She grabbed the ice bucket, made sure she had her room's key card and left in stocking feet to search for the ice machine, realizing that only seconds earlier she had been too tired to even search for a vending machine. Amazing what a phone call from a child-murdering priest, a confession from an abuse victim and a reminder of Albert Stucky could do for the sight of a bottle of Chivas. And what an appropriate combination.
She found the ice machine at the other end of the hallway and started filling the bucket, when she heard someone walk by the small alcove but then stop and come back.
She turned to find Nick Morrelli in a T-shirt, khaki shorts and bare feet, a newspaper tucked under his arm and a hotel key card hi his hand.
"Of all the hotels in this city, they had to put you in this one."
CHAPTER 63
The Embassy Suites
Omaha, Nebraska
Nick knew he should apologize. He had felt it even during their earlier meeting, that he was out of line, acting defensive., well, this morning he needed to act defensive on Tony's behalf, but now… now it was ridiculous.
"I'm not the one suspecting your friend," she said. Nick thought she looked exhausted, her eyes searching around. Was she hoping for an escape route? "A friendly piece of advice, tell him to stop being so evasive and answer the OPD's questions. He's only hurting himself by making them believe he has something to hide."
Nick leaned against the wall, a bit exhausted himself, and crossed his arms over his chest, the newspaper still tucked, "I've told him," he said, letting down his guard and allowing his frustration to show. "I've told him exactly that. He won't listen to me, either."
For the first time her eyes met his and for a brief moment he was reminded of that time four years ago when they were working the Platte City case. Why was it that whenever he slipped and showed her he wasn't quite in control, she seemed to connect with him most?
"Do you think he has something to hide?"
"I don't know, but I've known Tony Gallagher since we were both five years old. He can be stubborn and he can talk his way out of just about anything. But I know he couldn't kill someone."
"Even if he thought it was the right thing?"
"What do you mean?"
Nick waited while Maggie set the ice bucket at her stocking feet and leaned against the wall, crossing her arms to mirror him. He noticed that she had shed her jacket and wore only a white knit blouse still tucked into the waistband of her suit trousers. She looked good, better than ever. Despite looking exhausted at the moment, Nick sensed there was something about her that seemed… content. Had she finally put the demons of her past behind her?
"I'm convinced," she said, "that this killer thinks he's doing the right thing. Maybe even that he's doing the work of the Lord."
A chill slid down Nick's back, enough of a chill to make him admit that maybe he was wrong. He had been thinking about what Tony had said earlier _ off the record, friend to friend __ about his confrontation with Monsignor O'Sullivan. Tony said he had told him __ no, he had warned him __ that if the allegations were true, he wouldn't sit back and be quiet. But what did that mean?
Before Nick could say anything another guest came down the hall, ice bucket in hand, and Maggie moved out of the alcove's doorway. The woman smiled at the two of them, and they made small talk about the weather while she filled her ice bucket. Then she walked between them again with another smile. Nick wondered if she thought she was interrupting a lovers' spat. She took her time walking down the hall, and when she turned the corner he realized both he and Maggie were listening for the woman's hotel-room door to open and shut.
"Not the best place to have a serious conversation," he said with a smile and wanted to offer that they continue it in his suite, but a gentleman waited for the woman to make feat offer. Maybe he was hoping she would offer. What would he do then?
He had the suite to himself tonight. Jill was going to be out late with her mother and maid of honor doing something or other. She'd be spending the night at her mom's. And why was he even worrying about this? Was he that much of an idiot? It was ridiculous. He was ridiculous.
"I need to go. I have some phone calls to make," she finally said, picking up the ice bucket, but not making a move to leave.
"Yeah, me too," he lied.
"Well, good night." And she started down the hall.
"Goodnight."
He tried not to watch her and didn't want to follow, but then he realized she was going in the same direction he needed to go. God had a weird sense of humor, he thought as he watched her unlock and enter a suite only two doors down and across the hall from his.
CHAPTER 64
Omaha, Nebraska
Gibson told his mom he wasn't feeling good. No, it wasn't any big hairy deal, an upset stomach, maybe a touch of the flu or something. No, she didn't need to call the doctor, but he didn't want any dinner.
He really did feel sick to his stomach, but it wasn't from the flu. It was that Darth Vader guy almost poking him into the wall. Now he wanted to stay in his room and not be bothered. He wondered if he could stay home for a few days. He wasn't so sure he even wanted to go to Explorers tomorrow. His mom wouldn't notice. She left for work before him and came home after him. If he could keep Tyler's big fat mouth shut it wouldn't be a problem. He'd need to think of a bribe. Usually Tyler's silence could be bought. It was just a matter of figuring out what lame thing he was into this week.
He sat in front of his computer, wondering if surfing the Net might help. He hadn't played the game since… since Monsignor O' Sullivan and the airport. How many days ago was that? He clicked the computer on and waited for Windows to boot up. In the meantime he grabbed his backpack from the floor and started going through it. There had to be a candy bar or granola bar or something inside. He dug his hand to the bottom and started feeling around so he wouldn't need to dump everything out. His fingers found the seam of a wrapper _ success! He pulled out a Snickers bar and noticed an e-mail flashing, waiting at the corner of his computer screen.
He and Timmy had exchanged e-mail addresses. He was probably wondering why Gibson didn't wait for him this afternoon. He clicked on his e-mail and sure enough there were two from Timmy, one with the subject line that read:
WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?
There was also an e-mail from The Sin Eater, and Gibson's stomach started to churn again. The subject line read: CAUTION!!!! He clicked it open before it managed to paralyze him. It looked like a list of instructions. At the top in caps and bold letters it read:
YOU'RE SAFE AS LONG AS YOU HAVE THE LEATHER PORTFOLIO. DON'T WORRY. I WONT LET ANYONE HURT YOU.
Downstairs the front doorbell rang. He ignored it. His mom hadn't gone to her evening class yet.
The portfolio. How the hell did The Sin Eater know about it? Gibson left the computer and rummaged through the back of his closet until he found it. When he first discovered it stashed inside his backpack, he had opened it enough to find Monsignor O'Sullivan's name on the top paper. He should have known it was something important, something from that afternoon. That's how The Sin Eater knew he was at the airport. He was there, too. Did he see who put the portfolio into his backpack? Or did The Sin Eater put it there? If it was Monsignor O' Sullivan's and The Sin Eater took it from him, then did he see who murdered him?
Gibson stopped and sat on the edge of his bed. How stupid was he? The game. He had submitted Monsignor O'Sullivan's name as a character to be eliminated. The Sin Eater was supposedly the only one who knew and recorded the name. The Sin Eater had to have killed Monsignor O' Sullivan. Or was it all just a coincidence that both Gibson and The Sin Eater were there at the airport and happened to see the priest dead?