didn’t want to see him until after her divorce was final.
She checked her watch, took another sip of Scotch and found herself reaching for the phone. She could stop at any second, she could hang up before he answered. Or maybe just say hi. What harm was there in hearing his voice?
One ring, two, three…She would leave a brief and friendly message on his answering machine. Four rings…five—
“Hello?” It was a woman’s voice.
“Yes,” Maggie said, not recognizing the voice. Maybe she had the wrong number. It had been months, after all, since she had dialed it. “Is Nick Morrelli there?”
“Oh,” the woman said, “is this the office? Can’t it wait?”
“No, this is a friend. Is Nick there?”
The woman paused as if she needed to decide what information a friend was entitled to. Then finally she said, “Umm…he’s in the shower. Can I take a message and have him call you back?”
“No, that’s okay. I’ll try back another time.”
But when Maggie hung up the phone, she knew she would not try back anytime soon.
CHAPTER 31
Reston, Virginia
Tully hoped his gut instinct was wrong. He hoped he was being an overprotective father who was simply overreacting. That’s what he kept telling himself, yet before he left the morgue he made a copy of Virginia Brier’s driver’s license photo and stuck it in his back pocket.
He had called Emma earlier to let her know he wouldn’t be home until later, but if she wanted to wait for dinner, he’d pick up a pizza. He was pleased when she asked for lots of pepperoni on her side. At least they would be sharing a meal together, perhaps one they could both enjoy. Between the two of them, their culinary skills didn’t extend much beyond grilled cheese sandwiches with soup. Sometimes when Tully was feeling a bit adventurous he’d throw a couple of chunks of meat on the grill. Unfortunately, he had never been able to figure out how to keep it from becoming a shrunken, charred hockey puck, and there wasn’t much treat in that.
Their small two-bedroom bungalow in Reston, Virginia, was a far cry from the two-story colonial they’d lived in in Cleveland. Caroline had insisted on keeping the house, and now Tully wondered if Emma would ever want to come back here after spending Thanksgiving vacation in her old room. Only recently had this house begun to feel like home, though it had been almost a year since they’d made the move. No matter how much he complained about this parenting stuff, he couldn’t imagine what this house, the move, the new town and new job—what any of it would have been like without Emma.
Thanks to his daughter, the house didn’t have that bachelor look or smell to it, though, as Tully weaved his way through the living room clutter to the kitchen clutter, he wondered if there was a difference between bachelor clutter and teenager clutter. Maybe what he liked was having some feminine things around, even if the pink lava lamp on the bookcase, the purple Rollerblades sticking out from under the sofa or the smiley-face magnets on the refrigerator were not his style.
“Hey, Dad.” As he stepped through the front door Emma appeared. He didn’t kid himself. It was the power of pizza that drew her, not his lovable presence.
“Hi, sweat pea.” He kissed her cheek, a gesture she tolerated only when they were alone.
She wore her headphones wrapped around her neck, a compromise that had taken much drilling and constant reminders, but was well worth it, although he could still hear the music blaring. The music, however, he couldn’t complain about, since he still enjoyed some head-banging rock ’n’ roll once in a while, only in the form of the Rolling Stones or the Doors.
Emma got out the paper plates and plastic cups that they had agreed long ago would be part of any take-out treat. What was the use of having someone else prepare the meal if you still had to wash dishes? As he scooped up pieces of pizza and watched her pour their Pepsis, he wondered when would be a good time to broach the subject about the dead girl.
“Kitchen or living room?” she asked, picking up her plate and cup.
“Living room, but no TV.”
“Okay.”
He followed her into the living room, and when she decided to sit on the floor, he joined her despite his thigh still being a bit tender. It reminded him that Agent O’Dell never once mentioned or complained about her scar, a