She put it away, locked up the turmoil that seeing, hearing, watching Arnie Meeks had made swirl inside her. No time, no place for it now. It would come back, she knew, spurting up to twist her belly into knots. When it did, she'd just have to find a way to uncoil them until there was time, until there was a place.
She had a whole checklist of priorities ahead of that one.
On Jones, she parked, got out of the car. Why, she wondered, did the house seem to loom sometimes? She could go weeks, even months, without thinking of it as anything but home-a beautiful, graceful place to raise her child, to house her mother, her friend. A place to eat, sleep, live, even entertain occasionally.
What did it matter that she hadn't chosen to live there, to be there? In the end, it was only a house. Only brick and glass. Cousin Bess's ghost had long since moved on.
Lack of choice, she thought. It was all about choice, and not having options.
Despite the fact she was needed inside, Phoebe walked around to the courtyard gate. Away from the police car, away from that looming face of brick and glass.
Here, at least, there'd been choices, even if she'd left them almost entirely up to Ava. Gardens and paths and shady nooks, graceful tables, whimsical statuary.
She sat on the steps of the veranda, looked out, and imagined that lovely courtyard somewhere else. New Orleans maybe, or just another street in Savannah. Could be Atlanta or Charlotte.
And what difference, really, at the base of things?
All the difference, she admitted. All the difference in the world. She heard the door open but didn't turn. So much, she thought, for solo brooding time.
Carter sat beside her, put a glass of wine in her hand. And said nothing at all.
She took the first sip in silence, with only the elegant music of the fountain trickling through. "I'm having a sulk."
"Hence the wine. Want me to go back in?"
"No. I decided to pick at an old scab. Cousin Bess, this house and the locks she put on the door I can't open. Nothing to do about it, so it's a good one to sulk about as I don't have to find the solution."
"Which in every other instance you do." She looked at him. "It's what I do, isn't it?"
"It's what you've taken on, almost as long as I can remember.
Reuben was the big demarcation, but there was stuff before that. In the blurry before time."
She leaned her head against his shoulder a moment. "Everything changed when Daddy died. For me, before that's the blurry time. She could've helped us then, you know. Cousin Bitch. There might not've been a Reuben if she'd done the right thing by Mama then. But she didn't, and there's no point speculating on what might've been."
She sat silent awhile, drinking wine, studying the fountain. "Mama came through for us, every day."
"I know it."
"It must've been so hard. When I think about it, I can't fully imagine what it was like for her. The worry, the work, the grief. The fear. But she always came through for us. Then, she takes a chance on someone who makes her think she's special, and who starts off treating her so well. And it nearly kills her and her children. Hardly a wonder she started closing doors."
"I never blamed her for that."
"No, no, you never have, and sometimes I do. God, it shames me that sometimes I do. It doesn't matter what I know, sometimes it just pisses me off she won't walk outside, go down to the market, go to the damn movies. Anything. It doesn't matter I know she can't. Sometimes..."
She shook her head, took another sip of wine. "I think about now, this situation, and how I can't send her and Carly away somewhere. I wouldn't have to worry so much if I could put them on a plane to anywhere else until this is over."
"We need to talk to her about therapy again. Not now," he said before Phoebe could answer. "Not when she's already tied up. But later, when... like you said, this is over. Josie and I could move in. Not just temporarily."
"You wouldn't be happy."
"Phoebe-"
"You wouldn't. And I am happy here, most of the time. I'm just having a champion pissy spell. I got all these wires crossed in me right now. Arnold Meeks is clear on Roy. I knew that before I went down there to observe. But observing got me twisted up and mad and scared all over again. I'd rather be pissed than scared, so I'm out here concentrating on that part."
"Doing a good job."
"That's the important thing."
Across the courtyard a hummingbird, bright as a jewel, flirted with the riot of morning glories climbing the iron trellis against the wall.
Free to choose any blossom, Phoebe thought, free to fly on. People weren't birds.
"How's Mama?"
"Crocheting. Before he left, Duncan had her working on ideas for stock and cost analysis. God knows. Just the right thing to keep her mind off all this. He's good at that. Working people."
She lifted her eyebrows. "Compliment or complaint?"
"I like him. He got Carly in on the discussion about stock. Fashion consultant. She was completely into it."
"As a future personal shopper should be."
"Knowing what buttons to push, well, that's a talent, and he's got it in spades. How and when and where you push them shows what you're made of, to my way of thinking. So yeah, Phoebs, I like him just fine."
"I more than like him fine."
"Oh. Really?" Eyes narrowed now, Carter took a long look at her face. "And that worries you because?"
"I didn't say I was worried."
He rolled his eyes, then tapped a finger on the faint line dug in between her brows. "Right there says you are."
She shrugged, then rubbed the line away. "Come on, Carter. Crappy track record."
"Roy was a jerk. Everyone's entitled to screw up with a jerk once. And I'm sorry I said that, sort of, because I just remembered he's dead. Still."
"A jerk, dead or alive. True. Crappy track record," she repeated. "Demanding career that often messes up personal plans."
"A guy's dating a cop, he's got to figure on that already. I don't buy either worry. Sorry. Try again."
"A seven-year-old daughter. I'm not saying she's a problem or a worry. She happens to be the love of my life. But she's a factor. Her happiness is first. And forging a serious, lasting relationship with someone when they have to accept someone else's child as part of the package is tricky."
Carter flicked that away with his fingers. "People do it every day. Several times a day. I could do a Google search and get you stats."
"They do, but those people aren't me, or Carly, or Duncan for that matter. Add in this house. He has this fabulous place out on Whitfield Island. He built it. I couldn't-say if things went to a much higher level-ever live there. I can't move. And there's Mama. Take me on, take her on, too.
"Now, maybe one of those factors isn't such a deal, just one thin string. But add them all up, that's a big, messy ball of sticky twine. And tying it all up? I don't know if he more than likes me fine." I
"Could ask him."
"Yeah, easy for you to say. You man you." She blew out a breath. "Well, I've succeeded in depressing myself on that score, which has nicely distracted me from my brood, which distracted me from this horrible situation. Now it's time to leapfrog back to horrible situation." She got to her feet. "I need to work awhile." She leaned down, kissed Carter's cheek. "Thanks for the wine, and the rest."
"It was your wine but the rest is always available."
It could have been worse, Phoebe thought. With Ava and Josie huddled in the kitchen and her mother and her daughter closeted with designs and yarns, Phoebe had a solid chunk of time to work undisturbed.
For a house under siege, she decided, theirs was clicking along at a remarkably normal pace.
In the morning, she thought, she'd contact the FBI, relay the situation and request copies of files where she was a part of a crisis team. Long time gone, she mused as she opened more current files. But she'd take no chances.
Every case file she read took her flying back. Amazing, she realized, how every detail popped clear. Four years, five, it didn't matter how long ago. Once the log was in front of her, she remembered.
Suicides, domestic disputes, robberies gone wrong, custody battles, embittered employees, revenge, financial gain, grief, mental or emotional instability. Any and all could and did arrow toward hostages.
And sometimes, no matter what was done, negotiations failed. She failed.
She organized by year, and started with the first year she joined the Savannah police.
By the end of that year she'd lost three. One suicide, one hostage and one hostage-taker. It didn't matter that there'd been dozens more she'd talked down, or talked out. She'd lost three, and now each was fresh in her mind.
So fresh she began second-guessing the steps she'd taken, the words she'd spoken, the tone used. Too long a pause-not enough of one. Fruitless to do so, she knew. Even dangerous.
Still, three lives had slipped out of her hands. Was Roy dead because of one of them?
She started a fresh file with the names of the dead, the year, the place, the nature of the crisis. Then began to chart the names of those connected to them personally, professionally. And added the names of team members.
She was halfway through the second year when Ava gave her doorjamb a knuckle rap. "You've got to come up for air. And a meal."
"I'm fine, Ava. Promise."
"You're not. None of us are. But we need to breathe and eat and sleep." She crossed to the desk. "Your mother and your daughter need to see you doing those things, even if it's only for a bit here and there."
"All right, I'll come down. Ava, I know you're planning to take a couple weeks with Steven out West later in the summer. I was thinking you ought to bump that up. The semester's over in just a few days anyway. You could head on out, hook up with him early, then-"
"Be out of harm's way, if by any chance I'm in it? Seeing as we're all stuck in this house for however long that might be, it's pretty shortsighted of you to make me mad on day one."
"I'm not trying to make you mad, Ava. I'm trying to give myself one less person-two, actually, as Steven'll be coming home-to worry about. You'd be doing me a favor if you and Steven take your vacation now."
Ava tilted her head. "I'm not doing you any favors, Phoebe. I'm not leaving Essie or Carly, and that's all there is to it. If it was just you, I'd go, because a more self-sufficient woman I've never known. To the point of being annoying at times. Such as now."
Phoebe shifted in her chair. "You shouldn't make me mad on day one either."
"Then I'll hope to avoid that and tell you I've already talked to
Steven and told him he should go on up to Bar Harbor with the family of his college roommate as they've hit it off so well. He won't be coming home until June. And if we're not back to normal by then..." Ava scooped a hand through her swing of hair. "I'll think of another way to keep him from coming home."
"Which tells me you didn't tell him why you're so easy about him going to Maine."
"He's my baby same as Carly's yours, no matter how old he is. I'm not letting him come into this. Essie needs me, and while Carly has some of your self-sufficiency, she's just a little girl, and she needs me, too. And so, damn it, Phoebe, do you. So you can just forget tossing me off like I was more weight than value."
"If I didn't value you, I wouldn't want you to go. You could take
Carly and..." Phoebe dropped her head in her hands. "I know that won't work. I know it, but it doesn't stop me from wanting it. If I sent Carly away, she'd be upset and scared, probably more than she is now. Mama'd be frantic. I know it, Ava. Just as I know I can't leave Mama on her own day after day after day in the house. I need you here, but I love you, and I wish you could go."
"There, I'm not mad at you anymore." She skirted the desk and chair to wrap her arms around Phoebe from behind, press cheek to cheek. "We're all on edge."
"It's what he wants," Phoebe said quietly. "Whoever he is, that's what he wants first."
"Then sitting down to a nice meal is like flipping him the bird, if you ask me. We got us a nice roasted chicken, and I taught Josie how to make scalloped potatoes."
"Which means I'll give him the finger a second time when I have to go up and work out to make up for eating two helpings of those damn potatoes."
"Better keep it to one and save room for strawberry shortcake."
"Oh God, why do you torture me?"
"When I'm upset, I cook." Ava eased back. "I cooked a hell of a lot today."
It had been beautiful. He couldn't believe how perfect and powerful it had been. Every minute, every breath, from the moment he'd tossed that worthless fuck Roy into the trunk of his overpriced status car until the instant he'd blown him to hell had been an e-ticket ride.
Better, by far, than shooting the gangbanger. That had been so quick, and so much less dramatic.
Still, he wished he could have seen Phoebe's face when Roy went boom. That would've been the icing.
He looked at it now, the face tacked to the wall of his workshop. A face among many faces. All hers. Phoebe MacNamara. Coming home from a hard day of screwing with other people's lives. Standing around talking to one of her idiot neighbors. Walking her spoiled brat to the park, or along River Street. Swapping spit with that rich bastard she was screwing now.
Since he was still celebrating his recent success, he popped the top on another beer and toasted the many faces of Phoebe.
"Sweating now, aren't you, bitch? Oh yeah, you're sweating now. And you'll shed buckets before I'm done."
Trying to figure it out, he thought. She'd be racking her brains on this one. Who would kill poor Roy? Who'd do such a cruel thing? Boo hoo!
Hearing her voice in his head, he laughed so hard he had to sit down.
Too bad she hadn't started fucking the rich bastard a couple months sooner. With more time, more research, more legwork, he might've been able to target the new playmate instead of the ex-husband. Still, might be able to work something out. Just needed to think, to plan, to consider. Maybe take an opportunity, or make one.
"See what we see when we see it there," he muttered. "Got us a timetable, Phoebe." He lifted the beer again. "Counting down now. Tick, tick, tick. The last tick, and it all goes up in blood and smoke." Like she had, he thought, as another face swam into his mind. And with that image burning behind his eyes, he wept.
After dinner, after her daughter was safely tucked into bed, after the last call from her captain, Phoebe sat staring at the files.
There was a hollow place in the center of her now, as if something vital had just been carelessly scooped out.
She needed to work through it, or around it. If she could get her focus back, she could concentrate on the names, on the cases, on the reason. But that hollow place sat there, and threatened to pull the rest of her inside it.
She picked up the phone and called Duncan's number without asking herself why she reached for him. Or why when he answered the rim around that hollow place began to shake.
" I... Duncan."
"Phoebe. I was just talking to myself about you. Whether I should call you, or leave you alone for a while. Are you home?"
"Yes." The hand holding her cell phone wanted to shake, too. "I'm home. Are you?"
"Yeah. Checking up on me?"
"I didn't mean to..." To what? "To hover."
"Let's back up. I'd ask what's wrong, but answer's obvious. Is there something else?"
"I just talked to Dave. Everyone here's as settled as they can be, considering. I didn't want to say anything, to tell them now when...
Jesus. So, I call you and babble. Sorry. I should... something else."
"What did Dave tell you that you don't want to tell them?"
"Quick trigger on the brain. I like that about you. I'll probably find it annoying eventually. If it comes to eventually. He called to tell meI needed to know-that they found... one minute." She lowered the phone, got her breathing back in order. "There was a timer on the explosives. Roy. There was a timer set. The remote, that was backup, I guess. Or in case he wanted to go early. There was a timer, Duncan, set for one thirty-five. He was never going to let Roy live. No matter what I did or said, no matter what was done, it was always going to end the way it ended."
There was a pause, and she could hear Duncan let out a long breath. "He gave it enough time to make sure you'd get there. Built in some time so he could play with you. He wanted you to see it. He wanted you on the spot. You know that, Phoebe."
"He wanted me to bargain and wheedle and beg. And he wanted me to know, after it was done, that none of it mattered. Nothing I do will matter, because everything's already set. Clock's ticking down."
"He's got the last part wrong, because what you do will matter."
"He's got me scared to death. Just where he wants me."
"You called the wrong guy if you expect me to tell you not to be scared. What are you going to do about it?"
"What am I going to do about being scared?"
"No, what are you going to do about finding him so you don't have to be scared anymore."
"I'm reading files and looking for any... You're not going to tell me to be strong and brave?"
"I've seen you in action, I know you're both. But there are limits. Why don't I come over? I can read files."
She swiveled from her desk so she could look at the dark pressing on the windows. "You're offering to come over so I don't have to feel strong and brave." The empty spot inside her began to close. "That's done the job."
"Give me half an hour and-"
"No, no, I don't need you to come. I guess I just needed you to say you would. I just needed to hear't h a't... that I had an option," she realized. "Let me ask you one question, and remember, I'm an active listener, so I'll know if you're lying. Considering the situation, are you sorry you asked me out for that drink?"
"Considering any situation, I figure it was the best move I ever made." She could smile. "Maybe second best, after deciding to buy a sixpack and a lottery ticket."
"Might be running neck and neck. Phoebe, why don't you pack it in for the night? Get some sleep."
"Yeah, maybe I'll do that."
"I don't know if I'm an active listener, but I know a lie when I hear one."
"Maybe I'll do that in a couple hours. Thanks for saying what I needed to hear."
"I'll be around if you need to hear something else."
"Good night, Duncan."
After a short, restless night, Phoebe considered working from home. Which would mean, she knew, little work at all, as she'd decided to keep Carly out of school for at least a few days.
Even if she could convince Carly to occupy herself elsewhere, Phoebe knew she'd be distracted-and she'd feel guilty being at home and barricading herself from her daughter. And her mother.
Better to go in, stay busy, be productive. There were cops on the house, no need to worry. Unless he got past the cops, she thought as she tried to work a miracle with makeup. Which he wouldn't, but if he did, there was the security alarm.
And someone who could rig a bomb with remote and timer could probably bypass an alarm.
But he wouldn't, she told herself. He wouldn't.
She gave up on any attempt to style her hair and simply yanked it back in a tail.
All her efforts were going to focus on identifying Roy's killer, finding him and arresting him. Until then paperwork would wait, the scheduled training sessions would be postponed.
Lack of sleep meant she had a solid list of names. She'd start knocking on doors that morning, asking questions, gauging ground. It could be over by end of shift, she told herself as she gathered her files. And if it wasn't, she'd keep right on until it was over.
As she started out of her room, she calculated it was early enough for her to slip downstairs, make coffee, leave a note and be out before anyone stirred.
She stopped by Carly's door, peeked in.
Her daughter was sprawled across the bed, covers kicked off. The worn-eared bear Carry chose most often for a sleeping companion dozed at the tips of her fingers.
Satisfied, Phoebe backed away. If she caved and crept in to cover Carly, give her a quick kiss, that would be that. The kid was a light morning sleeper. Blue eyes would pop right open, and the questions would begin.
Instead, Phoebe continued downstairs. Coffee, she thought again, and maybe a quick carton of the low-fat yogurt she constantly tried to convince herself she actually liked. Leave a note on the fridge, check with the cop on duty, and she'd be gone.
As she stepped into the kitchen, Essie turned from the stove. Both women gasped and stumbled back.
"I thought you were upstairs asleep," Phoebe said.
"I thought you were." Essie gave her heart two quick pats. "Though you might as well shoot me as scare me to death, I'd as soon you didn't. Shoot me," she said with a nod toward the hand Phoebe had on the butt of her weapon.
"Sorry." Phoebe let her hand slide away. "It's barely six in the morning, Mama. Why aren't you upstairs sleeping?" And at her mother's quiet stare, Phoebe shook her head, then moved over. "Mama." With her arms around Essie, she rocked. "What a goddamn mess."
"You're dressed for work."
Phoebe kept holding, kept rocking, but the eyes she'd closed opened again. "I need to go in."
"I wish you didn't. I wish you wouldn't. I wish... No, don't pull back to pat and placate me." Essie's voice sharpened as she tightened her hold on Phoebe. "You're still my little girl, and I wish I could keep you safe in this house. My whole family's under this roof now, and I wishI know it's sick and it's selfish but, my God, I wish I could keep all of you here."
It was Essie who stepped back. "And I know I can't. I'll get your coffee."
Phoebe started to say she'd get it herself, then stopped. Busy hands, she knew, helped her mother's worried mind. "I know you're scared, Mama."
" 'Course I'm scared. I'd be stupid not to be. Roy's worthless ass is blown to hell." She glanced back as she got out a mug. "I keep thinking
I should feel bad saying that kind of thing, but I don't. You never blamed him nearly enough, to my way of thinking. Didn't matter, because I blamed him plenty for both of us. But I'm scared for you, baby.
For all of us."
She poured coffee, added the cream and sugar exactly as Phoebe preferred. "I know you're worried I've gotten worse."
"I worry," Phoebe agreed. "I'm still your little girl, right? Well, you'll always be my mama."
"Sit down, baby. I'm going to fix you some breakfast."
"I don't have time. I'm just going to grab a carton of yogurt."
"You hate that stuff."
"I know. But I'm trying to acquire a taste." Determined, Phoebe opened the fridge, grabbed a carton at random. Once she'd opened it, : gotten a spoon, she leaned back against the counter. "I know that with what happened, with being smart enough to be scared, you'd be cautious about going out in the courtyard, or onto the front veranda, but-"
"I've been having trouble with that for a while now." Idly, Essie picked up a dishcloth to wipe the already spotless counter. "The veranda, the bedroom terrace especially. Palpitations," she said. "Knowing it's in my head doesn't make my heart beat any easier. But what you've never really understood is, I'm content inside this house. I don't need what's out there."
Phoebe ate some yogurt. It tasted sour, just like her thoughts. "The world?"
"I've got a nice world inside this house most days, and if I need to know anything more about the outside one, I've got my computer. Honey, let me fix you some eggs."
"This is fine." She picked up her coffee to wash the taste away. "Have you been having panic attacks when I'm not here?"
"Not full-blown ones. Tickles now and then. Phoebe, there's only one reason I wish I could walk out that door. That's so you could, if that's what you wanted. So you could walk away from this house. If I could, is that what you'd do?"
"Mama, I don't have time to talk about this now."
"It's not yet six-thirty in the morning, and if you're in a hurry, then you can answer quick and be done with it."
Phoebe opened a cabinet, tossed the half-eaten yogurt in the trash.
"I don't know. Some days, I'd say yes. I'd walk away from this house just to spite Cousin Bess. She had no right, no right to work you like a dog and give you nothing."
"She gave me a place to take my children when I was desperate."
"And made you pay and pay and pay, every single day."
"Do you think that mattered?" The little white scar stood out sharply when Essie's cheeks flushed with emotion. "Do you think that ever mattered to me?"
"It should have."
"That's you, Phoebe. You've got a tough mind in there, and you tend to draw hard lines with it."
"Mama-"
"Maybe you've had to have one, and maybe you need those lines.
And still, my darling girl, what wouldn't you do to be sure your Carly is safe and well? Did you leave Roy, when God knows you hate to give up on anything, hate to lose? Did you walk away from the FBI for yourself, or because you believed it was better for her if you took the position with the local police? For her, and for me-and don't think I haven't always known that. Did you count the cost?"
"It's not the same, Mama. She treated you like dirt, and Carter little better."
"And I've always felt there was a special place in hell with her name on it for the times she pinched and poked at that poor little boy. But he had a home, and food, and he had you and me. He had Ava, God love her, for good measure."
"The house should've been yours, free and clear."
"It's mine close enough, not free and clear, but mine all the same. Do you hate it so, Phoebe?"
"No." She sighed. "No. Some days I hate the idea of it, I hate the strings she pulls even from that reserved table in hell. She knew I would, and it burns my ass, Mama, to prove her right. But the fact is, Carly loves this house. She loves the courtyard and her room, she loves the neighborhood and the park. So, no, I don't count the cost. Or only when I'm feeling pissy. So I don't know, Mama, if you could walk out the door, if I would, too."
She drained her coffee. "I have to get to work."
"I know you do."
Essie stayed where she was, listening to Phoebe walk down the hall, across the foyer. She heard the door open, close. And she moved to the window, to look out at the courtyard with its lovely flowers and shrubs, its elegant fountain and pretty pockets of shade.
And she saw a bottomless black pit.
