Tyler and Diana both tried not to grin. “I think most of those people are older than five, Willow. You and I are just going in to look around while Diana talks to a detective.”
Willow looked at Diana and warned urgently, “Don’t say anything incinerating.”
Tyler had to turn his head so Willow wouldn’t see him laughing, but Diana managed to keep a straight face. “I’m glad you reminded me, Willow. You certainly must watch a lot of police shows.”
“I do. I might want to be a detective.”
“I thought you wanted to be a photographer like me. Or sing in a rock group.”
“I can do all those things,” Willow said confidently. “Tyler can help me be a cop and you can help me be a picture-taker. I’ll be a rock singer at night.” She drew a deep breath. “Well, let’s get this over with so we can go have lunch.”
Inside the building, Tyler told Diana she would be talking to a Detective Silver. “Tell her everything you know. Oh, and be careful not to incriminate or incinerate yourself.”
“I’ll try, but I’m so nervous, I’m not making any promises about the latter. I might just spontaneously combust at any moment.”
Detective Miriam Silver—slim, fortyish, with silver threads in her short black hair, and lively hazel eyes—immediately put Diana at her ease.
“So you’re Diana Sheridan, the photographer,” Detective Silver said, smiling as she leaned toward Diana who sat beside her cluttered desk in a large room with several other detectives’ desks. “My husband and I saw a display of your work in the Huntington Museum of Art in February. We both fell in love with a photograph called, ‘Willow in the Wind.’ ”
“It’s one of my favorites,” Diana said, thinking of the early-November day when she’d been taking shots of the red, gold, and bronze leaves of the woods near Simon’s house. Suddenly Willow had wandered into the shot holding a yellow chrysanthemum. A gentle breeze had blown up, and Willow tilted back her head and closed her eyes, her profile perfect, her hair seeming to float against the background of vivid leaves. Diana had immediately shot the frontlit scene, firing off several frames.
When she’d shown the photo to Penny, she had been delighted at first. Then she’d asked Diana not to display it in any of the big cities like New York. Not understanding the problem at the time but still wanting to please Penny, Diana had said she’d put it only in her local showing at the museum in February. After the showing, Diana had given the framed photo to Penny, who had thrown her arms around Diana and cried. I should have known then something was wrong, Diana thought. I should have known when she acted so nervous about the photo being shown anywhere except locally.
“Are you all right?” Detective Silver asked.
“Yes. I was just remembering when I took the picture. The little girl’s mother, Penny Conley, or Cavanaugh, didn’t want me to show it in New York. Of course, that’s where her husband and his sister and friends live. The child’s real name is Cornelia, but Penny called her Willow. Willow loved the book Wind in the Willows, so I used it to come up with the title for the photo.”
“Beautiful photo, beautiful title, beautiful little girl.” Without making a fuss, Detective Silver handed Diana a tissue.
Diana dabbed at her eyes. “I’ve never been much of a crier, but I feel like all I’ve done for the last few days is cry or scream.” She blew her nose. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Crying is a release. Besides, you didn’t blow your nose on someone’s embroidered handkerchiefs—the kind I don’t even own.” Diana laughed. “Willow was the little girl somebody tried to shoot at your house last night.”
“Yes. She’s been staying with us ever since the house explosion. Her mother is in the burn unit. Willow had nowhere else to go. Then the police discovered Penny is the runaway wife of Jeffrey Cavanaugh of New York City, and Willow is his daughter. Jeffrey and his sister, Lenore, and brother-in-law, Blake Wentworth, arrived Saturday.” Diana was certain Detective Silver already knew this, but telling it helped her lead into what frightened her the most. “Jeffrey Cavanaugh wanted to take Willow then, but she had a fit. She was terrified of him, and he made things even worse yesterday when Willow, Lenore, and I were trying to have a picnic and he arrived, shouting at me that I’d kept information from him. He almost hit me.”
“Yes, we got a call from Tyler Raines about that incident. He phoned from the park.” Diana almost smiled. Somehow, she’d known he’d made that call. “Now what went on last night, Ms. Sheridan?”
“I’d gone out Sunday evening. Something happened. Later, I couldn’t have told you what happened because when I woke up in the hospital, I had a concussion and no short-term memory. I remembered that I’d gone to the home of our temporary housekeeper, Nan Murphy. I found her in the attic, murdered. Her head looked as if it had been nearly severed. . . .” Abruptly Diana’s voice began to shake. Detective Silver reached over and touched her hand. Diana took a breath. “Whoever had killed Nan was still in the attic. He kicked dirt into my eyes so I didn’t get a look at him. Then he pushed me down the attic steps.
“I returned home remembering nothing about the whole thing,” Diana went on. “Then about two in the morning, our cats woke me up. Well, actually I think a sound had begun to wake me before the cats did, but I’m still fuzzy on that point. I kept thinking I heard raindrops, but it wasn’t raining. I rushed to Willow’s room. She was gone. Her window was up. She never sleeps with a window open, so I knew something was wrong.
“I went outside. I thought I saw Willow running on the edge of the woods, and went after her. As soon as I’d gotten her, someone started shooting at us. I pushed her to the ground and tried to cover her with my body. I heard the shots coming closer and I could tell someone was standing almost directly over us. I thought we’d be dead in less than a minute. I heard another shot and shouting. Lights from the house came on, I heard yet another shot and someone running. . . . It just all went so fast. Then I heard Tyler Raines’s voice telling Willow and me we were safe. He also told me he was a New York City detective and Penny’s foster brother. He helped her disappear.”
Silver nodded. “I know. Of course, there will be some consequences for his part in creating Penny Cavanaugh’s false identity.”
“What kind of consequences?” Diana asked alarmed.
“The New York authorities will have to decide that. He wasn’t helping a criminal escape. He has an otherwise spotless record. He’s even been decorated for bravery.”
“He didn’t tell me about being decorated for bravery.” Diana smiled. “Clarice will be delighted.”
“That would be Clarice Hanson?”
“Yes. She’s been living with my great-uncle and me since her house was damaged by the explosion. She helps us take care of Willow.”
“That’s nice. I’m sure she enjoys it.” Detective Silver gave her an absent smile then asked, “Ms. Sheridan, why did you go to Nan Murphy’s house?”
“Nan had come by earlier in the day. She said she had something important to tell me about Penny. I thought I already knew what that was. As I’m certain you know, Nan was nineteen and a student at Marshall last year. She was in Glen Austen’s history class. I’ve been seeing Glen for about seven months. Nan told me she and Glen began an affair in April.”
“Were you upset about this?”
“I was upset that a thirty-five-year-old college professor was taking advantage of a nineteen-year-old student. I know student-professor affairs are rampant, but I thought Glen was too—oh, I don’t know—noble. I was not hurt, though.”
“Really? You found out a man with whom you’ve had a relationship for a year has been sexually involved with a student and you weren’t hurt?”
“No, I was not.” Diana leaned a bit closer to Detective Silver, sensing other people close by might be listening. “I started seeing Glen in January, not a year ago. I was never serious about him. Our relationship was not even sexual, which may be why he turned to someone else. I could have understood that. If he’d been
involved with a woman, not a teenager, I probably would have been relieved. I’ve been trying to think of ways to gracefully break off our relationship because I live with my great-uncle and he and Glen are friends. Or were friends.”
“So you’ve told your uncle about Glen and Nan?”
“Actually Clarice did. She had seen a man come to Penny’s house a few times—a man Penny didn’t seem happy to see. Clarice had no idea the man was my ‘admirer,’ as she put it, until he came by Uncle Simon’s house and she saw him there. Anyway, Nan and I talked in the kitchen. She told me about her and Glen.
“She had more to say but Blake Wentworth stopped by. He said he only had a few minutes and he needed to see me and I excused myself from Nan. He wanted to apologize for the way his brother-in-law had treated me in the park. Then he added that while Jeffrey Cavanaugh had been with Penny earlier in the day, the doctor had told him Penny was pregnant. I heard a glass shatter in the kitchen. When I ran in, I saw Nan was in her car, leaving. I went to her house that night to find out what she had wanted to tell me.”
Detective Silver’s dark eyebrows drew together. “Do you think Nan knew Penny was pregnant?”
“No, I don’t. I believe she overheard Blake telling Simon and me. That’s when she dropped her glass in surprise.”
“I see. So what she wanted to tell you was not that Penny was pregnant.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You know that her house showed signs she was leaving?”
“I noticed a suitcase out that night. I think she’d brought it down from the attic.”
“Do you believe she was leaving because of Mr. Austen? Do you think she didn’t want to be around him when she was certain he’d been having an affair with Penny?”
“I believe she wanted to get away from him. I don’t think it was because of the pregnancy, though. She’d already made her plans before she found out Penny was pregnant.” Diana reached in her bag and pulled out the letter Nan had left for her. “This morning I found this message for me. In it she says she’s writing down what she wants to tell me because she thinks I might not be home when she comes by, or I might not have time to hear her whole story.”
Diana took a deep breath. “Anyway, Detective Silver, Nan tells a story I could hardly believe at first. I still have trouble believing it or thinking of how many consequences her actions could have had. Of course I want to turn it over as evidence, but I’d like for you to read it right now.” She handed the letter over.
Diana sat very still at first. Then she sorted through her tote bag, looking for nothing in particular. Nan’s confession held Detective Silver’s complete concentration, so Diana finally stood up and walked over to the window. “Would you like a cup of coffee?” Detective Silver asked. Diana said yes, and the woman nodded to an automatic coffeemaker with Styrofoam cups beside it along with packets of artificial sweetener and nondairy creamer. Diana fixed herself a cup, glad that the pot had just finished brewing, and immediately took a gulp, burning her tongue and swearing. It seemed as if everyone in the room looked up at her, and blushing like a young girl, she gushed an apology, feeling even more conspicuous. She walked back to her chair and sat down, determined not to make another sound.
Detective Silver looked up. “Well, from everything I’ve heard about Nan Murphy, this comes as quite a surprise. I didn’t think she was a take-action kind of girl.”
“She was a girl madly in love,” Diana said. “Emphasis on mad. I think she’d taken leave of her senses.”
“Or this wasn’t her plan at all. It was Glen Austen’s.”
“Maybe it was. Maybe Nan saw a plan gone wrong and decided to blame it on someone else. Maybe the whole thing is a lie to make Glen look as bad as possible.” Diana set down her cup of steaming coffee. “But if she isn’t lying, Jeffrey Cavanaugh could have learned the whereabouts of his wife and daughter weeks ago.”
“Then why didn’t he do something about it?”
“Maybe he did. How do we know he didn’t plant the bomb in Penny’s basement? He’s been around construction all of his life. I’m sure he knows how to build a simple bomb.”
Detective Silver stared at her for a moment then asked sternly, “Are you a parent?”
“You know I’m not.”
“Because if you were, you’d understand how unlikely it would be for Cavanaugh to blow up a house with his daughter inside. His five-year-old child. I would die a thousand deaths before I’d hurt one of my children.”
Diana knew that Silver was smashing her idea from pure reflex. She was not only putting Diana in her place, she was also telling her what it meant to be a parent. The woman’s breath had quickened and her color rose.
Diana leaned back in her chair. “Detective, I know you’re good at your job whereas I have no experience with murder cases, but I believe you’re being a bit self-righteous. You seem to think that because I don’t have a child of my own, I can’t possibly know how much a parent can love a child. I believe I can. I believe I love Willow as if she were my own. And you’re also comparing yourself to Jeffrey Cavanaugh just because you’re both parents.
“Last night I heard the story of a thirteen-year-old boy whose crack-addicted parents simply moved one day when he was in school,” Diana continued. “They left him alone to fend for himself on the streets. Would you do that? No. But they were parents and they did. So just because you would ‘die a thousand deaths’ before you’d hurt one of your children doesn’t mean Cavanaugh feels the same way. Not all parents are alike, Detective Silver.”
The woman had crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes narrowing, her face hardening as Diana talked. Dislike—even hostility—had flared in her hazel eyes. But in the minute of silence after Diana stopped talking, the hardness softened, the hostility lessened. Finally she looked down at some papers on her desk, then back up at Diana. “All right, Ms. Sheridan, you’ve made your point. And much as I hate to admit I can be wrong”—a tiny smile here—“it’s a good point.”
“I’m sorry I offended you.”
“I’m getting over it, but if you really want to get in my good graces again, you’ll let me take a sip of that coffee you’re not drinking.” Diana smiled and nodded. Miriam Silver took a good-sized drink of the steaming coffee without the slightest indication of pain. “For now, I only want to go over two things with you. Both are pieces of evidence. One was found last night and is already stored. It’s a white robe—something like a choir robe—made out of a heavy cotton-polyester blend. We found a few hairs on it, but of course, they must be tested for DNA, which doesn’t happen overnight like it does on television. However, we did identify an iridescent white paint—the kind that glows when you shine a black light on it.”
“The angel!” Diana exclaimed, and Detective Silver tilted her head. “Willow was lured outside the house by what she thought was her guardian angel. She said it wore a white robe and a light shined on its face and the face glowed. Those are her exact words.”
“Someone put iridescent white paint on their face and held up a black light to it,” Detective Silver said. “You can buy miniature black lights only five or six inches long. Was this person a man or a woman?”
“Willow got rather huffy about that question. She said angels aren’t boys or girls—they’re just angels.”
“She said nothing about the way the angel moved? Its voice?”
“It ran. It called for her to follow. But she wasn’t looking for male strides versus female. The same with voices. She’s five.”
“And when this angel got closer to you?”
“I saw nothing before the angel started shooting at us. When the first bullet rang out, I pushed Willow to the ground.”
Detective Silver drained the coffee cup, and Diana briefly wondered if the inside of the woman’s mouth was heat resistant. She tossed away the Styrofoam cup then picked up a plastic bag. “I know you have a bee in your bonnet about Jeffrey Cavanaugh, but our men were back searching the woods beyond your ho
use early this morning. They found this.”
She handed Diana a small, sealed plastic bag. Inside was a stainless steel, curb link bracelet with a foldover clasp. The bracelet bore a raised red emblem with a silver caduceus in the middle. A medical ID bracelet. Diana maneuvered the bracelet in the bag until she could see the engraved lettering: GLEN AUSTEN PENICILLIN
He’d told her that he’d worn the bracelet every day since a penicillin reaction nearly killed him when he was fifteen.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
1
“Gosh, I love Heritage Village!” Willow exclaimed as the three of them—Tyler and Diana each holding one of her hands—ambled into the plaza on Veterans Memorial Boulevard across from the Riverfront Park. “I haven’t been here for years!”
Diana smiled. “You were here two months ago with your mother and me.”
“Yeah, well it seems like years,” Willow maintained. “Tyler, did you ever come here with Mommy?”
“No. I’m afraid when I came to visit we didn’t do much sightseeing. Will you do the honors of being our tour guide, Diana?”
“Hmmm? Oh, sure.” Diana had left the Detective Bureau shaken. Although she’d marched in with Nan’s damning evidence against Glen in her hand, seeing his bracelet had made her picture him standing over her and Willow in the bizarre white robe, his face painted white, ready to shoot them to death. Obviously he had no reason to kill Willow. He had thrown pebbles against Willow’s window to wake her up, then thrown more pebbles against Diana’s window. After all, he couldn’t have known the cats would awaken her. He’d assumed that once awake, she would check on Willow, and finding her missing, come in search of her. Diana had been Glen’s real target either because he thought she’d seen him at Nan’s, or because he didn’t want her telling anybody that he’d been involved in the scheme to get money from Jeffrey Cavanaugh, or maybe both. Willow would have been merely collateral damage.
“Ma’am,” Tyler said loudly, “I’m afraid we’re not getting our money’s worth. You’re very pretty but you’re a lousy tour guide.”
You Can Run... Page 28