Jake’s radio crackled. “Jake? DeLuca. You copy?”
“Copy.” Jake talked into his shoulder radio, raising a hand to put Jane on hold.
“Got that warrant,” DeLuca said. “For the Ricker house? Time to make his day, Jake. You clear to move?”
Nobody had broken into her apartment? Maybe nobody had really been following her in the truck?
Jane lowered herself to the couch, her mind racing, balancing, trying to juggle a couple of realities while Jake talked to his partner on his two-way. He’d looked so upset. No wonder. He had to tell her all this chaos, the cops and the “investigation” and the fear and the worry, was her fault.
A knock on her front door.
“See?” Jane pointed to the door, accusing. “How’d that person get in?”
She knew there was something else. Had to be. She had not left the door unlocked. Impossible. One hundred per cent impossible.
“Stand by, D,” Jake said. Then, to her, “Maybe it’s-”
By that time, Jane was at the door, checking the peephole.
“Who is it?” Jake said.
Jane fumbled with the lock, yanked open the door. Couldn’t open it fast enough.
Tuck. Holding Coda.
Tuck handed her a squirming ball of fur and a jangling ring of keys. “Heard you’re looking for a cat, ma’am.” Tuck was doing her cop imitation. “And here’s your keys.”
Oh. She’d left her keys with Tuck when she parked. That’s how Tuck had gotten in the front door. And she’d found-
Coda. Mewing and burrowing into her neck, the bottoms of her little paws damp and cold, her tail whipping back and forth. Jane stroked the trembling little body, now rattling with a fervent purr.
“Where was she?”
Tuck waved a vague hand. “You know. Cats. Some nice guy on the street was holding her, said he found her in the-she seems okay, you think?”
“Yes, oh, Tuck, thank you so much. Hey, you stupid cat. Where were you? I was so-oh, she’s lost her collar, somehow. A red stretchy one. Come on in, Tuck.”
Jane closed the door with one hip, still cuddling Coda, waved Tuck toward the living room. Oh. Jake. Tuck. Too late now.
Tuck shrugged. “Got caught on something, maybe.”
“That’s good news.” Jake stood, gestured at the cat.
“Hey, Detective Brogan,” Tuck said. “My, my. Fancy seeing you here.” She paused, then picked up a photo of Jane’s mother from the end table, examined it, put it back. “Did you guys not dust for fingerprints? Jane, are you cool with that? Even after the thing with the truck?”
“Jake? You copy?” His radio was crackling again. “We need to-”
“Stand by one, DeLuca.” Jake looked at Tuck, then at Jane, then back at Tuck. Then back at her.
“Thing with the truck?” he asked. “Jane? What thing with what truck?”
42
Ella fumbled her phone closed. Stashed it. Collins Munson stood at her door. She felt a wave of rebellion. Or something. Maybe-the new Ella. Munson might be the head of History and Records, but he wasn’t her boss. Even now that Mr. Brannigan was dead, and Ms. Finch dead, too. She’d had two bosses, now she had none.
Maybe she was tired, or maybe she was confused, or maybe she was just sick of it. Always Miss Deferential. Everything was different, now. She had information. Now she could be different, too. The new Ella.
Nothing and no one could intimidate her. If they thought so, they had the wrong girl. She tossed her head to prove it.
“Hello, Mr. Mun-Collins.” If they were going to fire her, it didn’t matter what she called him. If she was on the phone was none of his business. He wasn’t the cops.
“I called a friend to cancel an engagement. What can I do for you?”
Munson’s face changed, his furrowed forehead seemed to relax. He unbuttoned the gold embossed button on his navy blazer, shot his starched white cuffs. Ella saw a flash of cufflink. He’d been some sort of military person, Ella knew. Kept the haircut and the bearing.
“Well, Miss Gavin.”
He paused, and Ella watched as he seemed to take in the room and the curtains and the fading roses in Ms. Finch’s inner office. The documents were still under her desk, but Ella knew he couldn’t see them.
“May I join you for a moment?”
Munson’s voice was different, too. He seemed, well, nice. But Ella remained skeptical.
“Of course.” She waved him to the damask chair and took the matching one beside him. If he was going to be cordial, she could be cordial. “How is Mrs. Brannigan?”
“She’s fine. Thank you.” Munson crossed one lanky gray flannel leg over the other. “It’s difficult, for all of us. But there is a greater good in our work. Ms. Finch trusted you, and that trust is important to us. We’d like to make sure, in this time of transition, that you’re still interested.”
“In what?” Wait. The new Ella should be nicer. She smiled, softened her voice. “I mean, interested in what?”
Munson seemed to buy it. “In continuing to work here. I know Ms. Finch-God rest her soul, she’s in a better place now-”
Ella nodded. That was true. She hoped.
“-not only trusted you. She confided in you. Correct? I’m sure it’ll be a smooth transition if you agree.”
“Agree?” The new Ella was confused.
“We can talk about it later, Ella, this is an emotional time. But we’d be very happy if you’d agree to stay, and-in an “acting” capacity at first-take over Ms. Finch’s duties. Then, perhaps, we can discuss a new salary.”
What? Ella leaned into the rounded back of the club chair, curled her fingers around the puffy armrests.
“We all agree. You seem sincerely devoted to making the connections that have shaped the Brannigan’s stellar reputation for reuniting families. That’s the key to our current success, and our continuing success.”
“It’s, of course, I-” Ella couldn’t compute this fast enough. Who’s “we,” she wondered. It didn’t seem like the right thing to ask.
“It’s settled, then.” Munson stood. “We’ll be in to clear out Ms. Finch’s personal things. You should go home, take the rest of the day. Tomorrow we’ll begin anew. Unless Ardith Brannigan decides to hold her husband’s funeral tomorrow. Paying our respects comes first. Agreed?”
“I should clean out Lillian’s desk.” She stood and shook the hand he offered, not really clear what she was agreeing to. “I mean, I know where everything is.”
“Not necessary.” Munson buttoned his jacket, arranged his shoulders. “Very kind of you, good soldier, but unnecessary. My-Grace will handle it. Until tomorrow, then?”
Ella watched his navy blue back as he walked to the door, gave her a final nod, and left. She was alone. In her office. Her very own office? Would she soon have an assistant and someone bringing her white roses? Did Lillian Finch’s tragic death mean her life would really change for the better?
She sank into the comforting upholstery. Other people called their mothers at times like this. Times where you didn’t know exactly what to do, needed advice from someone you loved and trusted, someone you knew cared about you and loved you more than anyone or anything in the world. But Ella didn’t have that.
She stared through the walnut paneling of her desk, imagining the stash of documents underneath it.
Collins Munson was making her the new Lillian Finch.
Why?
Jane Ryland, she thought. Please please please call me back.
“No way. We can’t go to Connecticut now.” Jane shook her head, absolutely refusing. Tuck was crazy. Jake had rushed out after the call from DeLuca, telling her to file a police report about the truck, just in case. The cat had apparently decided to live under the couch and never come out. Jane peered into the darkness. Coda’s green eyes were barely visible, the furry body annoyingly just out of reach. “Come on, cat.”