“You’re allowed.”
She nodded, gave him a tentative smile and walked down the wide corridor away from him. He could tell she was dragging. He hoped she’d be deeply asleep before too long.
As for himself, he was out as soon as he pulled the thick duvet to his chin.
CHAPTER 18
Cheney awoke with a start to the sound of a woman’s voice singing an aria from Madame Butterfly, one of the few operas he liked. He lay with his eyes closed, and listened. It was a beautiful voice, with good range. He didn’t move until she finished.
He cleaned himself up, brushed his teeth with the extra-firm-bristle toothbrush, and went downstairs to the kitchen to see Julia Ransom bending over to pull muffins out of the oven.
He drew in a deep breath. Blueberry, his favorite.
He didn’t want to startle her so he waited until she set the pan onto one of the top burners.
“Smells great.”
She whirled around, nearly lunged for the gun sitting on the end of the counter. “Oh. Good morning, Cheney. It’s still early. I wanted to—”
She was wearing jeans, ballet flats, and a white shirt, her hair in a French braid. And she was wearing lipstick, he saw, a pretty pale peach color, and some makeup to cover her bruise. She wore no jewelry except for small silver hoops in her ears.
He said, “I was sleeping in my forest bed when the most incredible music began playing in my head. Madame Butterfly, right?”
“Yes, it’s my favorite. I’m sorry if I woke you up. Sometimes the songs come out of my mouth and I don’t realize, that is, usually I’m alone and I guess I didn’t think—”
“It’s all right, Julia. You have a beautiful voice.” The microwave pinged. “Thank you. Please sit down. I’ve got breakfast going here.”
He looked at his watch. “The forensic team will be back soon.”
“I was looking at some of the bullet holes, so much of the beautiful old wood gouged out. They’ll get his DNA from the blood, won’t they?”
“Yes. Did you study voice? Sing professionally?” She shook her head as she poured him a cup of coffee, then moved to the stove to scramble some eggs. “Well, for one semester in college I practiced for hours every day, but then—”
“Then what?”
She shrugged. “Then things changed.”
He wanted to ask her to explain, but he didn’t. Her past could wait.
She was fast. Six minutes later they were eating eggs, blueberry muffins, and crispy bacon, just as he liked it.
Something pressed against his leg and he nearly leaped off the chair. As it was, he sent his fork flying.
“I’m sorry. Hey, Freddy, you scared Cheney. Come here, little prince, and have some turkey bacon.”
A large muscular tabby, more white than orange, jumped lightly onto the chair next to Julia’s and begin talking. The desperate meows didn’t stop until he had his face in a pile of turkey bacon crumbled on a paper plate. Freddy chewed loudly and he purred even louder. Cheney listened for a moment, then laughed.
“That guy’s got an incredible engine.”
“Yes, he does. Even when he was a kitten you could hear him from two rooms away.” She sighed. “I think I was the only neighbor willing to watch Freddy so Mrs. Minter had no choice but to ask me. Like everyone else, she’s not quite sure whether I killed my husband. And now this.” She sighed. “I wonder what my neighbors are going to think now?”
Cheney said matter-of-factly, “When the media does a number on someone, it stays done for a good long time. Now that you’re the target, the media will jump on that and people will change their minds, your neighbors included. I didn’t see Freddy Thursday night or last night.”
“Freddy was hiding beneath the sofa in the library. I’m keeping him for a week while Mrs. Minter and her new husband explore the Greek Islands. They’re due back pretty soon. It’s a good thing Freddy doesn’t sleep with me. That creep might have hurt him last night. I sure hope you’re right about my neighbors changing their minds about me.”
Freddy meowed loudly. She laughed, petted his head, and crumbled up some more bacon. “Freddy did finish out last night with me, though. I woke up this morning and there he was lying flat on my chest. It was tough to breathe.”
Freddy suddenly froze. The hair on his back stood straight up and he hissed.
“Get down, Julia!” Cheney shoved her under the table, drew his SIG, and made his way from the kitchen toward the front of the house.
CHAPTER 19
GEORGETOWN, WASHINGTON, D.C.
Sunday
Dix said, “It was her eyes—not quite Christie’s— but so close, for a moment I couldn’t breathe. I kept wishing I hadn’t gone.”
Ruth closed one of her hands over his. “You had to go, Dix, you had to see her, you had to be sure. Now you know, and it’s over.”
“But it isn’t over, Ruth, not with that bracelet Charlotte Pallack was wearing. There’s no coincidence that great in the universe.”
Savich said, “Since you called yesterday, Dix, I’ve checked out Charlotte Pallack. That’s why I asked you guys to come over today and sent the kids off to the movies with Lily and Simon. Dix, did Charlotte tell you she was from money?”
Dix thought back. “Well, not really, but she certainly gave me that impression, sort of like she was the poor little rich girl, rebelling, and so she ran off with a German guy as a young girl, but she didn’t marry him, she came back. She said her parents were dead. She’s got one brother—there was maybe something there, but I didn’t pursue it. I just wanted to leave.”
“Okay, here’s the deal. Let me say first that it took even MAX a good amount of time to find out much about Charlotte Pallack’s past. Seems Thomas Pallack went to great lengths to keep it obscure—or perhaps she did it herself. But MAX was able to start from their marriage license.” Savich paused a moment. “We found the girl, Charlotte Caldicott, in the North Carolina Department of Health and Human Services database. She didn’t lie about her father, he’s dead sure enough, shot by police while he was attempting to rob a liquor store about two months after he’d abandoned his family. Charlotte was five years old.
“Like you said, Dix, she has a brother, younger by four years, David Caldicott. She, her brother, and her mother lived in Durham, true enough, but there wasn’t a dime. Her mother, Althea Caldicott, worked two jobs to support her kids, then she died of runaway breast cancer when Charlotte was eleven, David seven. The children were sucked into the foster care system until they were eighteen. Then MAX lost her for a while.”
Dix said, “No college?”
Savich shook his head. “It’s interesting, though. She did tell the truth when she could. About her brother, David Caldicott— he’s now thirty-three and plays the violin for the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra. He was evidently taught as a boy by one of his foster parents, a Maynard Lee Thornton, who played the fiddle like a dream. David had a truckload of talent. Maynard Lee managed to wrangle a violin for him, and was apparently an excellent teacher. Maynard Lee died when David was seventeen. When David turned eighteen, he took off for Europe, Prague, to be exact, then Paris, then London. According to his bio with the Atlanta Orchestra, he played his violin in clubs, in parks, in cafes, wherever.
“Now I have another unbelievable coincidence for you, Dix, something I’m afraid throws a new light on everything. When David Caldicott got back to the U.S. he applied to and was accepted by your very own favorite music school—Stanislaus.”
Dix could only stare at him. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Ruth said, “Come on, Dillon, you made that up.”
Savich shook his head. “Nope.” He drew a deep breath. “Dix, he was in Maestro, at Stanislaus, when Christie disappeared.”