ringing stopped, but it would start again in seconds. The only person who ever called her was Gramma, and Gramma wouldn’t be deterred by voice mail.
Fifteen years ago, Gramma hadn’t been deterred by time or distance or the obvious message that her daughter wanted nothing to do with her. She hadn’t even been deterred by the evil in the flesh that was her son-in-law. She’d come to Mila’s rescue, same as she’d done with Poppy, and given her a chance at living. Real life. Not cowering in isolated fear.
The ring sounded again, and so did the faint, faraway whisper. This time it didn’t frighten Mila. After all, she had run away, and he had died in the process.
That was one death she would proudly take credit for.
Dashing into the hallway, she grabbed the phone and held it to her ear. “Hi, Gramma. I’m glad you called.”
* * *
When Sam walked into the squad room at the station the next morning, Ben Little Bear was typing at his computer. He looked comfortable, like he’d been there awhile and intended to stay a good long while longer.
Sam sat down in the chair next to the desk, its ancient wood creaking beneath his weight, and put his hat on the next desk. It was the most beat-up one they had and had gone unused for as long as he could remember. According to his predecessor, some chief long ago had gotten it in the hopes of one day being fully staffed. Operating on a budget, that had never happened.
“What do you have on the Carlyle case?”
Ben saved his work, then swiveled to face him. “The State Department located the wife and kids in Rome. The embassy notified her, and they’re helping expedite their return home. I talked to his boss. He said Carlyle was a solid manager, got along with everyone. He seemed happy in his marriage and adored his daughters. No problems at work, no disgruntled employees, no ex-wife, no money problems, no problems of any kind that he knew of.”
“Basically, no reason for anyone to want to kill him.”
Ben nodded. “Funny how many times we hear that about people who have, indeed, been killed.”
A person who didn’t think in terms of resolving issues with murder was always puzzled by someone who did. Sam had learned to understand the thought processes, the motivations, but it still amazed him that people chose murder.
“There was no sign of forced entry,” Ben went on, and Sam swore he could almost see him ticking items off a mental list. “You need a code to get into the house and another for the backyard. I’ll have to get a list from the wife of everyone who knows the codes, but obviously the yard service and probably the pool service have the gate code. Pool service isn’t due until Friday, and I’ve confirmed the yard people’s whereabouts for the morning. They were out at that private school on Highway 117 for three hours, then ate lunch at Scott’s, where they’re regulars. Cameras show them arriving at 11:05 and leaving at eleven thirty. Guard has them logged in at Hawk’s Aerie at 11:42. The 911 call came in six minutes later.”
There was nothing like a routine that allowed a person to document practically every minute of their day, Sam thought, then wondered...how was Milagro?
She’d been on his mind ever since he’d driven away from her house yesterday. Had she called her grandmother? Had she managed a peaceful night? Was she back at work this morning? It wouldn’t be a bad thing if she was. In his experience, the best way to deal with trauma was by keeping busy.
And maybe she was one of the lucky ones whose spirits were strong enough to cope, to adjust, to say a prayer, take a deep breath and go on doing what they had to do. Though she’d seemed fragile enough to shatter in a breeze yesterday, he suspected she was much stronger than that.
But he would check in on her later today just to be sure. It wasn’t an unusual action for him to take. In fact, witnesses to violent crimes pretty much always got a well-being check a day or two later. Usually it was the detective handling their case or Lois, but Sam made some of them. He would make this one.
“We got a lot of fingerprints,” Ben said, drawing Sam’s attention back to the case. “Most of them belong to the same four people, presumably the family. There was no sign of a struggle, no skin under his fingernails, no obvious attempt to get his cell phone out of his pocket. My guess is he let someone in, and after he sat down, the person came up behind him. Surprised him. A sharp blade, no hesitation marks. By the time he realized what was happening, it was too late.”
As Sam stood and retrieved his hat, he asked, “Why was he home yesterday?”
“He told his assistant Tuesday night that he was working from home Wednesday. He’s done it before, but it’s an occasional thing.”
Maybe he’d planned on having a late night Tuesday. Maybe he was having company who was staying over for breakfast. Maybe he was taking advantage of his wife and kids being out of the country.
Or maybe he’d just wanted to sit by the beautiful pool and enjoy the beautiful view he worked long hours to pay for.
“You’re thorough, Detective.”
“You might be as thorough if you made a list from time to time,” Ben replied, giving a rare smile. As if an afterthought, he added, “Sir.”
“I may stumble a bit without your endless lists, but I always wind up in the same place.”
“Yeah, well, stumbling isn’t my thing.”
From her desk outside his office, his secretary called, “Telephone, Chief.”
“Got it.” Sam returned Ben’s smirk. “Keep me updated. If you need anything—”
In unison, they said, “Lois will be the first to know.”
With a nod, Sam headed to his office and picked up the phone. “Chief Douglas. What can I do for you?”
“Morning, Chief, good morning. This is Ed. I just wanted to check in and make sure my employees cooperated fully with you yesterday. I give ’em a job and I treat ’em like family, but that gives me certain expectations of them, you know.”
No, Sam didn’t know. He wasn’t even sure whom he was talking to. His work involved a lot of phone conversations, double that yesterday, and he couldn’t place the unctuous, smarmy...
Oh, hell. Ed Lawrence of Happy Grass was the kind of guy Sam wanted to forget as soon as their business was done, but no, he’d buddied up to Lawrence to be sure Milagro got some time off without losing pay. Now Lawrence was going to return the favor by buddying up to Sam. Damn.
“Hang on, Ed. I just this minute walked in the door. Let me get settled.” He set the phone down, closed the door and set his hat in its designated spot atop an old oak filing cabinet. Finally he sat down behind the desk and took up the phone. “Sorry about that, Ed. I’m here.”
“Don’t apologize. People always call at inconvenient times. Some of the worst times. I could tell you...but I won’t.” He cleared his throat and slid into what Sam pegged as his faux-concerned voice. “I just wanted to be sure my crew was cooperative with you yesterday. They’re good workers, but they’ve got their quirks. You know, pretending they don’t speak English sometimes when you know damn well they do, or sticking together like it’s them against me, or freaking out when they have any interactions with the police.
