made it worth it.”
When Savich walked back, Sherlock was laughing so hard she was holding her stomach. Sean looked over, realized he’d missed out on something, and ran back to go down on his knees beside her. “Mama, what? What’s the joke? What did Uncle Griffin say?”
Griffin said, “Sean, I was telling your mama about a birthday party, and the chocolate cake, nearly as great as the one your mama served at your birthday party back in September. Here, let me show you some photos.” Sean was treated to photo after photo of girls he didn’t know, girls way too old to hold his interest. He paused at one photo. “Mama, I think Marty will look like her when she grows up.”
Sherlock looked at a young girl with an impish face, capped by spikes of black hair, tiny diamond studs in her ears. She didn’t look as mature as the other girls, more like a bud nearly ready to bloom. She didn’t look a thing like Marty Perry except for the wicked intelligence shining from her dark green eyes. You knew looking at her she was fun. Sherlock said, “Griffin, send me her photo, and we’ll show it to Marty, see what she thinks.”
Savich took a quick look at the girls’ photos and smiled at the one Sean had talked about. She looked clever and smart. He lightly poked Sherlock’s arm. “Would you mind packing up? I need to speak to Griffin. Sean, there’s one cookie left with your name on it.”
Savich and Griffin walked a bit away while Sean munched his cookie and helped his mother fold the blanket and close down the drink cooler.
Savich said without preamble, “I still can’t reach Pippa Cinelli, only voice mail, no answer to my texts. I think something’s wrong.”
Griffin said, “I can leave right now, Savich. Wait, Congressman Manvers said he had to go out for a meeting this evening, which means Rebekah would be alone. I know her assistant, Kit Jarrett, would stay with her, but is that enough?”
Savich shook his head. “You go watch over Rebekah. I’ll go to St. Lumis.”
Savich pulled Sherlock aside. “I’ve got to go see what’s going on, make sure Pippa is all right. Rush hour traffic shouldn’t be too bad on a Monday night. I’ll call you, keep you updated.”
Sherlock was as worried as Dillon, but she didn’t want to pile on. “Do you want to call Police Chief Wilde? He’s right there.”
“Not really. That last puzzle section with Major Trumbo hanging out the Alworth Hotel window, surrounded by flames? Until we find out what it all means, I want to keep this as private as possible.”
26
ST. LUMIS
MONDAY, LATE AFTERNOON
When Pippa came to, she could barely breathe, then realized there was cloth stuffed into her mouth. She managed to spit it out and swallowed, trying to get saliva back in her mouth. She breathed in moldy, stale air—she was still in that derelict building. He’d tied her up, bound her wrists behind her back and her ankles and knees with rope, the knots strong and stout. How much time did she have before he came back? The man in the black hoodie? Who had he called? What had that person told him to do with her? If not kill her, then what? None of it made sense to her. She’d been in St. Lumis for less than two days. How could anyone know she was an FBI agent or even why she was here? Who would even wonder? Well, obviously someone did know, and it didn’t matter how. So why attack her? Surely whoever they were, they had to know killing her would only bring the full weight of the FBI down on their heads. What did they hope to gain? Did they think she’d found out who they were? But how? Maude Filly? Suddenly she was afraid Maude Filly had closed early yesterday because someone had forced her to. No time to think about that. Right now she had to get out of the building before Black Hoodie came back. She looked down at her wrist. Of course her iWatch wasn’t there. Smart. Savich could have used it to locate her.
Pippa started to sit up, felt a wave of dizziness and eased back down. She lay perfectly still. She wasn’t going anywhere until she got herself together. She remembered how she’d come to after the first time he’d struck her, but only for a minute. Her head still pounded.
She had to move more slowly,