desperate.
Now what do I do? He slid off the stool and started down the hall. The calls grew louder, separated by brief, pathetic pauses. "Mom. Mommy!"
Gus drew a deep breath and opened the door. A crack of light from the hallway cut across the bedroom. Morgan was sitting up against the headboard. She was wearing pink Minnie Mouse pajamas. It was amazing how skinn y a nd fragile a kid could look in those clingy cotton pajamas. He went and sat at the edge of the bed.
"It's okay. Daddy's here."
Her voice quaked. "Where's Mommy?"
"She's not here, sweetheart."
"Where is she?"
"She's . . ." Gus had no clue, but he had sense enough not to scare her. "Mommy had something she had to take care of."
"When is she coming back?"
"Soon. I think. It should be soon."
"Can we call her?"
"No. Not tonight."
"Tomorrow?"
"We'll see."
She was plainly skeptical. In the dim shadow of a Winnie the Pooh night light, Gus felt grilled. Just ten seconds of punishing silence had given him a whole new insight into the shrewdness of an only child who spent more time around adults than other children. Six years of training from a no-nonsense nanny who'd seen every trick in the book hadn't hurt either.
Morgan asked, "Where did she go?"
"That's her secret. She didn't say."
"Why didn't she take me with her?"
His throat tightened. "It's just something she had to do by herself, sweetheart. That's all. Sometimes parents have to do things by themselves."
She didn't look satisfied. Gus moved closer, urging her toward the pillow. "Let's go back to sleep now."
She leaned back obediently. Gus sensed the stiffness in her body, the unresolved fears. He stroked her forehead gently. "Just close your eyes and go to sleep."
Her eyes closed, but the lids quivered. He wondered what she was thinking. She sure asked smart questions. She could probably handle a witness better than half th e s o-called trial lawyers at his law firm. One question in particular stuck in his brain. The one Morgan had struggled to ask. The one Gus had found most difficult to answer.
If Beth had just decided to leave him--if she'd really wanted to get his attention--why didn't she take Morgan with her?
He remained at her side and watched her fall asleep, searching for an answer that didn't seem to be there.
Andie went straight home from the morgue, thinking. Gus hadn't really given them sufficient details to test her "bookend" homicide theory. Still, she didn't buy Kessler's idea that Gus was being intentionally evasive. For whatever reason, he and his wife had simply become strangers while living under the same roof.
Somehow, that seemed almost as sad as her disappearance.
Andie was in bed by eleven-thirty, but the night would be a restless one. She was definitely nervous about meeting Victoria Santos at the airport. She set two alarms just to make sure she didn't oversleep. Assuming she ever fell asleep. Her eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling. The bed felt different these days. Although Rick had never officially moved in, they'd spent nearly every night together for several months before the wedding. It didn't matter that she owned one of those expensive coil mattresses on which ybu could drop a bowling ball and not disturb your mate. When you're used to sleeping with someone, you know when you're alone.
By midnight her thoughts had turned from Rick to Gus, then to Gus's wife. It was certainly possible that something horrible had happened to her. But she couldn't dismiss another possibility. She knew the pain of almost marrying a man who didn't truly love her. She could only imagine what a woman might do after a wasted decade of living with her mistake. Sure, Andie had experienced more tha n h er share of lonely Saturday nights. But nothing was worse than feeling alone when you weren't.
The alarm buzzed but she woke unrested, unable to distinguish her dreams from the things she had lain awake worrying about. She was dressed and ready to go by the time Tuesday's
Now what do I do? He slid off the stool and started down the hall. The calls grew louder, separated by brief, pathetic pauses. "Mom. Mommy!"
Gus drew a deep breath and opened the door. A crack of light from the hallway cut across the bedroom. Morgan was sitting up against the headboard. She was wearing pink Minnie Mouse pajamas. It was amazing how skinn y a nd fragile a kid could look in those clingy cotton pajamas. He went and sat at the edge of the bed.
"It's okay. Daddy's here."
Her voice quaked. "Where's Mommy?"
"She's not here, sweetheart."
"Where is she?"
"She's . . ." Gus had no clue, but he had sense enough not to scare her. "Mommy had something she had to take care of."
"When is she coming back?"
"Soon. I think. It should be soon."
"Can we call her?"
"No. Not tonight."
"Tomorrow?"
"We'll see."
She was plainly skeptical. In the dim shadow of a Winnie the Pooh night light, Gus felt grilled. Just ten seconds of punishing silence had given him a whole new insight into the shrewdness of an only child who spent more time around adults than other children. Six years of training from a no-nonsense nanny who'd seen every trick in the book hadn't hurt either.
Morgan asked, "Where did she go?"
"That's her secret. She didn't say."
"Why didn't she take me with her?"
His throat tightened. "It's just something she had to do by herself, sweetheart. That's all. Sometimes parents have to do things by themselves."
She didn't look satisfied. Gus moved closer, urging her toward the pillow. "Let's go back to sleep now."
She leaned back obediently. Gus sensed the stiffness in her body, the unresolved fears. He stroked her forehead gently. "Just close your eyes and go to sleep."
Her eyes closed, but the lids quivered. He wondered what she was thinking. She sure asked smart questions. She could probably handle a witness better than half th e s o-called trial lawyers at his law firm. One question in particular stuck in his brain. The one Morgan had struggled to ask. The one Gus had found most difficult to answer.
If Beth had just decided to leave him--if she'd really wanted to get his attention--why didn't she take Morgan with her?
He remained at her side and watched her fall asleep, searching for an answer that didn't seem to be there.
Andie went straight home from the morgue, thinking. Gus hadn't really given them sufficient details to test her "bookend" homicide theory. Still, she didn't buy Kessler's idea that Gus was being intentionally evasive. For whatever reason, he and his wife had simply become strangers while living under the same roof.
Somehow, that seemed almost as sad as her disappearance.
Andie was in bed by eleven-thirty, but the night would be a restless one. She was definitely nervous about meeting Victoria Santos at the airport. She set two alarms just to make sure she didn't oversleep. Assuming she ever fell asleep. Her eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling. The bed felt different these days. Although Rick had never officially moved in, they'd spent nearly every night together for several months before the wedding. It didn't matter that she owned one of those expensive coil mattresses on which ybu could drop a bowling ball and not disturb your mate. When you're used to sleeping with someone, you know when you're alone.
By midnight her thoughts had turned from Rick to Gus, then to Gus's wife. It was certainly possible that something horrible had happened to her. But she couldn't dismiss another possibility. She knew the pain of almost marrying a man who didn't truly love her. She could only imagine what a woman might do after a wasted decade of living with her mistake. Sure, Andie had experienced more tha n h er share of lonely Saturday nights. But nothing was worse than feeling alone when you weren't.
The alarm buzzed but she woke unrested, unable to distinguish her dreams from the things she had lain awake worrying about. She was dressed and ready to go by the time Tuesday's
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