to Carlos. "An old-fashioned decent pair of optics and two good eyes. I've got a sightline for you that won't reveal your position. You just slide the lever I showed you in the bunker open, like a gun turret."
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