Inside, she put the kettle on for tea and turned on the radio. It was torture to hear Dev’s voice but she couldn’t seem to break the habit.
“Welcome to the tonight’s edition of Dev’s Dream Machine. For those who are new to the show tonight, prepare yourselves to listen to some of the great music from the thirties, forties, and early fifties. If you like the Big Band sound, I have it all and I’m willing to play whatever you want to hear. Just give me a call at 888-555-WMES.”
Funny, his voice sounded different tonight. Still smooth and deep, but there was no animation, no excitement. Usually his enthusiasm for the music he loved came right over the air. She stared at the radio as if she could see into the studio if she concentrated hard enough.
The music started. She recognized Billie Holiday instantly.
She closed her eyes. The man was uncanny. Even if he wasn’t here, he could rip out her heart and stomp it to pieces. She sat at the kitchen counter and wallowed in self-pity while the next few songs played. By the time “You Made Me Love You” came on, she was knee-deep in tissues and cursing the day Dev MacMurphy came into her life. But she couldn’t turn the damn radio off. She just couldn’t. Because she couldn’t turn off her love for Dev either, the jerk.
A few days later, she was planting petunias by her porch when a black sedan pulled up in front of the house. A man dressed in a suit and tie and wearing dark sunglasses got out and walked over to her. She recognized the FBI uniform. Slowly she got up off her knees and stripped off her gardening gloves.
“Miss Adams? I’m Agent Baley, FBI.” He flipped open his credentials.
“Agent Baley.” She held out her hand.
He shook it. “I have some news for you concerning your father.”
The breath she had been holding whooshed out. She gestured toward the door. “Why don’t we go inside?”
She offered him a seat in the small living room. “Can I get you something to drink? Iced tea? Water?”
He pocketed his sunglasses, his face appearing much younger without them.
“Nothing for me, ma’am, thank you.”
No formalities then, to delay the news. She sat across from him, hands in her lap.
“We believe we’ve found the remains of your father, Miss Adams.”
The news, not entirely unexpected at this point, still hit her in the chest with the force of a physical object.
“He was one of the Highway Hijacker’s victims, then?”
“We’re not sure about that yet. You see, his car was found not far from here, by the dredging company that is working at the Wyndham’s dock.”
“Here. In Blue Point Cove?” He’d been this close all these years? “H . . . How . . .?”
“The dredging company discovered the vehicle by accident. They were about to have it hauled out of their way when their diver saw the remains in the driver’s seat. They called the police and gave them the vehicle’s make, model, and license number. When the police realized it might be a dump from the Highway Hijacker, they called us.”
Amanda opened her mouth. Closed it. Tried again. “I guess I don’t understand.”
“I know it’s a lot to take in and I don’t have any more information than that right now. I’m on my way to the Wyndham’s to talk with them, but I wanted to let you know first.”
“Thank you.”
He seemed a nice enough man. Very formal, no-nonsense personality on the outside, but that was tempered by a certain amount of kindness and consideration for the news he had to share.
“Would it be all right if I went to the Wyndham’s home with you? I’d like to see where they found . . . the car.”
“I don’t see why not.”
She brushed at her dirt-stained jeans. “Just let me change and I’ll be ready to go.” She hurried to the bathroom and washed her face and hands then changed into slacks and a short-sleeved shirt.
A short while later, Mrs. Wyndham answered their knock, dressed impeccably as always. Her husband came out of the library at the sound of their voices.
“Hello, Amanda, dear.” Mrs. Wyndham greeted her first. “And you must be . . . Agent Baley?”
“Yes, ma’am. I spoke with your husband on the phone earlier. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?”
“Not at all, Agent Baley. Please, come in.” She led the group through the great room to the deck and settled them around a table. “Can I offer you anything? Agent Baley? Amanda?”
Agent Baley declined with a shake of his head, but Amanda asked for water, her throat suddenly parched. She couldn’t stop her eyes from straying toward the pavilion and beyond to the dock where the huge dredging equipment hulked in the water.
The Admiral brought her a cold bottle of water from the outdoor bar and served his wife and himself with gin and tonic. “I’m not sure we can help you much in your investigation, Agent Baley. While we know Amanda’s father went missing fifteen years ago, we weren’t living here at that time.”
“So I understand.” Agent Baley took out a notebook and flipped through some pages. “County records show that you did own this property at the time. Including the house next door.”
“Yes, that’s correct,” Mrs. Wyndham agreed. “We bought both lots because they were such a steal.” She turned her attention to Amanda. “Did I tell you that we first found out about this place from your father, dear? I overheard him talking to the bartender one night when my friends and I went to hear his quintet play. He was so happy to find such an undiscovered gem like Blue Point where he could afford to buy a summer home for your family.” She smiled fondly at the reminiscence. “The very next time Hal’s ship was in port we came down here and snapped up these two lots.”
“That’s enough, dear. I’m sure Agent Baley doesn’t need to hear the entire history.” He patted his wife’s hand.
“Oh, well, of course. I was just . . .” She shot the Admiral a frown. “Sometimes I talk too much. Forgive me.”
Agent Baley consulted his notes again. “So in June of nineteen ninety-two you owned these parcels, but weren’t living here?”
The Admiral answered. “By then we had demolished the old house on this lot and this house was under construction. We left the other house intact to use when we came down to see how the contractors were doing. You’ve got to keep an eye on them or they’ll rob you blind, you know. Especially if you don’t live close enough to monitor their progress regularly.” He took a long swig of his drink. “I was at sea much of that time, so I had Caroline come down from time to time and take pictures to send to me. She got to be a right good little photographer.” He patted Mrs. Wyndham’s hand again.
“So, on the night of the disappearance, were you here on one of your photographic forays, Mrs. Wyndham?”
“No. I was back in Annapolis. Belinda Hopps had a party that night and I attended.” She rolled her eyes heavenward. “Terribly boring, as I recall.”
“There was no evidence of a break-in at the other house? Nothing out of the ordinary that you noticed the next time you came down?”
“No, Agent Baley, nothing that I recall. It has been seventeen years, so I will admit my recollection of that time is not crystal clear. The police had me drive over and open up the house, but all I remember was that it had been raining for days and there were muddy footprints from the policemen all through that house by the time they were done.”
Agent Baley closed his notebook. “Thank you for your time. I’m sorry for the interruption but the Crime Scene Investigators will have to collect evidence before your dredging can proceed.”
The Admiral heaved a sigh. “I’ve been waiting for a month to get that boat up here, what’s a few more days?”
This time it was Mrs. Wyndham’s turn to pat his hand. “I’m so sorry, dear. It won’t be much longer, will it, Agent Bale
y?”
“The team will be over from Salisbury in the morning. I don’t expect it to take them more than a day to process the scene. After that, the dredging company can move right along.” He stood and everyone else stood with him.
“I’ll show you out, though no doubt you can find your way, Amanda.”
“If you don’t mind, Mrs. Wyndham, I’d like to come back tomorrow when they . . . when they . . . recover . . .”
Mrs. Wyndham put her arm around Amanda’s shoulder and gave her a hug. “Of course, dear. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
Rosemary looked up from her keyboard as the office door opened. Relief washed across her face when she saw the familiar uniform.
“Good morning, Captain Majewski. It’s good to see you. Let me tell Dev you’re here.” She reached for the intercom button but stopped when he shook his head.
“Don’t bother with the announcement, Rosemary. I’ll just go on back.”
Rosemary gave him a grateful smile and returned to her typing.
Chris stood quietly in the doorway of Dev’s office and studied the man behind the desk. Neatly dressed in his usual white long-sleeved shirt and jeans, a casual observer would see nothing more than a businessman at work. The eyes a little red-rimmed, perhaps, but after all he had just finished an eight-hour stint behind the microphone.
Chris noticed the less obvious signs and knew better. Faintly hollowed cheeks. Slumped shoulders. Strain lines at the corners of the mouth. Hair that had been rearranged by fingers dragged through it—more than once. The sightless stare at the glowing computer screen was the final giveaway.
“How’s it going, Marconi?” He sauntered in and sat, crossed his legs and gave no indication he’d been doing a quick psych eval. Now that he had Dev’s attention, he got an even better read on how bad things really were. Damn. He had hoped . . . He made sure nothing of his own regret showed on his face.
Dev started at the sound of Chris’ voice, but disguised it with a stretch. If he’d been that oblivious in Fallujah, he’d be dead. Not for the first time, he wished he were.
“Hey, Freud. If you’re here to ask about Lance, he’s coming along nicely.” He doubted this mis-direction would work, but anything to deflect Majewski from his own problems was worth a shot. He knew that conversation was going to be painful.
No luck. The Army doc merely sat and waited. Dev did his best to hide the bleakness in his eyes with a business-like brusqueness. “If you’re short on time you don’t have to waste any talking with me.”
“Talking to an old friend is never a waste of time.”
“Is that what we are? Old friends?” Dev leaned back in his chair.
“I’d like to think that. Now that there isn’t any doctor-patient relationship, there’s no reason we can’t be friends.” He settled himself more comfortably.
The silence stretched.
Unreasonably irritated, Dev asked, “So, what’s new with you? Been out on the water yet this season?” You want to play friends, Chris? I can do that.
“Nope, not yet. Hopefully this weekend, though. Want to come along? Unless you have other plans, of course.”
“If I liked boats, I’d have joined the Navy,” he snapped, thoughtlessly parroting a phrase used often by Danny. He winced at the memory.
On second thought, he couldn’t play games. He needed to talk and the fact that Chris knew that made his already crappy mood even worse. Dev flicked his monitor off and stood. “Let’s get coffee since I can see you’re not leaving until I spill my guts.” He stormed out of his office and Chris trailed him down the hall to the lounge.
Dev set a mug of steaming coffee in front of Chris and dropped into a chair across the table. Without preamble, like ripping a Band-Aid off an unhealed wound, he said, “You were right. I made a mess of everything by lying. Amanda was furious. Kicked me out and told me she never wanted to see my sorry ass again.” He took a gulp of coffee and cursed as it scalded his tongue.
“How about we start at the beginning,” Chris suggested amicably. “You worked the party?”
“Yeah. I have to hand it to them. Amanda and Zoe did a fantastic job.” He got lost remembering his first sight of Amanda in that black dress. The haze of desire generated by the expanse of creamy skin from neck to waist was abruptly shattered when she’d confessed to Zoe that she loved him. He looked over at Chris. “She, uh, said she was in love with me.” He dropped his gaze to his coffee cup and contemplated the damage drinking the whole mug of molten liquid would do to his throat.
“She told you she loved you?” Chris leaned forward in his chair.
“Actually, no. She told Zoe. I just happened to walk in behind her and overhear.”
“And?”
“And nothing. I kept up the charade during the entire evening, just like I had planned to. When I took her home, I told her the whole story.”
Chris nodded.
“She didn’t take it well. From her point of view I not only lied to her and treated her like a child, but sleeping with her was apparently the ultimate insult, since she assumed it was all part of the promise I made to Danny.”
“And when you told her you loved her, did that make any difference?” Chris attempted a sip from his mug and watched Dev over the rim.
“I didn’t tell her,” Dev mumbled.
“Why not?”
“At that point I don’t think she’d have believed me.”
Silence settled like a shroud as Chris simply stared across the table. Unable to meet Chris’ gaze, Dev’s shoulders slumped and he examined his hands clenched together on the table.
“So that’s it? You’re just going to let her go?” Chris got up and dumped his coffee into the sink, then turned around and leaned against it. “You know, I really thought you had more in you, than to give up so easily.”
“Apparently you were wrong this time, Freud.”
Chris shrugged and headed for the door. Halfway there, he pivoted and faced Dev again, his frustration so palpable Dev felt the force of it from across the room. During his weeks of recovery in Walter Reed, he’d had numerous sessions with this man, yet he had never provoked him to anger. Until now.
“Quit living your life as though you don’t deserve to be happy. That’s bullshit anyway. Your friend made a decision that cost him his life. Of course that’s sad, but it was his decision—not yours. Instead of wishing every day that you could change places with him, how about thanking him every day for the gift of life he gave you? Then think about the fact that you had the love of an amazing woman, but you dropped her off a cliff and didn’t even hang around long enough to watch her hit bottom. What did she do to deserve that kind of treatment? Wake up, Marconi, and get your head out of your ass. You wish you were dead? Let me clue you in. Living is much harder than dying. You want to do penance for being alive? Try to make sure at least one other person on the planet has a good life, a happy life—no matter what it costs you.” He shot Dev one last annoyed look and left.
A few minutes later Rosemary stood in the doorway. “Boss, you okay?”
Brought back from a deep analysis of his recent choices by the sound of her voice, Dev decided it was past time to get his act together. “I’m fine, Rosemary. Is there a problem?”
She eyed him closely. “No, I guess not. Captain Majewski left in a hurry and he didn’t seem his usual self. I thought maybe . . .”
“I had pissed him off? Yeah, I’m pretty sure I did. Royally.”
He accepted Rosemary’s eye roll and exasperated sigh as his due. “Don’t worry, I’ll fix it. But I’ve something else to fix first.” He shoved his chair back. “Call Andy and ask him if he can cover my shift tonight—the first half of it anyway. Then get Neal to come in at three a.m. for the second half. I’m not sure how long this will take. If you get static from either of them,
call me on my cell and we’ll work out something else.”
With the faintest hint of a smile lurking at the corners of her mouth, Rosemary clicked her heels together and saluted. “Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”
“You mocking me, Rosemary?”
“No way, boss.” But her eyes twinkled and the smile got harder to hide.
He dumped his own coffee in the sink. “You should be. God knows I deserve it.” He squeezed her shoulder on the way out the door. “Thanks, Rosemary. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Call me if the building catches fire, okay?”
“Will do, boss. Keep me posted.”
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