“It’s fine. I’m fine. Now, no more questions about my arm.”
Tessa evaluated the board, then let out a groan. “You were setting that up for like five moves.”
“Six.”
Nice.
Tessa slumped back in her chair.
Cheyenne stood beside me now, closer than a mere co-worker would have stood. The proximity spoke for itself. “Is there anything I can do for you?” she said. “I could stay if you want, I’d just need to make a couple calls…”
Man, was that tempting. “I’ll be all right. But thanks. Really.”
She didn’t look like she exactly believed me but seemed willing to let it drop for the moment. “I brought your laptop back from the NCAVC meeting.” She pointed to the kitchen. “It’s on the table.”
“Great. Thank you.”
A slight awkwardness filtered its way into the room, and even though I’d just told her that I didn’t need her to stay, I felt a growing desire to rescind that. Cheyenne picked up her purse. “Well, I should probably be going, then.”
“Wait,” I said. “Did you guys eat yet?” It was a lame attempt at finding a way to tell her I wouldn’t mind if she hung around. “Do you need some dinner?”
“Actually, I’m supposed to be meeting someone for dinner in the city.”
“Oh.”
“Lien-hua.”
“Oh.”
“We really hit it off this afternoon. Seems we have a lot in common. She’s going to fill me in.” I expected her to elaborate, but she stopped abruptly, leaving her words open for interpretation.
Unintended consequences.
“Well, I’ll walk you to the door.” I glanced toward Tessa. “Hey, can you get your mom’s diary?”
“Why?”
“Please.”
She gave me a disapproving look but at last left for her bedroom.
Cheyenne and I crossed the room. “There’ve been a lot of developments in the case,” I said. “I’m sure Lien-hua will bring you up to speed.”
“Actually, I spoke with your boss on the phone about twenty minutes ago. She gave me a rundown.”
“Margaret?”
She nodded. “I handed in the Joint Op paperwork this afternoon. She said that as the head of the task force, she wanted to introduce herself. She told me to attend class in the morning and then come to the afternoon briefing with the rest of the team.”
“So you’ve never met her before?”
“Uh-uh.”
Huh.
“What time is the briefing?” I asked.
“It’s scheduled for 2:00, but I think it’ll depend on how the investigation progresses in the morning.”
My class started at 2:00. “I won’t make it, but maybe we can connect afterward. Catch up on the case.”
“Sounds good.”
We were at the door. “Hey,” I said, “you’ve really been a big help to me. Last night and then tonight, coming to my rescue again.”
“Didn’t I tell you? It’s my new hobby.”
“In addition to target shooting and line dancing.”
“A girl’s gotta be well-rounded.” She gave me a concerned smile. “You sure your arm is all right?”
“Yes. Listen, did Tessa tell you anything about what was going on with her this afternoon? Anything I need to know?”
Cheyenne shook her head. “She didn’t say, but it did seem to help that I was here.”
I hesitated for a moment. “I hate to keep asking you for favors, but you mentioned you’re having dinner in DC?”
“Yes.”
“Could you come to my rescue again?”
“Any time.”
I pulled out Missy Schuel’s card and jotted her home address on a sheet of paper, then handed it to Cheyenne. “Can you take the diary to Missy? She’s a lawyer for-”
“A lawyer?” Tessa was standing at the end of the hallway, holding the diary. “Why are you giving the diary to a lawyer?”
“I’ll explain everything in a couple minutes.”
“Now is good.”
“Tessa.” I tried to sound stern, fatherly. “Detective Warren needs to go.” I held out my hand. “The diary. Please. And then we can talk things through in a few minutes.”
After a brief consideration, Tessa gave me the diary, I paged through it to make sure that the letter Paul Lansing had written to Christie was still inside, then slipped a scrap sheet of paper in to bookmark it and handed the diary to Cheyenne.
Tessa watched.
“Okay,” Cheyenne said. “See you soon.”
“Thanks again.”
Then she left and Tessa and I were alone.
“All right.” My stepdaughter had her hands on her hips. “What’s going on-why did you give her my mom’s diary?”
42
“In a minute,” I said. “You first. I want to know why you were so upset this afternoon and why you were so eager for me to get home.”
She seemed to debate with herself whether or not to press me but then said, “Okay, so I have something to tell you, but I don’t want you to get mad.” Her eyes focused on the thick bandage again. “What’d you scrape your arm on, anyway?”
“A bullet, and I can’t promise that I won’t get mad until I know-”
“You got shot!”
“Yes, but right now we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about-”
“Who shot you?”
“One of the bad guys. Now, listen-”
“Are you okay? Seriously?”
“Tessa.” I’m sure my tone reflected my growing impatience. “I did my best to hurry home because you were anxious to tell me something. What is it?”
She stared at me for a long uncertain moment, then unexpectedly left the room, returned with her laptop, set it beside me on the couch, and tilted the screen so I could see it clearly.
Her email application was open, and she’d highlighted a thread of messages.
When I saw who they were from, a sharp bite of anger cut through me.
“You’ve been emailing him!” Paul Lansing’s first email had been sent the day after we’d visited Wyoming. I scrolled down the list and saw that the most recent had been sent less than twenty-four hours ago. “I specifically told you not to email him without letting me read over-”
“Does it hurt?”
I went back to the top of the list and started scanning the messages. “What?”
“Your arm. Does it hurt?”
“Of course it hurts. A bullet went through it. I can’t believe you’ve been-”
“Ew.” She looked pale. Sat down. “I wish you hadn’t told me that.”
With every email I read, I felt a fresh surge of betrayal.
“How could you do this? Go behind my back and email him like this?”
“Why is it going behind your back to email my dad?”
“Because I didn’t give you permission to.”
“He’s my…” She paused, must have reconsidered what she was about to say because she left the sentence unfinished, stranded there in midair between us.
“Anything else?” I said. “Any other bombshells you want to drop on me?”
She hesitated for a moment.
“Well?”
She leaned over, tapped the keyboard to open an Internet browser window, clicked to her facebook page.
Another email.
From 2:21 p.m. this afternoon. Tessa, I’m sorry I got angry at you today at the museum. I just wanted to make sure you were safe. I tried calling the phone I gave you, but you didn’t answer. (Don’t worry, I found it.) I’d rather not call your cell, I don’t want your stepfather to find out we met. I wouldn’t want him to get mad and then take it out on you. But we need to talk. Call me or email me as soon as you can. Love, Dad
I felt a rising quiver of rage. “You saw him? That’s why you went to DC? To see Paul? That’s why you cancelled lunch with me?”
“I…”
“You lied to me.”
“No, I just-”
“You said you were going to the Library of Congress.”
“I did.”
Half truths.
Deception.
“Love, Dad”… He signed the message “Love, Dad.”
I could feel my whole body growing tense, the ache in my arm tightening.
Tessa watched me uneasily. “I’m sorry.”
I pointed to the computer screen. “What is this about him giving you a phone?”
“I threw it out.”
I waited.