“What’s the guy’s name?”
“He’s still in jail.”
“The name?”
Paul went to his desk and got out a file. Meanwhile Tibbet turned back to Torie.
“You know about this guy?”
“No, but I agree that Todd wasn’t easily taken in.”
Tibbet wrote the name Paul gave him, and promised to check it out. “So there’s no one you know, no one you can think of that would want to hurt you, Ms. Hagen?”
“No, I really wish I could. I want to be able to tell you someone or give you a name because it would make it less frightening. I don’t know anyone I’ve injured or upset enough that they would do this.”
“I understand,” Tibbet said as he closed his book. “If you think of anyone or anything, no matter how small, a sister of someone you dated that got hurt, a parent, a friend, anything, you let me know.”
Torie nodded and stood to shake hands as Tibbet left. Paul showed him to the door and came back to the table. He pulled two yellow pads from a nearby stack.
“Okay. We’re going to spend some time on a time line, all right? We’re going to start from now and work backwards in time, as much as you can remember. I’ve got a file on the stuff that happened to Todd when he would come home. We’re going to see if any of the dates match.”
He handed Torie a pen and went to his desk for the file.
They worked for over two hours, plodding through her life, dissecting her dates and her work.
“Crap,” she cursed as they reviewed a point that brought her work into play. “I had a call from the office. I need to check my messages.”
Flipping over another page, she clicked over to voice mail and began to listen to what were now thirty-two messages.
Predictably, there were a lot of calls from the press.
“Any idea how the press might have gotten my cell phone number?”
“Does the Chamber have it?”
“Damn.” She sighed. “Yeah, they do. My office does as well, so it could have come from there.”
She jotted down the names and information of the various reporters.
“You’re not obliged to call them back, Torie. They’re just after a story or a scoop or some comment they can use against you.”
Looking up from her notes, Torie managed to smile. “I know, but I guess I want to see who’s calling and who has some decorum about contacting me. If there ever comes a time to talk to the press, I’ll know who to pick.”
Paul looked nonplussed for a moment, then laughed. “Very good. Really.” He grinned at her. “That’s perfect.”
She smiled back. “I thought so.”
She got to a message from her brother and stopped to text him, fill him in on the latest details. Within seconds, she had a ping with a reply.
“No, you goof,” she murmured aloud, texting back. “I don’t want you to fly home again.”
“Your brother?”
Torie nodded. “Yes, he wants to be more of a big brother than a younger one, take care of me. I’m trying to explain that you can’t fight shadows with no names.”
“Good way to put it, as it’s certainly what we’ve got.” He pulled her pages over to his side of the table and began comparing them.
She listened to Pam on the message talking about Dev and how nice he was. Rolling her eyes, she deleted it, and picked up a message from Dev saying that Pam certainly was a hottie and he was glad Torie had introduced him to her.
The next one was from GoodMama. Bracing herself for the worst, Torie began to listen to the message.
“You call me, y’hear, little girl? I ain’t got no mad on, so you call. I know you be thinkin’ I’m mad about the boy, but I ain’t. He had his own warning and didn’t heed it, so’s it’s just as it’s supposed to be anyhow. Now, fergit Devereaux Chance for a minute, and call your GoodMama.”
Breathing a sigh of relief, she clicked the message into saved messages.
“You look like you got a reprieve from the gallows.”
“Kinda. My grandmother, the one from New Orleans?”
“The tiny one, the one that had the—”
“The pet bobcat? Yes, that one.” GoodMama had brought her pet bobcat from New Orleans in a cat carrier. In the interest of keeping the fragile peace brought about when GoodMama and Daddy had talked before he died, Torie and her mother said nothing about the cat. As she remembered, Dev and the other cousins who’d come had given the cat a wide berth.
“Does she still have the cat?”
“I don’t think so. She hasn’t mentioned Stiletto in a while,” Torie said as she noted the number. “I guess I need to call her.”
“Do you want to use the landline?” He pointed to the phone by his desk. “Save some battery or minutes?”
“Oh, sure.”
Torie eased into the large leather chair, spinning it carefully to pick up the phone. When she’d dialed, she turned the chair so its back blocked her view of Paul. Talking to GoodMama was going to be nerve-wracking enough, much less with Paul listening in.
“’Bout time.” GoodMama answered the phone without preamble. “I been waitin’ on ya. Some reason you think to keep me waitin’?”
“I’m sorry, GoodMama, I just got the message.”
“You saw it yesterday.”
“I did, but I got shot at and nearly blown up yesterday, so I wasn’t really up for talking.”
“Hmmmmph. Well. Reckon that’s true. You eatin’?”
“Eating? No, I haven’t eaten yet, but it’s not lunchtime.”
“Breakfast, girl. Most important meal of the day. Didn’t your mama teach you that?”
Torie smiled. “Yes, yes she did.”
“Listening’s a good skill to have, little girl.” GoodMama said it with a flat tone, like a warning. “You need to do a lot of it right now. I’m telling you that you need to look at everyone close to you. That Pam, she’s not the one. Nor Dev. Nor that man sittin’ there with you that thinks you mighty fine. Them you can trust. The others? Don’t you trust no one else, you hear, little girl? Dev, he has to come home. Get him outta harm’s way.”
“I understand,” Torie said. She hated the thought that Dev had been hurt, and she hoped he would go home, and out of the line of fire.
“Do you understand this ain’t your fault?”
“What?” Torie was startled by the comment. “How do you mean?”
“Someone got a powerful mad on, hatin’ mad. But it ain’t you—it’s that man you nearly hitched yourself to. Remember what GoodMama told you?”
“That gold was more powerful than affection.”
“Still the case. But that hate’s spillin’ onto you. You look there, at that man. And watch for falling glass. I keep seeing falling glass. Not just this moment, but soon.”
When she hung up with GoodMama, she hurried to the table to write everything down. Talking with the old woman was mesmerizing—you couldn’t write things down while you were talking to her because she’d ask if you were listening or paying attention. But Torie knew she’d better get it down fast, because so far GoodMama had never been wrong.
“Did Granny WooWoo have some information?”
“Hush,” Torie chided, scribbling away.
Before she could finish, a squealing whoop, whoop, whoop filled the air, along with a disembodied voice.
“This is not a drill. This is a fire alarm. Please exit the building immediately.” Whoop, whoop, whoop.
Chapter Seven
“What the hell?” Paul growled. He snatched files from the table and from his desk, threw them in a drawer, and locked it. “Come on. We have to get out.”
Paul was tugging on her arm, hauling her up and toward the door.
“But, but…” Torie was aghast. GoodMama said she had some time.
“It’s probably nothing. We’ve had a couple of these recently, but you can’t take a chance.”