“I’m Mills Bryan, Special Agent with the FBI.” He came into the room and showed them his badge.
Jill got up and reached for his hand. “We’ve met before, Agent Bryan. The Newpointe Post Office bombing.”
Recognition dawned on his face. “Yes. I thought the name sounded familiar. I hope I’m not disturbing anything.”
Though still flat on his back, Dan seemed to come to attention. He shook the man’s hand. “Not at all. What brings you here?”
“Is it about Icon?” Jill asked.
“Yes, actually,” he said. “Mrs. Nichols, Stan Shepherd told me you were in a meeting with Donald Merritt when the building was evacuated.”
“That’s right.”
“I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Sure,” Jill said. “If there’s anything I can tell you that would help you figure out who did this, I will. As you can see, our lives have been drastically affected by what happened.”
“Yeah,” Dan agreed. “It’s real personal.”
“I can understand that.” Mills Bryan was a heavyset man with a deeply receding hairline and buzz-cut gray hair. He had intelligent eyes. Jill had the feeling that he didn’t miss much.
“Mrs. Nichols, I understand that you came out of the office right in front of Merritt. Is that right?”
Jill had tried many times to recall it exactly as it had happened. “I evacuated with his office staff. He went to the south stairwell, and I went to the north. Later, I crossed to the south, after the second bomb went off.”
“Did you see him after that?”
“No, I didn’t. That’s not to say that he wasn’t there. I was trying to help someone so I was slowed down a little. If he didn’t have any obstacles, he could have gotten out way ahead of me.”
“Where would you say he was in relation to that first bomb?”
“It’s hard to say. The bomb went off so quickly after we began to evacuate. I hadn’t gone more than a couple of flights.”
He seemed to process that. “You didn’t by any chance hear the call he got about the bomb, did you?”
“Just his side of it.”
“Did you catch a description of the bomb?”
“No,” she said. “Just that it was in the stockroom directly beneath us.” She tried to remember if there was anything else she could offer him.
Suddenly she thought of Ashley.
“I do know someone who saw the bomb, though.”
He looked at her as if he’d hit pay dirt. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yes. Ashley Morris. She’s the sixteen-year-old daughter of Debbie Morris, who worked in Merritt’s office. Ashley had come to see her mother, and they had walked to the stockroom together. She saw the bomb, then her mother told her to run. Debbie didn’t make it out.”
Bryan got a notepad out and jotted her name down. “The security guard told us that Debbie Morris reported the bomb, but we didn’t know about her daughter. Did you report this to the police?”
“Well, no. We’ve all been so busy. I’ve been focused on Dan, and she’s been grieving. It never occurred to us.”
“So where’s the girl now?”
“She’s staying with me.”
Bryan looked relieved. “I need to talk to her as soon as possible.”
“Sure, fine,” Jill said. She gave him her address. “She’s probably at home now. I can call and make sure, if you want.”
“Yes, if you don’t mind.”
She went to the phone next to Dan’s bed, and Dan made small talk with the man as she called home.
There was no answer after six rings. Finally, she gave up. “I don’t know where she is, Agent Bryan. She may be on her way here, but she doesn’t have a cell phone or anything.”
She saw the frustration on his face. “Would you call me as soon as you locate her? It’s very important that we interview her as soon as possible.”
“I will,” Jill said. “Trust me, she’ll want to do everything she can to help you find the bomber. It’s personal to her, too.”
Not long after Agent Bryan left, the physical therapist came in with a wheelchair. Dallas was a tall, athletic man who’d obviously had a little too much caffeine. It was clear he had excelled in his motivation classes, and nothing—not paralysis nor amputation nor anything short of death—would deter him from expecting great things from his patients.
Jill could see that his attitude only irritated Dan. Before Dallas could move Dan into the wheelchair, he had to first get him sitting up straight in the bed. And when that didn’t go well, Dan was even more aggravated.
“There are balance issues we have to deal with in paralysis cases,” Dallas told Jill. “He’s been lying flat for over a week. He’ll have to adjust to sitting up again.”
“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Dan bit out.
Jill felt helpless as Dan forced himself through the nausea that assaulted him when Dallas sat him up. But after several minutes, it passed.
“Great,” Dallas said. “You’re doing great, man. I’m really proud of you.”
Dan wasn’t impressed. “I sat up. Don’t act like I just won the Boston Marathon.”
“But this is a big accomplishment. Some patients take several sessions to—”
“Don’t patronize me. I’m not some kid.”
Jill gave Dallas an embarrassed look. “Dallas, he didn’t mean—”
“Don’t apologize for me, Jill!” Dan turned back to Dallas. “Let’s go. I’m ready to get in that chair.”
Dallas seemed undaunted by Dan’s mood. Jill wondered if he was used to taking the abuse of angry patients.
“No problem,” Dallas said. “I think you’re ready.” He looked up at Jill. “You think you can help me lift him?”
“Sure.”
“No!” Dan shook his head. “No way. I don’t want my wife to lift me!”
Tears came to Jill’s eyes even though she knew that he didn’t mean to hurt her. It was simply that his own pain was so deep. And her being here, watching him struggle, was causing him even more pain.
“Dan, maybe I should leave until you and Dallas finish.”
Dan was beginning to sweat. “I think that would be good.”
“All right then. I’ll be in the waiting room down the hall.”
Dallas smiled at her. She wondered how he did it. “I’ll come get you when we’re done.”
She stepped out into the hall and tried to stop her tears. This wasn’t about her, she told herself again. It was about him, and if he needed her to leave him alone, she would do that.
She didn’t have to like it.
Jill!”
Jill looked up and saw Clara getting off the elevator. She tried to pull herself together.
“Hi, Clara,” she said as his mother approached. “You can’t go in right now. His physical therapist’s in there with him.”
Clara accepted that. “What are they doing?”
“He’s trying to get him wheelchair-trained. Apparently it’s more complicated than I thought.”
Clara seemed to run that through her mind. She was wearing her sweatsuit and Nikes, and her hair was pulled back and clasped at the nape of her neck.
“Clara, I was trying to call Ashley a little while ago, but no one answered at home. Do you know where she is?”
“Yes,” Clara said, lifting her chin. “She left.”
Jill stared at her. “What do you mean? Where did she go?”
“She didn’t say. She just left the key and told me to thank you for taking her in. She said she wasn’t coming back.”
Jill stood there a moment as a tide of rage rose up inside her. “What did you do?”
Clara stepped back. “Me? I didn’t do anything. I’m just the messenger, Jill.”
Jill’s face burned. “You said something to her, didn’t you? You ran her off! How dare you?”
“I did not run her off!”
Jill pushed past her and started down the hall. Clara turned and followed. �
�Where are you going?”
“To find her!” she bit out. “To undo whatever you did!”
“Jill, you are jumping to conclusions!”
Jill stopped and turned on her. “No, I’m not! You’ve hated her since you first laid eyes on her. She’s not good enough for you. She looks different! And she has problems that make you uncomfortable.” She started to cry and brought her hand to her forehead. “Don’t you have any compassion, Clara? Don’t you care about anyone but yourself?”
Clara looked as if she might cry, as well. But she stood straighter, her chin higher. “For your information, I tried to talk her out of leaving. I told her to wait until she had talked to you. I even tried to give her money.” Her voice broke off, and suddenly the woman looked very small. “I don’t know why I came here,” she said. “Ashley’s right. I’ve been a failure as a mother. I had no right to waltz in here and try to be one now.”
Jill hadn’t expected that response from her.
Had Clara really tried to stop Ashley? Had Ashley told Clara that?
Clara searched her purse for a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. Jill realized she probably didn’t have much experience with public displays of emotion.
“I’ll leave,” Clara said. “I’ll go home and pack and take the next flight out to Paris. I don’t belong here.” She started to the elevator.
Jill stood there, trying to imagine the conversation in which Ashley had accused Clara of being a failure as a mother.
Even if it was true, she wished Ashley hadn’t said it. And now, if Clara left . . . how would she explain it to Dan? He was angry enough. If he thought his mother had let him down again by breezing into his life and back out again, how would he respond?
But what had Clara done to Ashley? The child had no place constructive to go. She had already hinted at suicide. What if Clara had pushed her over the edge?
The elevator came, and she watched as Clara got on it. She made no move to stop her as the doors closed.
Jill wilted against the wall. Clara was right on the edge herself. Jill hadn’t considered it before, but Clara might have as many problems as Gordon and Ashley did. It was just harder to see them. And she was family. Talk about compassion—where was Jill’s for Clara?
She was Dan’s mother. When Jill and Dan had children—if that was even possible now—Clara would be their children’s grandmother.
Suddenly, Jill missed her own mother with all her heart. She would have been a terrific grandmother.
She felt like a bereaved child.
How could she send Dan’s mother away?
She couldn’t. Quickly, she went to the elevators and pushed the “down” button. Thankfully, the doors opened quickly.
She stepped into the empty car and pressed “ground floor.” When the doors opened again, she burst off and looked around in the big lobby. She saw Clara across the floor, going through the double glass doors.
“Clara!” she called.
Clara turned. Fifty-dollar mascara ran down her face, and her pink lips trembled with her pain.
Jill went toward her. “Clara, please don’t go.”
“Why not?” Clara asked. “I’m not doing anyone any good here.”
“Yes, you are,” she said. “Please don’t make me go up there and tell Dan that you left.”
“He’s used to it,” Clara said.
“No, he’s not,” Jill said. “He’ll never get used to it. Never.” She stopped and tried to regroup. “Clara, I’m sorry I jumped on you about Ashley. I don’t know what happened, and I’m really worried about her. But please . . . I don’t want you to go. You’re the only one who’s been able to cheer Dan up. God knows I can’t do it.”
Clara’s face changed. “I’ve cheered him up?”
“Yes! I don’t know how you did it, but last night Dan was in a terrible mood when I left, and when I came back, he was totally different. You made him laugh, Clara. He enjoyed having you here.”
“He did? Really?”
“Yes!” She sucked in a sob. “Oh, Clara, I’d give anything to have my mother here. Dan has you.”
Clara wiped her handkerchief under her eyes. “But I’ve been a disappointment as a mother. I was never there. I left it to nannies to raise him. I can’t undo any of that.”
“You can be a mother to him now, Clara. He may be a grown man, but grown men and grown women still need their mothers. And Dan needs you.”
Clara’s face softened. “If I thought it would help him—”
“I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true, would I?”
“Well, I . . . I don’t know why you would.” She sighed. “I want to stay.”
“Good,” Jill said. “That’s good.” She reached out and hugged the woman. It wasn’t something Clara was used to, and she returned it stiffly.
When Jill let her go, she looked at Clara and realized she’d worn the sweatsuit and tennis shoes she’d bought last night. “I’m so glad you wore that, Clara. Dan’s going to need a grin when he gets finished with his therapy.”
Clara was finally able to smile again. “Anything I can do.”
Chapter Seventy-One
Dan’s mood lightened somewhat when he saw his mother in her casual combo, but he still seemed to brood all afternoon. When Dallas came back in later that day for another therapy session, Jill took the opportunity to try to find Ashley.
She found the girl’s mother’s address in the phone book. The modest brick house sat in a lower-middle-class neighborhood. The yard looked neatly landscaped, with carefully trimmed holly bushes and well-placed perennial shrubs. It looked as if much love had gone into the maintenance of the house.
Ashley’s car was not in the drive, but on the off chance that she was inside anyway, Jill went to the door and knocked. As she waited, she scanned the other houses. She wondered how many of the neighbors realized that Debbie had died. Had any of them been at the funeral?
When Ashley didn’t come to the door, Jill went back to her car and sat behind the wheel.
She wondered where she would go if she were a sixteen-year-old girl, orphaned and grieving with nowhere to turn.
“Lord, please watch over her,” she whispered. “Don’t let anything happen to her.” She pulled a pad out of her glove compartment, found a pen, and began to write.
Dear Ashley,
If you see this note, please call me immediately. I’m not going to rest until I find you. I know things look grim right now. I can’t even imagine how grim. But whatever you may think, you are not alone. Please come back and stay with me.
She wondered if she should add anything about the FBI wanting to talk to her, but she didn’t want to frighten the girl. She would tell her that herself when she heard from her. She added, “Love, Jill,” and stuck the note on the door. As she pulled away, she prayed that she would hear from Ashley soon.
Chapter Seventy-Two
Another dead end. Stan sat at his desk in the Newpointe police department, staring at the computer screen.
John Trammel, the man on the driver’s license Budget had recorded, had died two years earlier of renal cancer.
So had the cards been stolen?
He checked the credit card account, saw that someone had opened that account in the last six months. The statements were made to a post office box, which was registered under the dead man’s name.
Who had the key to that box?
He wondered if the perpetrator looked like John Trammel’s picture. If so, he wasn’t Middle Eastern but a balding Caucasian. Could he be a relative?
Was he at all connected to Donald Merritt?
He checked the charges on the credit card, saw that there had been several purchases at an agricultural store just outside town. Fertilizer was a known bomb-making substance, and Stan had a hunch he would find that on the receipts. There were two or three purchases at hardware stores, several small purchases at different gas stations.
He would start with the agricultural store, he decided, and see if any
deliveries had been made to the man claiming to be John Trammel. That would give him a starting place.
Chapter Seventy-Three
Nick was with Dan when Jill came back to the room. They seemed engaged in quiet discussion, and she hoped he was getting some of his frustrations off of his chest, even if he didn’t want to talk to her about them.
“Am I interrupting anything?”
Dan lay on his back, but the head of his bed had been slightly inclined, so that he was no longer flat. That was progress, she thought.
He smiled and reached for her. “No, honey. Come in.”
She came to his bed and kissed him, then rose up and started to greet Nick.
But Dan cut in. “You’ve been crying. Is it because of my mood? I’ve been treating you awful.”
“No.” She rubbed his shoulder. “You have a lot to deal with. I understand.” Those tears assaulted her again, and she grabbed a Kleenex and swabbed her nose. “I was actually just a little upset about Ashley.”
Nick took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. They were still bloodshot from the Icon site. “The girl you brought to church the other night?”
“Yes,” Jill said. “She took off this morning. She told Clara she isn’t coming back.”
“Did you call the FBI to let them know?” Dan asked.
She sat down in the chair next to the bed. “No. I don’t want them to think she was trying to avoid their questioning. I’m hoping I’ll find her. That she’ll call or something.”
“The FBI is looking for her?” Nick asked.
Jill sighed. “Ashley saw the bomb. She was with her mother when she discovered it. If it weren’t for that, hundreds more people would have been killed. Her mother alerted security and started the evacuation. It cost her her own life.”
Nick sank back. “Wow. I had no idea.”
“Yeah, and they want to talk to her about what she saw. I went by her mother’s house, but she wasn’t there. I’m afraid she went back to the friends she lived with before, and from what she’s told me, they’re no good for her. She’s just trying to BandAid her grief. I almost don’t blame her.” She closed her hands into fists, and her face twisted. “The thing is, she needs the Lord more than anyone I know. And when I brought her to church the other night, I hoped that the people would embrace her and that the youth would draw her in. But it didn’t work that way.”
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