“Yes. We’re looking for her. How did you find out about her?”
“Why are you looking for her?” he asked dully, blinking hard to focus on the cars.
“How did you learn about her?”
She hadn’t answered his question and his blood went even colder. “Lincoln is the webmaster for that Moss Web site I found. Mary O’Reilly paid his Web expenses.”
She was quiet a moment. “Okay. Where did you find Mary?”
“I went to visit Lincoln’s brother, Truman. He helped Lincoln find Glenn’s cabin yesterday. Mary is his secretary.” He’d arrived back at Truman’s realty office, his body numb. “Glenn’s hurt. I don’t know how bad. I have to go. I called 911.”
“All right,” she said calmly. “Where are you?”
“Presidential Realty.” He stumbled through the door. Truman knelt next to Glenn, pressing a towel to his head. “I have to go.” Blindly he set his phone aside and pressed his fingers to Glenn’s neck where an unsteady pulse stuttered.
David rolled Glenn to his side. And saw what Mary had been trying to get.
“Her purse,” Truman murmured. “Your friend grabbed her purse. Why?”
David shoved the purse aside. “Tell me about Mary O’Reilly. Pull her personnel file so you can give it to the cops when they get here.”
Shaking, Truman did as he was told, opening a file cabinet, removing a folder. “She applied for a job last summer. Our old receptionist died unexpectedly. One day Mary showed up to fill out an app. I was relieved. I didn’t even have to place a want ad.”
David’s blood ran cold. “Your receptionist died? How?”
“She fell down some stairs. She was older. Lost her footing.” Truman’s eyes grew more fearful. “Why? Mary’s always been a good worker and she’s good with Lincoln.”
“How was she good with Lincoln?”
“She calmed him when he got agitated. Sometimes on a slow day, they’d talk.”
Keeping pressure on Glenn’s head, David made himself think. “What did they talk about?” Although he bet he could guess. Preston Moss.
“I don’t know. I was just happy Lincoln was quiet so I could work.” Truman sat back on his heels, bewildered and afraid. “This is about Lincoln. What’s going on?”
David could hear sirens. “That’s what we all want to know,” he said grimly.
The medics rushed in. “What happened?”
Truman pointed to the floor near Mary’s desk. “I think she hit him with that.” It was a trophy for sales performance. It had traces of blood on one side.
Giving the medics room to work, David searched the desk without touching anything. “Glenn must have come inside. He can never sit still. He must have seen this.” It was a pay stub, with Mary’s name clearly visible. “He knew it was her.”
Truman was staring at the desk phone. “She had the intercom on, listening to us. She knew you were asking about Lincoln. What the hell is going on here?”
David stared at the pay stub, terror stealing his breath. “She’s got my mom.”
Wednesday, September 22, 2:00 p.m.
Phoebe clenched the wheel and tried to stay calm. Difficult when a gun was pointing at her head. The woman was young, early twenties. She’d run out of the realty office only to realize she was parked in. Phoebe had been ready to move her car when the woman jumped in, pointed a gun, and told her to drive.
“Who are you?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“Shut up and drive,” the young woman snapped.
“Are you going to kill me?”
The young woman laughed bitterly. “Do you want me to?”
“Not particularly. My friend was in there with my son. Did you hurt him?”
“I didn’t kill him, but if you don’t shut up, I will kill you. Up here, turn right.”
Phoebe obeyed, her eyes darting around for any way she could stop the car.
“I don’t recommend you do that,” the woman said quietly. “Really.”
Phoebe drew a breath. “I’ll give you the car and my phone. I won’t call the police.”
“Too late. Your old man already tried. But I will take your phone.” Mary pawed through Phoebe’s purse, found her phone, pulled out the battery, and threw it in the backseat. “Now they can’t track you.”
Phoebe thought of how many times her family had been in trouble over the years, how many times they’d nearly been killed. She’d always thought in some ways it had to be harder, to have to sit and wait for news. To pray. I was wrong. But her family had always kept their heads, had played it smart, buying time until help arrived. So will I.
She began to pray, silently mouthing the words that she’d said so often for others.
“What are you saying?” the woman snapped.
“I’m praying.”
“Well, stop. Nobody’s going to hear your prayers anyway.”
“I’ll know,” Phoebe murmured. “That’s enough.” They’d be looking for her, she knew. She wouldn’t let herself fear. Instead she’d focus on landmarks so that when she got away, she could find her way back.
The woman turned on the radio, tuning it until she found the news.
“Two college students were found dead today,” the announcer reported soberly, “one in his apartment, the other in his university dorm. Police are searching for Mary O’Reilly for questioning regarding these deaths. If you have any knowledge of the whereabouts of Mary Francesca O’Reilly, please call the police.”
Phoebe glanced at the woman. “I’m assuming you’re Mary.”
Mary’s jaw was taut. “Shut. Up. And. Drive.”
Wednesday, September 22, 2:15 p.m.
Olivia found David sitting on the floor of Jefferson’s realty office, his face pale beneath his tan. A nasty row of stitches lined his jaw. There was blood on his shirt.
She crouched beside him. “Are you all right?”
His eyes were blank. “Glenn saw Mary’s name on her pay stub and she hit him. I chased her and she shot at me. She’s not a good shot.”
Olivia touched his wrist, felt his pulse racing wildly. “David, are you all right?”
He closed his eyes. “I chased them, but I wasn’t fast enough. She took my mother.”
She slid her hand over his forearm. “Is this your blood on your shirt, or Glenn’s?”
“Glenn’s.”
“I thought you were on duty today.”
His mouth quirked bitterly. “If I had been, this wouldn’t have happened. Damn cat.”
“You’re not making any sense, David.”
“OTJ accident. Mom and Glenn picked me up at the firehouse. I was supposed to rest, but I didn’t listen. I got information on Lincoln’s Web site. He’s had it for ten years under a dead professor’s name.”
“You said Mary paid some of Lincoln’s bills. You tracked her credit card?”
“Yes. And then I called you with the information. Hours ago.” His tone took a slightly accusing edge and he looked away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
“I know,” she said gently. “How did you know about Lincoln’s brother?”
“Lincoln called his cell yesterday.”
Oh. “You checked Lincoln’s cell log while you waited for us yesterday, didn’t you?”
He nodded, unrepentant. “Priorities. Yours was catching a killer. Mine was making sure there wasn’t another Lincoln out there to come to my place, hurt my people.”
He would do that, protect his people. “When did you find out Mary was the secretary?”
“Truman mentioned her name when we were meeting. I didn’t know before. I would have called you. I wouldn’t have put my mother and Glenn in danger.”
“I know. We’ve got the state police helicopter in the air, searching for her car.”
He pinned her with his gaze. “Why were you looking for Mary? Tell me.”
Olivia sighed. “We think she killed at least one of the arsonists, maybe all three.”
David closed his eyes, his throat working as he swallowed hard. “With the gun?”