Her daughter shrugged, pleading, eyes wide.
She’s on the deep end of something, Catherine thought again. But what?
The detective had turned to Tenley, pointed his cigarette-pack-size black radio at her.
“You know who was standing by that vehicle, Miss Siskel,” he said, saying her name correctly. “And you need to tell me. Now.”
“What vehicle?” Catherine stepped between Tenley and the cop, barricading her daughter behind her. Reaching out a hand, she touched Tenley’s thigh. Be quiet. “What are you talking about?”
45
Jane had commandeered the only accessible wall plug in the inn’s lobby and hooked up her cell phone to keep it charged. Checked that the volume was on, the ringer up. Sat on the cordovan leather couch, the cord draped over the padded armrest. A navy-jacketed concierge had inquired whether she needed help. Even though the answer was yes, she shook her head. There was nothing the concierge could do.
“I’m waiting for friends. They’ll be down any minute,” she’d said. She hoped that was true.
There was one bank of elevators. From her carefully selected couch position she could monitor whoever got on and off. Only one car served the pool/skyview level. Already, she’d seen a few kids wrapped in hotel towels flip-flopping out that elevator door, crossing the lobby to the snack shop, then returning to the rooftop sunshine. Maybe Gracie and Lewis were there right now. Jane pictured Gracie, splashing and happy, oblivious to the drama her stepfather was creating. Still, he’d promised to send the little girl home today. End of story.
Jane had never met Lewis or Gracie. But she’d seen enough photos to recognize them, apart or together. Besides, unlike the setup of a usual stakeout, they’d be looking for her. Lewis would, at least.
Jane fidgeted. Couldn’t get comfortable. Tourists milled at a display rack of multicolored pamphlets, a bored-looking clerk at the registration desk talked on her cell phone, and canned music competed with the splashing water from a stone fountain in the center of the area.
Waiting was frustrating, no matter what. Stakeouts were relentlessly and irretrievably terrible. No food, no bathroom, shivering or broiling, hours of waiting for something that might never happen, and when it did, managing the blast of surprise, panic, and chaos. Truth be told, watching for a kid in a cushy hotel lobby wasn’t as bad as foot-freezing snowstorm duty, or that time she’d been assigned to Humarock Beach in a hurricane, pelted by sand and drenched to her core, simply to tell viewers it was windy and raining.
Even though she wouldn’t get wet or ice-coated on this stakeout, the apprehension and nerves were exactly the same. She picked up her phone from the chrome-and-glass side table, turned it over and over, twisting the power cord.
When the phone vibrated, it startled her so completely she dropped it onto the soft leather. Snatched it up, hit the green button. She’d been here only fifteen minutes. Mentally she’d prepared herself to wait much longer.
Good.
“Jane Ryland,” she said. She scanned the elevator doors. All closed. Was this about to be over?
“Marsh Tyson, Channel 2,” the voice said. “Checking in. You anywhere near City Hall? You were going to call me when you were available. All hell’s breaking loose over there.”
“Hell? Breaking loose? At City Hall?” Jane was echoing, stalling, trying to think and keep her eyes on the elevator doors at the same time. She had call-waiting, so that’d beep if Lewis called, but unlikely he’d do so now, right? Robyn had told her “later in the afternoon.” She could stay in place, give Marsh Tyson a few minutes, and try to regain her claim on the reporting job. Four hours ago she’d been tracking down a potential scoop in Catherine Siskel’s office. With Jake. Had the Curley Park murder been solved? Had she missed the whole story?
“Well, manner of speaking,” Tyson said. “We’re still trying to track whether the Curley Park murder victim was connected to a City Hall big shot. So we’ve got the live truck parked there now, finally, Congress Street side. But there’s no reporter to staff it. Our next big newscast isn’t until five, and we could always go voice-over from the studio. But checking on your availability.”
Jane stood, then got yanked down onto the couch as the length of the cord ran out. “Ah, yeah,” she said, regaining her balance. Okay, she hadn’t missed anything. “I’m near City Hall. But I’m right in the midst of-”
The elevator doors opened, the sun glaring on the silhouettes emerging. A kid. A kid who was exactly the right size. And a man.
“Marsh?” Jane pulled the plug from the wall, took a few steps closer to the elevators, out of the glare. Every hair on her head had turned gray, she was sure. “Hang on. I’ve got to…”
A little boy in a too-big Power Rangers T-shirt and huge running shoes scampered toward the center of the lobby, his father trotting after him. The father swooped up the kid and briefly held him high, their peals of laugher echoing across the marble-and-glass lobby as they twirled through the revolving front door and out into the sunshine.
Jane sat, her knees unsteady. The elevator doors had closed again. “Listen, Marsh?” She tried to infuse her voice with some semblance of confidence and composure. “I’m very interested in working with you, and eager to get back on the air. But I’m so sorry, probably not today. Again, and it’s incredibly unusual, but this family thing has got to come first.”
And with that, it did. She knew it did. And she wondered where Jake was and why the whole thing was so complicated. And why everything exploded at the same time. And why every time she tried to gain control of her own life, something happened to prevent it.
“Let me know,” Marsh said. A pause. “If you’re interested.”
“I will.” And she would, certainly, because the whole Gracie thing was about to be over. “And I am.”
“That’s good news,” Tyson said. “And that’s-”
The elevator doors opened again. And there was Gracie. Unmistakably. Unquestionably. A tumble of sandy curls, wire-rimmed glasses. Yellow sundress with fluttery ruffles on the shoulders.
Alone.
“Talk soon,” Jane said. And hung up.
So. Mama bear was protecting her cub. Jake had seen this before, so many times, the parents trying to keep the cops away from their precious ones, not even knowing or caring what their kids were up to. But this girl, this Tenley, still barricaded behind her mother, had recognized someone on the surveillance shot. Her spontaneous “Oh!” proved it. That car could pull out at any second. If it did, he and DeLuca were screwed. Why would Hewlitt drive to that spot, then drive away?
“We saw a person who seemed to walk up to the black Isuzu.” Jake kept his voice calm. “The car belongs to a person of interest.” Jake chose a phrase the police never used, but television-and Jane-did. “I’m pretty sure your daughter could tell us who she was. And that would be important.”
“My daughter?” Catherine Siskel’s previously confident demeanor seemed to deflate a bit. Obviously she was choosing her words carefully, clearing her throat before she spoke. “My daughter is mourning the death of her sister,” she said. “I can tell you, Detective, even so, she sometimes ‘sees’ her sister in crowds. I’m sure she only-”
The woman turned, linked her arm through her daughter’s, pulled her close. “It’s okay, honey,” she whispered. “Did you think you saw Lanna again?”