Jane paused, staring at the toes of her black flats, trying to assess who she was and what was important. Telling the truth was always the best option. Right now, however, she didn’t know what the truth was. Had her life calmed down?
“It has and it hasn’t, Mr. Tyson,” she said. “Calmed down.”
“Marsh.”
“Marsh. My sister’s fiancé’s daughter-” She stopped midsentence. Too much information. But Melissa and Robyn-and the police-could handle the possibly missing Gracie. They didn’t need Jane in person, right now, at least. If they did, she’d be available. Plus, she needed the money. Quitting her newspaper job had been a glorious and unregretted moment of honor and principle. But that did not pay the rent. Or make car payments. And she didn’t even want to think about health insurance. She was unemployed, for the second time in two years, depressingly, and with her savings evaporating, that was not good. Melissa had Jake’s number. Jane could stay fully involved with them and handle the freelance gig. Let the juggling continue.
“Anyway. Sure,” she said, not feeling sure at all. “What’s the plan? Want me to come into the station, or meet a photog somewhere? And do you have any info on the victim? Name, next of kin? Why do they think he’s connected to Curley Park? Is he-it’s a he, right?-in the hospital?”
“That’s the thing, Jane. No, he’s not in the hospital. Not as of half an hour ago. He’s probably on the way to the morgue. And no next of kin, that’s why we called you. Call the cops. See what happened. Find the victim’s family.”
Shoot. Exactly why she didn’t miss television. She’d done vulture patrol duty way too many times. She did not want to be in a position-not ever again, thank you-to tell a grieving family they’d lost someone. But she could at least look into this, see what developed. The police would have to inform the family of their loss, anyway. Police. Jake. Where had he gone?
“Okay,” she said. “Can do.” She’d tell Melissa where she was, keep them all looped in. It’d work. “Can you tell me the victim’s name? Age? Anything?”
Jane listened to the sound of rustling paper on Marsh’s end of the line. Weird to be in television again. Wondered if she’d remember how to do it. She smiled. Not weird. It was her job. Getting the answers, making them public. Kind of like Jake, but without the badge and gun. It’s your calling, honey, her mother had told her.
Channel 2 better have kept all her video from Curley Park. Soon as she could, she’d look at every frame. Be interesting if the victim was in it. More than interesting.
“Jane?”
“I’m here.” She went to her closet, selected a muted gray-and-black scarf from the too-full hooks, used one hand to twirl it around her neck. Add a blazer, she’d be good for TV, if need be.
“According to the source, the dead guy’s name is Land,” Marsh said. “Bobby Land.”
31
Tenley tried to bury her face in her fluffy pillow, the same one she’d used forever. Somehow it didn’t feel the same, didn’t smell like that flowery stuff her mother used on the laundry. She sniffed, turned over, tried to get comfortable. Felt, somehow, a shadow over her.
“It’s too early, Mom,” she muttered. “Five more minutes.”
Then she remembered. Not her pillow. Not home. Not Mom. She sat bolt upright.
Brileen stood over her, hands on hips. Smiling. “Wake up, kiddo.”
Tenley put both hands over her eyes, rubbed, trying to get her bearings. Brileen and her girlfriend, Valerie, cute like Brileen was, older, colleg-y, had come to pick her up in a car. Tenley tried to remember the car, but she was not good at cars. They’d driven, like, toward Fenway Park-she was not good at directions-and then to this house in… somewhere. Why was she so tired?
They’d all had wine, she remembered. And chatted for, like, hours. Valerie was cool. And now she had a headache.
“Now you’re remembering,” Brileen said. “Never have four glasses of wine, sister.” She wore a little flowered skirt and a striped tank top, Levi’s jacket, strappy flat sandals. Laptop bag over one shoulder. “I’ve got to go. Val’s already at work. Go back to sleep.”
Tenley’s neck hurt, not bad, though, like a crick. She looked around the little room, trying to assess. She spread her arms, noticing she was still in the T and jeans she’d worn the night before. Twin bed, the only one in the room. Windows on one wall, filmy curtains, revealing an about-to-be sunny day outside. Open door to a cheerily wallpapered corridor. Her backpack lay in the corner, zipped closed. Nothing threatening, nothing unpleasant. There was something, though, about last night-right.
“How did you know where I lived?”
“Huh?” Brileen was digging into her bag.
“When you and your… friend picked me up.”
“Valerie.”
“Right. You never answered me about that last night. Did you?” It was all a little fuzzy. “How’d you know my address?”
Brileen had her cell phone out now and looked at Tenley, made a goofy face. “You told me, Miss Wine-for-brains. At the Purple.”
Had she told her? Her exact address? She didn’t remember doing that, but she guessed she might have. Must have.
“Really?”
“You’re losing it,” Brileen said. “You were freaking over the-thing. In Curley Park.”
“Oh, crap. What time is it?” Reality came washing over her. She had to go to work. Of course she’d go to work, it wasn’t like she was giving up everything in her life, she just wasn’t going to live at home anymore, like every other college kid decides at some point. Her point was now. She still needed an income. Even more.
“It’s only, like, seven.” Brileen punched some buttons on her cell. “I’ve gotta go. Val and I will see you later?”
Tenley thought about her own cell phone zipped into her backpack. Should she call her mother, let her know where she was, at least? Wherever that was. She’d find the address, easy enough, and then make it to City Hall by eight thirty. It’d be like a regular workday. Mom would never know.
She thought about her phone again, her silent phone. Her mom obviously hadn’t come home last night, didn’t even know Tenley had gone. Because Mom would have called, right, if she had missed her?
Or not. And see, that proved it. Proved no one cared about her. They’d rather she be gone. It was her fault about Lanna, and every time they saw her, they remembered what she’d known but hadn’t told, and blamed her again. Now she’d left home, and no one even noticed. Problem solved. She’d done them a favor by leaving.
“Tenley?” Brileen said. “Tonight?”
“Yup.” Tenley’d decided. “See you tonight.”
Jake recognized the name, impossible not to. Catherine Siskel. The mayor’s chief of staff. A tough, smart, political lifer. At City Hall through two administrations. Now part of a third, always moving higher up the political ladder.
Jake glanced at the man in the hospital bed. Maybe-tattoo guy was still motionless, monitors beeping, oxygen hissing. He moved toward the door, opened it, and stood in the hall, keeping the door open and his voice low.
“Of course I know you, Ms. Siskel.” Also because of the daughter. The one who had died, out in Steading Woods. A year ago? Less. Angie Bartoneri had worked on it, he remembered. Made sense that’s why the woman had called Angie. The old ME’s office had ruled that death an accident. “You said-someone missing.”
“Yes,” she said. “My husband.”
Her husband? Her husband? A VIP with a dead daughter, and now a missing husband? Missing Persons had made the right decision giving him this call. Even though it would have been more by the book for Angie to fill him in on the background, not make him rely on his memory.