handful of female auctioneers in the whole city. If Ellie proved to be better than Rob, that could be a bitter pill for Rob to swallow.
The Monahan sales commission would help Rob and Ellie hang onto their ritzy house and Italian cars a bit longer. I’d known for a while that Rob and Ellie spent more than they earned, but that was something Rob would never admit.
There was a time when I would have called Phoebe and whooped like a little kid and told her we were dining out at the most expensive restaurant. And she’d have gotten excited with me. But those days were gone. Now, I would barely get a glimmer of acknowledgment.
“I’ll go give Feeb a call.” Pulling myself to my feet, I exited Rob’s office. I was lying. I wasn’t going to call her.
I had a stack of paperwork sitting on my desk. A stack of bills to pay. The mortgage on my house and the lease on my office were crippling. I needed to put my head down and keep working.
I dug out the folder of photos taken of the properties belonging to my newest client. He had an apartment with a million-dollar view of the harbour, and he wanted me to sell it. I needed to give him my attention right now. The Monahan deal was good news, but we had to keep the mill churning.
First I’d check my phone messages. During our morning meet ups, Rob and I had a no-phone-calls policy. Otherwise all we’d do was answer calls.
I frowned. There was a message from Phoebe to call her and a message from Detective Trent Gilroy.
My stomach clenched. Phoebe never called me. And when Gilroy called me, it was always about a lead in Tommy’s case that I was going to hear about in the news, and he wanted Phoebe and me to know first. (Not one of those leads had turned up anything.) Gilroy usually called Phoebe to reassure her that they were still working hard on the case, and he called me to tell me about the news items. Almost like he were running a PR company rather than a police division.
Still, there was always the sword of Damocles hanging over my head, waiting to drop the news that the police had actually found Tommy. To tell me that Tommy was dead.
I had to suck down a deep breath before I returned the calls. I didn’t know which to return first. I decided to return Gilroy’s.
“Detective Gilroy,” he answered.
“Hello, this is Luke Basko. Returning your call?”
“Luke, yes. Have you spoken to your wife?”
“Not since I left for work. What’s happening? Is she okay?”
“She’s fine. She brought in a letter earlier—”
“What letter?”
“She found an unaddressed envelope in the mailbox. The letter inside has no name on it. It’s just a children’s rhyme.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Well, neither do we. It’s just a piece of paper with a rhyme printed on it. It’s the Mother Goose rhyme, Little Boy Blue. Only, the words are changed. Now, we’re not certain, but it does sound like it’s about Tommy. Phoebe’s convinced that it is.”
“What does it say?”
He read the rhyme out to me.
Dumbstruck, I stared at a space on the wall that seemed to dissolve into a memory, reaching all the way back to the nursery rhyme book I used to read to Tommy at night. I knew the rhyme and what the person had changed. How could he say it might be about Tommy? Of course it was.
I expelled a hard stream of air. “Phoebe doesn’t need this. She isn’t coping as it is.”
“I thought so. She was very distressed. I’d like to ask if there’s anyone at all you can think of who might do something like this. Someone with a grudge?”
“I don’t know. I mean, that’s a pretty strange letter.”
“Agreed. Well, could you let Phoebe know that we’ve had someone look at it and we couldn’t find any fingerprints, apart from her own? We’ll keep looking into this. I wasn’t able to get her on the phone.”
As I ended the phone call I reflected that it was unusual for Phoebe not to be contactable. She always had her mobile phone with her, like a security
The Monahan sales commission would help Rob and Ellie hang onto their ritzy house and Italian cars a bit longer. I’d known for a while that Rob and Ellie spent more than they earned, but that was something Rob would never admit.
There was a time when I would have called Phoebe and whooped like a little kid and told her we were dining out at the most expensive restaurant. And she’d have gotten excited with me. But those days were gone. Now, I would barely get a glimmer of acknowledgment.
“I’ll go give Feeb a call.” Pulling myself to my feet, I exited Rob’s office. I was lying. I wasn’t going to call her.
I had a stack of paperwork sitting on my desk. A stack of bills to pay. The mortgage on my house and the lease on my office were crippling. I needed to put my head down and keep working.
I dug out the folder of photos taken of the properties belonging to my newest client. He had an apartment with a million-dollar view of the harbour, and he wanted me to sell it. I needed to give him my attention right now. The Monahan deal was good news, but we had to keep the mill churning.
First I’d check my phone messages. During our morning meet ups, Rob and I had a no-phone-calls policy. Otherwise all we’d do was answer calls.
I frowned. There was a message from Phoebe to call her and a message from Detective Trent Gilroy.
My stomach clenched. Phoebe never called me. And when Gilroy called me, it was always about a lead in Tommy’s case that I was going to hear about in the news, and he wanted Phoebe and me to know first. (Not one of those leads had turned up anything.) Gilroy usually called Phoebe to reassure her that they were still working hard on the case, and he called me to tell me about the news items. Almost like he were running a PR company rather than a police division.
Still, there was always the sword of Damocles hanging over my head, waiting to drop the news that the police had actually found Tommy. To tell me that Tommy was dead.
I had to suck down a deep breath before I returned the calls. I didn’t know which to return first. I decided to return Gilroy’s.
“Detective Gilroy,” he answered.
“Hello, this is Luke Basko. Returning your call?”
“Luke, yes. Have you spoken to your wife?”
“Not since I left for work. What’s happening? Is she okay?”
“She’s fine. She brought in a letter earlier—”
“What letter?”
“She found an unaddressed envelope in the mailbox. The letter inside has no name on it. It’s just a children’s rhyme.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Well, neither do we. It’s just a piece of paper with a rhyme printed on it. It’s the Mother Goose rhyme, Little Boy Blue. Only, the words are changed. Now, we’re not certain, but it does sound like it’s about Tommy. Phoebe’s convinced that it is.”
“What does it say?”
He read the rhyme out to me.
Dumbstruck, I stared at a space on the wall that seemed to dissolve into a memory, reaching all the way back to the nursery rhyme book I used to read to Tommy at night. I knew the rhyme and what the person had changed. How could he say it might be about Tommy? Of course it was.
I expelled a hard stream of air. “Phoebe doesn’t need this. She isn’t coping as it is.”
“I thought so. She was very distressed. I’d like to ask if there’s anyone at all you can think of who might do something like this. Someone with a grudge?”
“I don’t know. I mean, that’s a pretty strange letter.”
“Agreed. Well, could you let Phoebe know that we’ve had someone look at it and we couldn’t find any fingerprints, apart from her own? We’ll keep looking into this. I wasn’t able to get her on the phone.”
As I ended the phone call I reflected that it was unusual for Phoebe not to be contactable. She always had her mobile phone with her, like a security
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