Mariah Stewart - Hard Truth

“ Our game plan?” Mitch raised an eyebrow.

“Surely you don’t expect to exclude me.”

“Surely you don’t expect to tag along while I visit with the families of some of the victims.”

“The Bureau permitted me access to interviews on previous cases, as a consultant,” Regan reminded him.

“You had already shared information from your father’s files on a similar case,” he countered, “and you were permitted to accompany me to look over police files to see if you could spot similarities.”

“Well, you don’t know that I might not have some insights into this one as well.”

“I don’t know how welcome a civilian is going to be to a family whose long-missing son has just been identified.”

“How ’bout we let John decide?” Regan smiled. John had been a big fan of her father’s true crime series, and had authorized her involvement in cases in the past. She opened her bag and took out her cell phone. “That number again, Agent Peyton?”

Mitch recited the number and she dialed it, then got up and walked to the window.

“What’s on your agenda for today?” Mitch asked T.J.

“I’m going to meet Danielle Porter at three,” T.J. replied.

Lorna stood and collected the empty coffee cups.

“I was wondering if you’d come along, Lorna,” he said. “I think you could be helpful, maybe get her to talk a little more than she might to a stranger.”

“I’m pretty much a stranger, too, remember.”

“Yes, but you’re a local. And a woman. She might feel a little more comfortable talking to you.”

“Where is she living now” Lorna called from the kitchen, where she was rinsing the cups.

“She gave me the address, let me get it.” T.J. went through his briefcase and located the slip of paper on which he’d written the number and address. He took it into the kitchen to show Lorna.

“Hmm, 724 Old Anderson Road.” Lorna nodded. “That’s off State Road, about two, three miles past Callen. There’s no town there, per se, just a bunch of farms. I know the area. It should only take us about ten minutes to get there.”

She looked at the kitchen clock, the face of which was set into the body of a black cat, a relic from her grandmother’s day that Mary Beth had loved. It was just a little after one-thirty.

“Well, then, it looks as if we all have our work planned for us this afternoon.” Mitch stood in the doorway. “Regan’s been given the green light to come along with me-as a consultant,” he emphasized, apparently for Regan’s benefit. “And since we have appointments with three families today, I think we need to get going.”

“I’m ready whenever you are,” Regan told him from the dining room, where she was sliding her reading glasses into their case and hunting for her sunglasses.

“How about if we regroup later this afternoon?” T.J. suggested. “Lorna, do you mind if we use your home for our unofficial headquarters?”

“Not at all. I was going to suggest that Mitch feel free to use the dining room if he needs a place to work. If the weather cools off, we can clear some space from the table in the living room’s front window to give you a bit of privacy, Mitch.”

“Privacy’s not much of an issue right now,” he told her. “But thanks.”

“All set?” Regan touched Mitch on the arm as she came into the room.

“Yes.” He nodded. “We’ll catch up with you later,” he said to T.J. and Lorna.

“Good luck with Danielle,” Regan called over her shoulder.

“Thanks.” Lorna waved from the kitchen doorway.

After Mitch closed the door behind them, she turned to T.J. and said, “We have at least an hour before we have to leave. Is there anything else you need to do before we meet with Danielle?”

He shook his head. “No. Do you?”

“I have to check my computer, see if any of my clients have emailed me. Once I take care of that, though, I’m clear for the day.” She had finished rinsing the cups and dried her hands on a red-and-white towel, which she folded and placed on the counter.

“You go ahead, then. If you don’t mind, I’ll step outside and walk around for a while.”

“Just don’t wander too close to the yellow crime scene tape on the other side of the field and get yourself arrested.”

“I’ll try to behave myself.”

Lorna turned on her computer and pulled up that morning’s emails. She had questions from one client on some account payables, and an email from another client who wanted to arrange a meeting before the end of the month. She responded to both and turned off the laptop, then went outside and looked around for T.J. He was nowhere in sight.

She walked past the barn and stood on the edge of the field, one hand shielding her eyes from the bright early-afternoon sun. No T.J.

She called to him, but there was no response.

Lorna turned to go back to the house to search for her cell phone-she could always call and ask where he was-when she noticed the barn door was open. She went inside and called his name.

“Down here.” The voice was faint and far away.

“Down where?” She frowned, looking around. Then she remembered. “Are you in the wine cellar?”

“Yes. Come on down.”

“What are you doing down there?” she asked as she found the door to the steps ajar, and started down.

“Just looking around. Is it all right?”

“Sure. I don’t mind. It’s just a little creepy and dim.”

“It wouldn’t be if you replaced the lightbulbs once in a while,” he teased, pointing to the electric lamps set into the wall on either side of the long narrow room. “A few still have a little life in them. How long has it been since anyone was down here?”

“Melinda and I used to play here,” she told him. “The small room back there”-she pointed past him-“used to be our secret place. We would go there to get away from her brother and his friends. Sometimes she hid in here from her mother. Gran said Uncle Will had planned to use that as the tasting room for his winery, but of course he never got that far.”

She was following T.J. through the cavernous room, with its stone walls and low ceiling, past the empty oak barrels Uncle Will brought from France in anticipation of the first vintage. T.J.’s shadow disappeared through an arched doorway into the darkened room beyond.

“Is there a light in there?” she asked.

“I’m looking. Give me a second.”

A long minute later, a faint light began to glow. In the dim light a round table with four tall chairs were visible in the center of the room.

“I found a candle and some matches,” he told her. “I’d expect that the electric lines ran back here as well.”

“They did. But we used to prefer the candles.”

He turned to look back at her and she shrugged.

“Like I said, this used to be our secret place, mine and Melinda’s. Like a secret clubhouse. We came down here a lot. We’d talk or hide out, sometimes we’d bring snacks and spend a whole day. It was so nice and private. We always felt we could say anything down here.” She folded her arms across her chest and wandered into the room. When she got to the back corner, she stopped and knelt.

“Our blankets are still here,” she said. “We used to spread them out on the floor and lie on them to read or have picnics or whatever. Sometimes, in winter, it would be cold, so we’d wrap up in them to keep the chill off.”

She stood with her blanket in her hands, then opened it up.

“Hard to believe I was small enough to wrap this around me and still have plenty left to make a little bed out of it.” She held the blanket up for T.J. to see, then refolded it. “We would sneak matches and candles so that we didn’t have to use the electric lights. For some reason, we thought no one passing through the barn would see the candlelight, but the lightbulbs would shine like beacons.” She laughed. “So much for the logic of a couple of nine-year-olds.”