Doubleback: A Novel (19 page)

Georgia had found Barbie bubble bath on the rim of the tub and dribbled it into the water. Now a mass of fluffy white bubbles floated across the surface. Molly’s face registered approval, but you couldn’t really call it a smile. Georgia helped her take off her bathrobe and Disney princess nightgown. Her ribs protruded. She
wasn’t
eating enough.

“In you go...” she lifted Molly into the water.

Molly sat down, stretched out her legs and studied the bubbles. She scooped some of them up and deposited them on one arm.

Georgia smiled. “Is that a new blouse?”

Molly’s eyes narrowed, as if considering the idea. Then she scooped up more and coated her other arm. She looked over at Georgia. Georgia smiled more broadly. Molly’s expression smoothed out, her mouth twitched, and she cracked a tiny smile. Georgia’s heart flipped. This had to be the first time in a week.

“It’s gorgeous,” she said. “And just your size.”

A sly look came across the girl and she wiped the bubbles off her arms. She lowered her hands into the water, but this time, instead of scooping up more, she started to slap them. She glanced at Georgia then swatted more forcefully, creating waves of white foam that sloshed against the side of the tub. As the waves gathered steam, the water spilled over the top and onto the floor. She giggled.

Georgia dipped her hand in the water and gently splashed Molly. Molly splashed back. Then Georgia scooped up a handful of bubbles and smeared them on her chin. “See my beard?”

Molly giggled and mimicked her.

“You too?”

Molly nodded.

“I guess we’re two bearded ladies.”

“Girls don’t have beards.”

Georgia feigned surprise. “They don’t?”

“No, that’s just silly.”

Georgia shrugged. “Oops.”

That made Molly laugh. A real laugh.

Georgia let her splash a while longer, then asked, “Would you like your back soaped?”

Molly nodded. Georgia found a washcloth on the towel rack, dipped it in the water and scrubbed Molly’s back.

“Up here,” Molly said, snaking her hand around her back.

Georgia rubbed the spot Molly pointed to.

“Now down here.” Molly moved her hand down.

Georgia complied.

“Now over here.” Molly placed her other hand on her back.

“I bet down here, now,” Georgia said, moving the cloth.

“No!” Molly ordered. “Not till I say so.”

“I’m sorry, your majesty.”

When the water finally cooled, Georgia lifted her out, wrapped her in a towel, and dried her. She examined Molly’s bathrobe. It needed laundering.

“You have another one?”

Molly shook her head.

“No problem.” Georgia went back out to the living room and asked Terry for a clean t-shirt. Returning with one, she put it on Molly. It hung to the middle of her calves. “Now that’s a perfect fit.”

But Molly didn’t say anything, and she stuck her fingers in her mouth, as if she somehow understood that her bath had been just a respite, a special but temporary moment of happiness in the midst of grief.

Again Georgia held out her hand. “How about we put some food in your mouth instead of your fingers?”

When they came back into the living room, Terry was on his laptop. Georgia told him she was going to fix Molly something to eat. She bypassed the food on the counter and scrounged the cabinets. She found a can of chicken soup, bread, and in the refrigerator, sliced cheese. She started the soup on the stove, got out a pan, and prepared three grilled cheese sandwiches.

Molly watched carefully. She took her fingers out of her mouth. “I can’t eat all those.”

“One’s for me. And another for your Dad.”

Molly blinked as if she needed time to process the information. “I don’t like crusts.”

“Then you shall not eat them.”

Ten minutes later the three of them were at the dining room table with soup and crustless sandwiches. Georgia watched as Molly slurped down soup, glad the girl was eating something. Terry seemed relieved too. Georgia didn’t really need a sandwich, but she pretended to enjoy it. Determined to keep the mood light, she made small talk about the Taste of Chicago, which had just ended, all the while wondering how to—or if she even could—bring up the subject of Molly’s abduction.

When Molly finished her sandwich, she put her fingers back in her mouth. Georgia was disappointed. But Terry, who must have cottoned to the idea of keeping things light, laughed. “You keep sucking your fingers, baby, you might suck them right off.”

Molly dropped her fingers. “Like the man who stole me.”

Georgia froze. Terry Messenger paled. His smile vanished. After a moment he managed to ask, “What was that, freckle-face?”

Molly looked at Terry, then Georgia. “The man who stole me. He sucked his finger off.”

“How do you mean, sweetie?” Georgia asked softly.

Molly held up her hand. “This finger.” She pointed to the index finger of her left hand. “There wasn’t anything there. Just a lump.” She cast her eyes down. “He got mad at me for staring at it.”

chapter
23

A
slanting sun brushed the evening sky with rose and orange and purple as Georgia drove back to her apartment. One of Molly’s kidnappers was missing the index finger on his left hand. The man at Sechrest’s cabin looked as if his finger was missing. It might not be compelling, but it was a solid connection. Missing fingers weren’t common. If she’d been on the force, she could search the criminal databases. They’d spit out any man with a missing finger right away.

At the next red light she pulled her cell out. She’d told O’Malley she would call. It was the right thing to do. Otherwise, she’d be looking forever. And hoping for divine intervention. But. She stared at her cell until the light turned green.

“Second strike out for Lilly in two innings...”

The Cubs game was on the radio. She listened sometimes in the car. She wasn’t a rabid fan, but the announcer’s chatter, the swell of the crowd, even the organ music were white noise; comfort food for her soul. Her father used to listen to Cubs games when she was little. Those were the only times that he seemed happy. Or at least not angry. He’d sit in the old recliner, a bottle of beer in one hand, eyes closed. He’d smile when the Cubs did something right, but more often he’d yell and curse. Still, the few hours that the games were on provided an oasis of safety and security for Georgia. He was distracted, not focused on her. She’d come to believe the world couldn’t be too bad a place, that things couldn’t go too far wrong if a baseball game was still on the air.

The day’s colors were fading and the shadows lengthening by the time she parked two blocks away from her apartment and walked back. It was quiet: fireflies blinked; her shoes thudded softly. The kids who lived across the street usually peppered the street with screams and shouts. But the rain had left an uncomfortable sheen of humidity on everything. They were probably indoors playing computer games, and driving their mother crazy.

Suddenly she felt a weight behind her, a charged mass of air. She automatically reached for her Sig until she realized she wasn’t carrying. She spun around anyway. Nobody was there. She squinted into the dusk. She searched the hedge of waist-high yews bordering her neighbor’s yard. No one, and no place to hide. She went back to the corner and checked the street in both directions. Nothing. An uneasy feeling came over her. Her instincts were usually right on. Then again, she’d been under a lot of stress in Wisconsin. And while Lake Geneva was safe, it had its own tension. Maybe she was imagining things.

She jogged the rest of the way back to her building. Whoever had tracked Sechrest to her cabin in Wisconsin had seen Georgia’s license plates. They could easily trace them back to her. She looked into the deepening dusk one more time. Was Sechrest’s pursuer coming after her?

Unless it wasn’t an enemy. She wouldn’t put it past Robbie Parker or one of his men to tail her. Just to figure out how much she knew.

She hurried to the front door of her building. Pete’s apartment was on the third floor. His light was on. She climbed the stairs to his place, wondering if her pursuer was missing a finger on his left hand.

•   •   •

Steps sounded in the hall outside her apartment the next morning. They stopped at her door. She crept to the door and looked out the peephole, which she’d had installed after the fire last year. It was Pete. She reached to open the door, then stopped. Their conversation last night hadn’t ended well.

She’d gone upstairs to talk about the case. She’d done that with other cases, and Pete didn’t seem to mind. He was a good listener, and talking out loud helped clarify her thinking.

“I think Molly’s coming out of it.” She sat on his couch and curled her legs under her. “And assuming her father doesn’t push her, she’ll probably recall more as time goes on.”

“That’s a lot of pressure to put on a little girl,” Pete said. He was wearing a t-shirt and cut-offs. He looked tan, rested. Good.

“Depends on how it’s done. We need to know what the kidnappers looked like, what they did, what they said. Any nugget she might drop. Like the man with the missing finger. I think it can be done with sensitivity.”

“You hope.”

“Well, yes.” She peered at Pete. He didn’t normally offer opinions, particularly with a bite. She uncurled her legs.

“It also makes you more dependent on Terry Messenger’s good will.”

“I don’t think he’s a bad person. Or untrustworthy.”

“He was reluctant to let you talk to his daughter.”

“He has his hands full. But you could be right. I get the feeling he wants to cross this off his ‘to do’ list.”

“He’s a busy doctor. Can you blame him?”

“I guess not. The problem is I still need to find a stonger link between Molly’s kidnapping, her mother’s murder, the bank account, and Delton Security. The man with the missing finger isn’t enough”

“Are you sure there is one?”

“Common sense says it’s there.”

“I don’t get it, Georgia. Isn’t that the police’s job? Shouldn’t you let them make the connection?”

She bit her lip. “I will. Eventually.”

“Why not now?”

“What I give them has to be air tight.”

“Why? They’ve got detectives to connect the dots.”

“I want to make sure there’s no chance the case will go away.”

“What do you mean?”

Georgia was surprised to find herself arguing what Ellie Foreman said just last night. “Delton Security is a government contractor, and the government doesn’t want to bite the hand that feeds them. Or in this case, protects them. There’s a precedent of investigations stalling. Getting watered down. Going dry. The police have concluded Chris Messenger’s death was accidental. At least publicly. It would be easier all around to keep it that way. Maintain the status quo. I have to make sure my case is so tight that no one, neither the police nor the Feds, can sweep it under the rug.”

Pete nodded but he wasn’t really paying attention, Georgia thought. He looked preoccupied.

“There’s something else,” she went on.

“What?”

“Someone came after Sechrest in Wisconsin. They know my license plates. I don’t have a lot of time.”

“You need to be careful.” Pete went into the kitchen, got a beer from the refrigerator. He popped the top, came back in the living room, and sat down next to her. “Georgia, I know you’re wrapped up in this case, but there’s something we need to talk about.”

She fidgeted. She didn’t like conversations that began that way. She thought she knew what was coming, and she realized she dreaded it. Please, she begged silently. Don’t, Pete. Not now.

“I need to tell you something.”

Her heart sank, and she scolded herself for getting too close to a man, even platonically. Why was this relationship thing so difficult? Why couldn’t they just be friends, share time together, enjoy each other’s company? Men always wanted more. On the other hand, if they thought you were coming on to them, they ran in the other direction. Which made it tricky. After her own rocky history, she wasn’t anxious to get involved. She thought Pete felt the same way. She turned toward him, searching for the right words, any words that would preserve their friendship.

“I’ve been talking to Kelly.”

Georgia was shocked. Kelly? Then it registered. “Your ex-wife.”

“She’s not exactly my ex. We haven’t signed the papers yet.”

Georgia’s spine stiffened. “I didn’t know that.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Georgia. And it’s pretty clear you don’t want to.”

She found herself feeling defensive although she wasn’t sure why. “That’s not true. It’s just—”

“You don’t have to explain. I know it’s a bad time for you. You’re focusing on your career. You’re still getting over Matt. There’s always something.”

Was she that transparent? “You don’t know that.” It sounded lame, even to her.

He smiled. “I don’t have to. The point is, Kelly and I have decided to give it one more try before—”

She cut him off. “You and your ex-wife are getting back together.”

“We’re going to try.”

Georgia’s stomach twisted. She felt lost. She didn’t know what to say. She rose from the couch. “I think—that’s a great idea. Good luck.”

She was almost to the door when he said, “Georgia, wait. I’m not getting good vibes here. Let’s finish the conversation.”

She shook her head. When she got to the door, she opened it.

“Georgia, please.”

“There’s nothing more to say.” She made a speedy exit.

•   •   •

Now, the next morning, she knew she should open the door. Talk to Pete. Explain it wasn’t that she wanted him for herself. Just that she couldn’t help feeling abandoned. It was woven into the fabric of her life. She leaned against the door but didn’t open it. Eventually, Pete’s footsteps retreated. She heard the front door of the building slam shut.

chapter
24

M
id-July. The peonies were long gone, the roses were just hanging on, but the day lilies were about to bloom. I was making the rounds of my garden with weed killer, trying to control nature in my little corner of the universe. With me was my friend, Fouad al Hamra, who was targeting crabgrass for demolition. Fouad owns his own landscaping business, but unlike some business owners, he still does most of the work himself. Although I only see him during the growing season, Fouad is one of my closest friends. Indeed, I owe him my life, a fact which he, with his characteristic sense of modesty, refuses to concede.