Dark and Twisted Reads: All the Pretty GirlsA Perfect EvilBone Cold (A Taylor Jackson Novel)

by J. T. Ellison

“Agent Maggie O’Dell.”

  Christine motioned for them to come in. “I thought for sure you’d cancel,” she whispered to Nick and led him to the living room, leaving Maggie to the privacy of the foyer.

  “Because of the article?”

  She looked surprised, as though she hadn’t even thought of the article. “No, because you’re swamped. You’re not mad about the article, are you?”

  “Krichek is nutty as a fruitcake. I doubt she saw anything.”

  “She’s convincing, Nicky. There’s nothing wrong with the lady. You should be looking for an old blue pickup.”

  Nick eyed Maggie. He could see her pacing. He wished he could hear her conversation. Then, suddenly, he got his wish as her angry voice carried into the living room.

  “Go to hell, Greg!” She snapped the phone shut and shoved it into her pocket. It began ringing again.

  Christine looked at Nick, eyebrows raised.

  “Who’s Greg?” she whispered.

  “Her husband.”

  “I didn’t know she was married.”

  “Why wouldn’t she be?” he snapped, then regretted his abruptness as soon as he saw his sister’s smile.

  “No wonder you’ve been on your best behavior with her.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, little brother, she’s gorgeous.”

  “She’s also an FBI agent. This is strictly professional, Christine.”

  “Since when has that stopped you? Remember that cute little attorney from the state attorney’s office? Wasn’t that supposed to be only professional?”

  “She wasn’t married.” Or if he remembered correctly, at least, she was getting a divorce.

  Maggie came in, that distraught look invading her face again.

  “Sorry about that,” she said as she leaned against the doorjamb. “Lately, my husband has had the annoying tendency of pissing me off.”

  “That’s why I got rid of mine,” Christine said with a smile. “Nicky, get Maggie some wine. I need to check up on dinner.” She patted Maggie on the shoulder on her way out.

  The wine and glasses were on the coffee table in front of him. He poured, watching Maggie out of the corner of his eye. She paced, pretending to be interested in Christine’s decorating talents, but obviously distracted. She stopped at the window and stared out into the backyard. He picked up the glasses of wine and came alongside her, startling her.

  “You okay?” He handed her the wine, hoping for a glimpse of her eyes.

  “Have you ever been married, Nick?” She took the glass without looking at him, suddenly interested in the shadows swallowing Christine’s garden.

  “No, I’ve done a pretty good job avoiding it.”

  They stood quietly, side by side. Her elbow brushed his arm when she took a sip. He stood perfectly still, enjoying the surprising rise in his temperature the slight contact generated, and hoping for more. He waited for her to continue, wanting to hear how her marriage was falling apart. Then immediately, the guilt hit him. Perhaps to justify his thoughts, he said, “I couldn’t help noticing you don’t wear a wedding ring.”

  She held up her hand as if to remind herself, then tucked it into her jacket pocket. “It’s at the bottom of the Charles River.

  “Excuse me?” Without seeing her eyes, he wasn’t sure if it was a joke or not.

  “About a year ago, we were dragging a floater from the river.”

  “A floater?”

  “A body that’s been in the water a while. The water was very cold. My ring must have slipped off.”

  She kept her eyes ahead, and he followed her lead. As twilight set in, he could see her reflection in the glass. She was still thinking about the conversation with her husband. He wondered what he was like—the man who had, at one time, captured the heart of Maggie O’Dell. He wondered if Greg was some intellectual snob. He bet the guy didn’t even watch football, let alone like the Packers.

  “You never replaced it?”

  “No. I think maybe subconsciously I realized all those things it was supposed to symbolize were gone long before it fell to the bottom of the river.”

  “Uncle Nick,” Timmy interrupted, running into the room and jumping up into Nick’s arms, giving Nick little time to even turn around. Immediately, he felt the results of his chair nap. His back screamed at him to put the boy down, but he spiraled Timmy around, hugging him close while his little legs threatened to knock down the knickknacks scattered about.

  “You guys!” Christine yelled from the doorway. Then to Maggie, “It’s like having two kids in the house.”

  Nick set Timmy down and gritted his teeth into a smile as he straightened out and absorbed the pain that trailed all the way down his spine. Jesus, he hated these physical reminders that he was getting older.

  “Maggie, this is my son, Timmy. Timmy, this is Special Agent Maggie O’Dell.”

  “So you’re an FBI agent just like Agent Mulder and Agent Scully on The X-Files?”

  “Except I don’t track aliens. Although some of the people I track down are pretty scary.”

  Nick was always amazed at the effect children had on women. He wished he could bottle it. Maggie tucked her hair behind her ear, and she was smiling. Her eyes sparkled. Her entire face seemed to relax.

  “I have some X-Files posters in my bedroom. Would you like to see them?”

  “Timmy, we’re going to eat soon.”

  “Do we have time?” Maggie asked Christine.

  Timmy waited for his mom’s “sure.” Then he grabbed Maggie’s hand and led her down the hall.

  Nick didn’t say anything until they were out of earshot. “It’s nice to see he’s learning from the master. Although I’ve never thought of using the old line, ‘would you like to see my X-Files posters.’”

  Christine rolled her eyes and threw a dish towel at him. “Come help. Oh, and bring me a glass of wine, too.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Maggie hated to admit that she had never watched The X-Files. Her lifestyle allowed little time for television or movies. Timmy, however, seemed unconcerned. Once in his room, he anxiously showed off everything, from models of the Starship Enterprise to his collection of fossils. One, he said with certainty, was a dinosaur tooth.

  The small room was wonderfully cluttered. A baseball mitt hung on the bedpost. A Jurassic Park bedspread covered lumps she guessed were matching pajamas. On a corner bookshelf, an old microscope propped up copies of King Arthur, Galaxy of the Stars and The Collector’s Encyclopedia of Baseball Cards. The walls were hidden, plastered with an odd assortment of posters including The X-Files, the Nebraska Cornhuskers, Star Trek, Jurassic Park and Batman. She took it all in, not as an observant FBI agent, but as a twelve-year-old robbed of this part of her childhood.

  Then she remembered her conversation with Greg. The tension was hard to shrug off. He had now accused her of ignoring her own mother. She reminded him that she was the one with the degree in psychology. It didn’t matter. He was still angry with her for ruining their anniversary and carried that anger like some trophy he had won that he deserved. How did they ever get to this point?

  Timmy grabbed her hand again and led her to the dresser. He pointed to the empty hull of a horseshoe crab.

  “My grandpa brought this home for me from Florida. He and Grandma travel a lot. You can touch it if you want.”

  She ran her finger over the smooth shell. She noticed a photo behind the crab. About two dozen boys in matching T-shirts and shorts lined the inside of a canoe and the dock behind it. She recognized the boy at the front of the canoe and leaned in for a closer view. Her pulse quickened. She lifted the photo, careful not to disturb the crab. The boy was Danny Alverez.

  “What’s this photo, Timmy?”

  “Oh, that’s church camp. My mom made me go. I thought it’d ruin my summer, but it was fun.”

  “Isn’t this boy Danny Alverez?” She pointed, and Timmy took a closer look.

 
“Yeah, that’s him.”

  “So you knew him?”

  “Not really. He was down in the Red Robin cabins. I was in the Goldenrod.”

  “Didn’t he go to your church?” She examined the other faces.

  “No, I think he went to school and church out by the air force base. Do you want to see my baseball card collection?” He was already digging through the drawers of his nightstand.

  Maggie wanted to know more about church camp. “How many boys were there at camp?”

  “I don’t know. Lots.” He set a wooden box on the bed and began taking out cards. “They come from all over, different churches around the county.”

  “Is it just for boys?”

  “No, there’s girls, too, but their camp’s on the other side of the lake. Somewhere in here I’ve got a rookie Darryl Strawberry.” He sorted through piles he had scattered on the bed.

  There were two adults in the photo. One was Ray Howard, the janitor from St. Margaret’s. The other was a tall, handsome man with dark curly hair and a boyish face. Both he and Howard wore gray T-shirts with St. Margaret’s written across the front.

  “Timmy, who’s this guy in the photo?”

  “Oh, that’s Father Keller. He’s really cool. I’m one of his altar boys this year. Not many boys get to be his altar boy. He’s really choosy.”

  “How is he choosy?” She made sure that she sounded only interested, not alarmed.

  “I don’t know. Just by making sure they’re reliable and stuff. He treats us special, sort of like our reward for being good altar boys.”

  “How does he treat you special?”

  “He’s taking us camping this Thursday and Friday. And sometimes he plays football with us. Oh, and he trades baseball cards. Once I traded him a Bob Gibson for a Joe DiMaggio.”

  She started to put the photo back. Another face caught her eye. This time she almost dropped the frame. Her heart began to pound. Up on the dock, partially hidden behind a bigger boy, peered the small, freckled face of Matthew Tanner.

  “Timmy, do you mind if I borrow this photo for a few days? I promise I’ll get it back to you.”

  “Okay. Do you carry a gun?”

  “Yes, I do.” She kept the frantic tone from her voice. Carefully, she tugged the photo out of its frame, noticing a slight tremor in her fingers from the sudden rush of adrenaline.

  “Are you wearing one now?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Can I see it?”

  “Timmy,” Christine interrupted them. “It’s time for dinner. You need to wash up.” She held the door open and swatted him with a kitchen towel on his way out.

  Maggie slipped the photo into her jacket pocket without Christine noticing.

  CHAPTER 31

  After dinner Nick insisted he and Timmy do the dishes. Christine knew it was all for Maggie’s benefit, but she decided to take advantage of her little brother’s temporary generosity.

  The two women retreated to the living room where they heard only the muffled discussion of Nebraska football. Christine set the coffee cups and saucers on the glass tabletop and wished Maggie would sit down and relax. Stop being Agent O’Dell for a few minutes. She’d seemed restless throughout dinner and was now pacing. Her body seemed wired with energy, though she looked exhausted. The puffy eyes were poorly concealed with makeup. She was easily distracted.

  “Come, sit,” Christine finally said, patting the spot on the sofa next to her. “I thought I couldn’t keep still, but I think you’ve got me beaten.”

  “Sorry. Maybe I’ve been spending too much time with killers and dead bodies. My manners seem to have disappeared.”

  “Nonsense. You’ve just been spending too much time with Nicky.”

  Maggie smiled. “Dinner was delicious. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a home-cooked meal.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve had lots of practice. I was a stay-at-home mom until my husband decided he liked twenty-three-year-old receptionists.” Immediately, Christine realized she had revealed too much and made Maggie uncomfortable. She certainly hadn’t intended for this to be some sort of tit-for-tat girl talk.

  When Maggie crossed the room to sit down, she chose the recliner instead of sitting next to her. Christine wanted to tell Maggie she knew it wasn’t a lack of manners as much as an avoidance of intimacy on any level. It was easy to recognize. Christine did it herself. Since Bruce’s departure, she had kept plenty of distance from everyone, with the exception of her son.

  “How long will you stay in Platte City?”

  “For as long as necessary.”

  No wonder her marriage was in trouble. As if reading Christine’s mind, Maggie explained, “Developing a killer’s profile, unfortunately, is something that takes time. It helps to be in his surroundings, his environment.”

  “I did some research on you. I hope you don’t mind. You have an impressive background—a B.S. in criminal psychology and premed, with a master’s in behavioral psychology, a forensic fellowship at Quantico. Eight short years with the FBI and already you’re one of their top profilers of serial killers. If I calculated right, you’re only thirty-two. That’s got to feel good—to have accomplished so much.”

  She expected Maggie might be a bit flustered with the attention. Instead, her vacant stare seemed haunted. From her research, Christine also knew about some of the psychos Maggie had helped put away. Perhaps her success had come with a hefty price tag.

  “I suppose it should feel good,” Maggie finally said.

  Christine waited for more, then realized there would be no more. “Nicky will never admit it, but I know he’s grateful to have you here. This is all pretty new to him. I’m certain he didn’t expect something like this when my dad talked him into running for sheriff.”

  “Your father talked him into it?”

  “Dad was getting ready to retire. He’d been sheriff for so long, I think he couldn’t stand to not have a Morrelli take his place.”

  “But what about Nick?”

  “Oh, he was teaching in the law school down at the university. I think he actually liked it.” Christine stopped herself. She wasn’t quite sure she understood the complexities of her father and Nick’s relationship, let alone explain them to an outsider.

  “Your father must be a remarkable man,” Maggie said quite simply, without surprise or accusation.

  “Why do you say that?” Christine eyed her suspiciously, wondering what Nick may have told her.

  “For one thing, he practically captured Ronald Jeffreys single-handedly.”

  “Yes, he was quite a hero.”

  “Also, he seems to have a lot of influence over Nick’s decisions.”

  She did know something more. Now Christine was uncomfortable. She poured herself more coffee, taking time with the cream.

  “I think our dad just wants Nicky to have all the opportunities he never had. You know, do the things he didn’t have a chance to do.”

  “What about you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Doesn’t he want those same opportunities, those same things for you?”

  Christine had to admit, the woman was good. Maggie O’Dell sat in Christine’s recliner, sipping coffee and very coolly and calmly probing her.

  “I love my dad, knowing full well that he’s a bit of a male chauvinist. No, whatever I did was fine with him. I was a girl. Anything out of the ordinary that I did impressed him. Nicky, on the other hand, had it tougher. It’s a little more…complex. Nick’s constantly had to prove himself, whether he wanted to or not. I suppose that’s one of the reasons why he gets so pissed at me.”

  “No, usually it’s because of your big mouth.” Nick startled them from the doorway. Timmy stood beside his uncle, smiling as though he was about to get in on something Christine would normally censor.

  The phone rang, saving her from a lecture. Christine jumped up, almost knocking her coffee cup off its saucer. She crossed the room and picked up the phone before its third ring.
/>   “Hello?”

  “Christine, it’s Hal. Sorry to bother you. Is Nick still there?” His voice crackled. She heard humming, an engine. He was in his car.

  “Yes. As a matter of fact, you may have just saved my day.” She glanced back at Nick and stuck out her tongue, making Timmy giggle and Nick fume.

  “That would be nice—to save someone’s day.” The crackle couldn’t hide the distress in his voice.

  “Hal, are you okay? What’s going on?”

  “Could I just talk to Nick, please?”

  Before she could say anything more, Nick was at her side, reaching for the phone. She surrendered it and loitered by the desk until Nick shot her a look.

  “Hal, what is it?” He turned his back to them and listened. “Don’t let anyone touch anything.” The panic in his voice exploded, laced with urgency.

  Maggie responded, immediately getting to her feet. Christine gently grabbed Timmy by the shoulders.

  “Timmy, go get ready for bed.”

  “Ah, Mom, it’s early.”

  “Timmy, now.” Her brother’s panic was contagious. The boy grudgingly headed upstairs.

  “I mean it, Hal.” Now there was anger to camouflage the panic. It didn’t fool her. Christine knew her brother all too well. “Secure the area, but don’t let anyone touch a thing. O’Dell’s here with me. We’ll be there in about fifteen to twenty minutes.” When he turned, his eyes immediately sought out Maggie’s as he hung up the phone.

  “My God. They found Matthew’s body, didn’t they?” Christine said what only seemed obvious.

  “Christine, I swear, if you print a word.” The angry panic threatened to turn into fury.

  “People have the right to know.”

  “Not before his mother. Will you, at least, please have the decency to wait—for her sake?”

  “On one condition…”

  “Jesus, Christine, listen to yourself!” he spat out in such anger it forced her to take a step backward.

  “Just promise you’ll call me when it’s okay to go ahead. Is that too much to ask?”

  He shook his head in disgust. She looked to Maggie, who waited by the door, no longer willing to come between brother and sister. Then, she looked back at Nick. “Come on, Nicky. You don’t want me camped out on Michelle Tanner’s front porch, do you?” She smiled, just enough to let him know she wasn’t serious.