calling.
The phone rang three times before it was picked up and a woman’s voice said, “Hello?”
My own voice tried to flee in panic, but I sternly ordered myself to stay calm.
“Hello,” I said. “May I speak to Mr. Maguire, please?”
“Who may I say is calling?”
It would have made things easier if Maguire himself had answered the phone. Then I might be able to slip in a few words in self-defense before he figured out who I was and hung up on me. If this woman— wife? maid? daughter?—told him I was on the phone, he might well refuse the call.
“Morgan Kingsley,” I said reluctantly.
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. “The exorcist?” she finally asked, and I couldn’t tell from her tone of voice what she thought of me.
I sighed. “Yeah. I just wanted a chance to tell Mr. Maguire how sorry I am about what happened.”
She snorted. “I’ll bet. You might as well save your breath. Daddy’s just…Well, he’s not in his right mind these days.”
She sounded surprisingly apologetic. “I gather I’m speaking to Laura?” When I’d first had an inkling that the Maguire exorcism would end in trouble for me, I’d Googled his name and found out that in addition to Jordan Junior, Maguire also had a daughter named Laura. She was a couple of years older than Jordan Junior, and was an artist of some sort.
“Yes, this is Laura. And I’m sure this doesn’t help you any, but I don’t think what happened to my brother is your fault.”
Surprisingly, this admission made my throat tighten. I
knew
it was Jordan’s demon’s fault, not mine. But I guess the relentlessness of Maguire’s grief was wearing on me.
“Thank you,” I said.
“I think, in his heart of hearts, Daddy knows that, too,” she continued, her voice now low and furtive. “It’s Jack Hillerman who’s so all-fired eager to sue.”
Hillerman was Maguire’s attorney. I hadn’t yet met the man, but of course I’d been well on my way toward despising him even before hearing this.
“Why?” I asked.
I could almost hear Laura shrug. “He’s been a friend of the family for as long as I can remember, and I guess he took Jordan’s death hard. At least, that’s what he implies.” Her voice dropped even lower. “I suspect he just wants to win a high-profile case so he can make partner at his firm. He’s kind of a weasel.”
I was really beginning to like Laura Maguire. “May I talk to your father anyway? Maybe I don’t have much chance of convincing him to cut me some slack, but I feel like I should at least try.”
“Hillerman’s with him at the moment, so I’d say that’s a big no. But if you’ll leave me your number, I’ll do my best to convince Daddy to call you when Hillerman’s gone.”
That was the best deal I could hope for, so I gave her my number and then hung up. Then it was back to trying to find a way to while away the long, boring hours.
At three o’clock, the front desk called to let me know I had a package. I wasn’t expecting anything, but I headed right down to pick it up anyway. Anything to distract me from my brooding.
The package was the size of a small shoe box and was wrapped in brown paper. The return address was Adam’s, which definitely threw me for a loop. What the hell would Adam be sending me in the mail? I couldn’t even come up with a guess. I took the package—along with my latest pile of bills, which I’d be hard-pressed to pay—up to my apartment, then dropped everything on my dining room table.
I stared at the package, still unable to make a guess at what it might contain. Of course, unless I was on the verge of developing X-ray vision, staring at the package wasn’t going to tell me much of anything.
Still feeling weirded out, I picked up the package and tore the paper away. Inside was a plain white box, the lid held closed by a couple strips of Scotch tape. Like a child at Christmas—only a lot more suspicious—I shook the box. Nothing rattled
The phone rang three times before it was picked up and a woman’s voice said, “Hello?”
My own voice tried to flee in panic, but I sternly ordered myself to stay calm.
“Hello,” I said. “May I speak to Mr. Maguire, please?”
“Who may I say is calling?”
It would have made things easier if Maguire himself had answered the phone. Then I might be able to slip in a few words in self-defense before he figured out who I was and hung up on me. If this woman— wife? maid? daughter?—told him I was on the phone, he might well refuse the call.
“Morgan Kingsley,” I said reluctantly.
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. “The exorcist?” she finally asked, and I couldn’t tell from her tone of voice what she thought of me.
I sighed. “Yeah. I just wanted a chance to tell Mr. Maguire how sorry I am about what happened.”
She snorted. “I’ll bet. You might as well save your breath. Daddy’s just…Well, he’s not in his right mind these days.”
She sounded surprisingly apologetic. “I gather I’m speaking to Laura?” When I’d first had an inkling that the Maguire exorcism would end in trouble for me, I’d Googled his name and found out that in addition to Jordan Junior, Maguire also had a daughter named Laura. She was a couple of years older than Jordan Junior, and was an artist of some sort.
“Yes, this is Laura. And I’m sure this doesn’t help you any, but I don’t think what happened to my brother is your fault.”
Surprisingly, this admission made my throat tighten. I
knew
it was Jordan’s demon’s fault, not mine. But I guess the relentlessness of Maguire’s grief was wearing on me.
“Thank you,” I said.
“I think, in his heart of hearts, Daddy knows that, too,” she continued, her voice now low and furtive. “It’s Jack Hillerman who’s so all-fired eager to sue.”
Hillerman was Maguire’s attorney. I hadn’t yet met the man, but of course I’d been well on my way toward despising him even before hearing this.
“Why?” I asked.
I could almost hear Laura shrug. “He’s been a friend of the family for as long as I can remember, and I guess he took Jordan’s death hard. At least, that’s what he implies.” Her voice dropped even lower. “I suspect he just wants to win a high-profile case so he can make partner at his firm. He’s kind of a weasel.”
I was really beginning to like Laura Maguire. “May I talk to your father anyway? Maybe I don’t have much chance of convincing him to cut me some slack, but I feel like I should at least try.”
“Hillerman’s with him at the moment, so I’d say that’s a big no. But if you’ll leave me your number, I’ll do my best to convince Daddy to call you when Hillerman’s gone.”
That was the best deal I could hope for, so I gave her my number and then hung up. Then it was back to trying to find a way to while away the long, boring hours.
At three o’clock, the front desk called to let me know I had a package. I wasn’t expecting anything, but I headed right down to pick it up anyway. Anything to distract me from my brooding.
The package was the size of a small shoe box and was wrapped in brown paper. The return address was Adam’s, which definitely threw me for a loop. What the hell would Adam be sending me in the mail? I couldn’t even come up with a guess. I took the package—along with my latest pile of bills, which I’d be hard-pressed to pay—up to my apartment, then dropped everything on my dining room table.
I stared at the package, still unable to make a guess at what it might contain. Of course, unless I was on the verge of developing X-ray vision, staring at the package wasn’t going to tell me much of anything.
Still feeling weirded out, I picked up the package and tore the paper away. Inside was a plain white box, the lid held closed by a couple strips of Scotch tape. Like a child at Christmas—only a lot more suspicious—I shook the box. Nothing rattled
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