“It’s all right, Tate,” Maggie managed to say in a croaking voice, reaching toward the younger woman.
Mrs. Davis was a small woman with sharp blue eyes and snow-white hair worn short and curly. Rimless glasses sat low on her nose. Despite her many bruises, she squared her shoulders against the mound of pillows and seemed unafraid, as if to say she’s no one’s victim. This time Nick’s smile was one of admiration.
“I don’t want to cause you more discomfort,” he told her. “Why don’t you just shake or nod your head by way of an answer?”
Maggie nodded, but Tate again protested.
“You don’t have to do this now, Maggie. I’m sure the detective can wait until you’re feeling better.” She spoke to Maggie but her narrowed gaze was on Nick.
“No, no,” Maggie whispered. “I want to help catch the man.”
Nick found himself liking the spunky senior citizen. “Did you recognize him?”
Maggie shook her head. “Wore a ski mask,” she rasped out followed by a short cough. She grimaced at the pain in her throat, but gamely continued. “He had black hair in a long ponytail and wore black pants and shirt.” She began coughing more strenuously.
Tate decided she’d had enough. “No more questions for Maggie today,” she told Nick. “Let’s go out in the hallway and I’ll fill you in.” She again glanced at the boy sleeping soundly in the corner chair before turning to Maggie. “I’ll be right back. Try to rest.”
Leaving the room with the detective close behind her, Tate felt uneasy. She knew he was trying to help find the creep who’d done this terrible thing to Maggie and that persisting with questions was part of that objective. Nonetheless, she wouldn’t allow Maggie to be upset further. Despite her show of bravado, the older woman was more fragile than she seemed. Tate had been terribly shaken up since she’d received the phone call at work about Maggie’s ordeal. Her hands were still trembling as she led the way to a small alcove off the hallway.
Swinging around to face Nick Bennett, she crossed her arms over her chest and took a moment to study him. He didn’t look like her mental image of a detective. He was quite tall, several inches above six feet, causing most people to have to look up at him. That probably came in handy if he used it to intimidate suspects.
His face was tan, angular, square-jawed, his eyes a pewter-gray and somewhat hooded. His shoulders under a blue shirt open at the throat and a tan lightweight sport coat seemed wide as a fullback’s. His hands were big and looked callused, as if he worked outdoors. The clean, pressed jeans he wore hugged powerful thighs and long, long legs. He noticed her taking inventory, yet didn’t seem impatient. He appeared relaxed but there was a hint of intensity in his steady gaze. Right now, he looked slightly amused as he waited for her to speak.
“What is it you need to know?” Tate finally asked him.
“Good-looking boy,” Nick began, waving a hand toward the room where the child slept. “Lucky he wasn’t with Maggie today. Where was he?” Maggie had told the officer that she often baby-sat Josh Monroe.
“On a field trip to the zoo with his second-grade class on the last day of school.”
“Does he still take naps?” How was it that at two in the afternoon, a second-grader was fast asleep?
“No, it’s just that he has asthma and the vegetation at the zoo spiked his allergies. I picked him up after I got the call about Maggie and gave him his medication before he could work up to a full-blown attack. It makes him sleepy.”
“I see. Do you know anyone who’d do this to Ms. Davis and why?”
Tate drew in a deep breath. “Maggie’s a wonderful woman, but she’s a tad eccentric. It’s been rumored for years that her late husband brought back some valuable artifacts from World War II and a large sum of money, then hid them all over the house. Would-be thieves broke in a while back when no one was home and thoroughly searched the place then, too, leaving a godawful mess.”
Nick found himself fascinated with her expressive face, the way emotions came and went, her full lips bearing just a trace of pink lip gloss. He took out a small notebook and pen, thinking he’d better make a few notes since he was having trouble concentrating standing so close to her. “Any truth to the rumors?” he asked, jotting down a few key words.
“None at all. Contrary to the stories of hidden riches, after her husband, Elroy, died, Maggie had to turn her large home into a boardinghouse for college girls since it’s near the University of Arizona. The income supplemented her social security checks. She has no living relatives. Their only child, Peggy, died in a boating accident at the age of twelve. Maggie gets by on very little and still owes on back taxes. Thank goodness Elroy worked for the city so she has good health insurance.”
He was staring at her, Tate noted. She’d been stared at since her early teens and was quite used to it, but she felt oddly disappointed that this calm, confident man was like all the rest. Why that was so, she couldn’t have said.
“And you think the rumors of hidden wealth caused someone to break in and search the place?” Apparently Tate didn’t know that the intruder kept asking about her son.
“Well, sure.” She dropped her gaze and studied her black leather flats. “What else could it be? I’m certain we’ll find that nothing’s missing because Maggie doesn’t have anything of value. Perhaps that’s why he beat her up, because he was frustrated to realize the rumors were wrong.”
Funny how she averted her eyes just then and her husky voice sounded nervous. Now she shifted her feet, tightened her arms and gazed longingly toward Maggie’s room. In the course of his career, Nick had studied body language, something that helped him determine a person’s unspoken thoughts. And veracity. He was certain that Tate Monroe wasn’t telling him everything and that she badly wanted to get away from him.
“That’s one theory, I suppose,” he said. “How long ago did the other break-in occur?” He’d check it out when he got back to the precinct, but he wanted her version.
On safer ground, she looked up. “Two years ago, I believe. We weren’t living with Maggie at the time.”
“Mmm-hmm. I would’ve thought that word would have spread that there was nothing of value in Maggie’s house. Random thieves seem to pick up on that kind of information.”
Tate shrugged, trying for nonchalance. “Maybe this thief is new in town, or maybe he’s cocky enough to believe he could find buried treasure that someone else missed. I really don’t know.”
He shifted gears somewhat, hoping to keep her a little off balance. “Is that how you met Maggie, staying at her boardinghouse when you were in college?” That had to be some time ago, Nick thought, since she was twenty-nine with a seven-year-old.
“Yes. There are three bedrooms and two baths upstairs. My two roommates and I were the first to live in Maggie’s house. She has a first-floor bedroom off the kitchen. We stayed until graduation.”
“Maggie was like a house mother, then?”
“More than that.” Tate’s expression softened as she thought back. “For one reason or another, none of the three of us had had a strong maternal influence before meeting Maggie. She not only filled in
