“I’m glad that at least-” Jane began. She stopped, watching as Jake brought back the little white shoe from the lobby. Daniel, kneeling, slipped it onto Gracie’s foot. Jane had to admit Daniel seemed a reasonable Prince Charming candidate, in a corporate kind of way, jeans and a light sweater, graying dark hair mussed. Not as exotic “man of mystery” as Jane had imagined.
The shoe. That’s what was missing.
“Liss?” Jane turned to her sister. “Do me a favor? I found Gracie in the lobby earlier, right? Came up to her. But she clearly was not expecting me. Could you ask her-soon as you can-why she was there?”
58
Jake hadn’t wanted to miss the happy ending with Gracie and her family, but that phone call he’d ignored in the gift shop was from Catherine Siskel. Her message asked to see him. That was a big deal. He had to call her back. He watched Melissa put her arm around Jane, saw them comfort each other, watched Daniel console his daughter, watched him replace the shoe. He pulled out his phone. Catherine Siskel.
“Jake.” His radio rasped his name. If he stopped to think about how tired he was, he’d be tempted to take over Gracie’s spot behind the candy counter. Maybe she’d even left him some candy, though from the looks of her face and dress, maybe not. But hey, cops don’t need sleep.
“Yeah, D?” D. Upstairs. Right. Catherine Siskel would have to wait.
“You bringing the, uh, person requested?”
Jake knew D had to measure his radio transmissions, keeping them legally beyond reproach since they all were taped by dispatch and subject to subpoena. He understood, from years of listening to D’s subtext and radio voice, what he was really saying: Get Jane the hell up here before Robyn Wilhoite decides she needs a lawyer.
“Copy,” Jake said. “Be there in two.”
“Jake.” Jane had a hand on his arm, stopping him. “Hang on.”
He needed to get her up to the third floor to help them solve the puzzle that was Robyn Wilhoite. Was she a frantic mother who’d do anything to rescue her missing child? If not, what the hell was Robyn doing here?
“I didn’t tell you what I found out about Lewis Wilhoite.” Jane’s voice was low, her eyes on Melissa and Gracie. Jane’s sister had pulled a pack of tissues from her purse, licked the corner of one, and was wiping Gracie’s smudged face. Gracie, fidgeting, grudgingly allowed it. Daniel watched the two, looking exhausted but relieved.
“What about Lewis?” Jake whispered back. Lewis Wilhoite. Victim? Kidnapper? Or both?
“He may not be who he says he is,” Jane said.
“Shit, who is?” Jake needed to hear the rest of it, but first things first. He hoped Wilhoite’s secrets could wait. “Whoever he is, he’s now under guard at Mass General.” Where maybe-tattooed guy was still unidentified, still sedated. Was he the Curley Park killer? And who the hell was his victim? That still-unidentified John Doe waited in the morgue.
“We’ve got to talk to Robyn first,” Jake said. “At least, you do, Jane. And right now. You up for it?”
The hotel lobby was beginning to come back to life, Jane saw, as she and Jake headed toward the elevators. The concierge at his desk, a phone clamped to each ear. A woman in a blue blazer inched open a door behind the registration counter. Neither could have seen the discovery of Gracie.
Outside the front window, cops in sunglasses and orange-webbed bandoliers still kept the curious away. Hulking TV trucks idled, satellite dishes tilted in place and yellow microwave masts poked into the air, waiting to be given some news to transmit. The reporters and news anchors would have to explain it all soon, Jane thought. As soon as the cops figured out what to say.
And here she was, right in the middle of it. A participant, not an observer. Being an observer was easier. Much, much easier. “Behind the candy counter” now sounded alluring. Gracie’s decision to hide was a tempting strategy.
“So, Jake? Where was Lewis, anyway?” She and Jake waited for the elevator to arrive. Jane had assumed she was to meet Lewis and Gracie in the lobby because it was public and crowded. If Lewis had actually checked in to the hotel with Gracie, he would have been easy to find, traceable by credit card, a million ways. If he was trying to cover his trail, that seemed a pretty dumb way to start. Robyn had certainly found him.
Jake punched the elevator button again. “Room five oh three,” he said. Again, no light came on. “Damn. They’re still switched onto cop mode and I don’t have a key. Let me radio, get the damn thing switched off.”
Jane scanned the lobby while Jake checked in with his troops. Checked in. Checked in.
“Be right back,” she said. She hurried past the palms, past the fountain, and across the lobby to the registration desk.
“I’m Jane,” she said to the woman behind the counter.
MS. SIEGER, the gold plastic name tag on her fitted jacket read. And underneath, HAPPY TO HELP.
Jane hoped that was true.
“I’m working with Detective Brogan,” she said. Which was accurate. Accurate enough. “Can you check on a guest’s registration for him? Lewis Wilhoite.” Jane spelled it.
Ms. Sieger frowned, looked up from her computer keyboard, a lock of curly auburn falling over one cheek as she tilted her head in thought. Eyed Jake, still by the elevator.
Jane pushed, the tiniest of bits. “Ms. Sieger? The detective is on his radio, as you can see. He just needs to know who made Mr. Wilhoite’s reservations. And when.” She smiled, oh so reassuring and unthreatening.
“You’re Jane Ryland,” Julie said. “The reporter. Are you still a reporter? I’m Julie. I’m new.”
“Nice to meet you,” Jane said. Avoiding the questions.
“I love your work.” The clerk scratched an eyebrow. “I guess it’s okay for me to show you, if you’re working with the police and all. I saw them take out an injured guy. On a stretcher. Oh-is that the guy you’re asking about? Your job is so intense!”
“Sometimes,” Jane said. A man shot and a woman in custody-real life, not a movie-and this girl was making conversation. Maybe life was getting back to normal.
“Got it.” Julie turned a computer monitor to face Jane. “Okay, see? The reservation was made, um, four days ago? By… let me see. A Robyn Fasullo?”
“Four days ago?” Jane kept an appropriately blank expression on her face as her mind whirled.
“Yes. I remember this especially, because I was on reservations that day.” The clerk swiveled the monitor back into place. “The woman wanted a room close to the pool. She said her little girl loved to swim.”
59
Elbows on her desk, Catherine Siskel stared at the phone receiver in her hand. The light on her phone console blinked green, the dial tone humming, expectant. Detective Brogan hadn’t called her back. He was homicide, she’d discovered. And that’s who she needed. But there was one more option. Not a very pleasant one, but pleasant was over for the foreseeable future.
So far she’d lived her life solving problems for others. Now it was time to solve her own problems, and her daughter’s. The dial tone changed to the hurry-up signal, harsh and insistent. Catherine hung up. Thinking it through one more time. Making sure.
Even though shafts of late-afternoon sunlight persevered through the barely opened blinds, it felt like the walls of her office were closing in. Tenley sat in the corner of the couch, her legs storked underneath, her dear little eyes still red from her tears, as quiet as Catherine had ever seen her. Brileen, in the guest chair facing the desk, clasped her hands in her lap, staring at nothing.