Mariah Stewart - Cry Mercy

“Nonsense.” The woman shut the door behind them. “Chloe can give me a hand in the kitchen. Do you like to bake, Chloe?”

“I baked cookies one time for Mr. Pendergast. He lived next door to us and he had his…” Chloe frowned and tugged on her mother's hand. “What did the doctor take out of his stomach?”

“His appendix.” Emme stood in the vast entry and fought the urge to gape at the paintings that lined the walls. They all looked authentic.

“That.” Chloe stared up at the woman in the apron. “What's your name?”

“Trula.”

“Like truly, only not?”

“Exactly.” The woman smiled at Emme. “Mallory knows you're here. Her office is the third door down this hall on the left. Chloe and I will be in the kitchen when you're finished. Don't feel the need to rush. Cookies take time.”

Emme prayed that Chloe would remember the conversation they'd had several nights ago-and every night since-about their new last name. Convincing Chloe that her name was now Caldwell, not Nolan, and that her mother's first name was now Emme, not Ann, had not been as much as a trial as she'd feared.

“Why, Mommy? Did my name change because I moved?” she'd asked the night before.

“No. It's because…” Emme had tried to come up with something plausible. “It's sort of like a game, sweetie.”

Even to Emme, that sounded beyond lame.

“That's a silly game.”

“I know.” Emme sighed, trying to come up with something better. How to explain to a child that it was a matter of life and death?

“Do you like the way it sounds better?” Chloe had asked, saving her.

“I do.”

“I do, too.” Chloe had begun to sing, ad nauseam, “Chloe Caldwell, Chloe Caldwell, Chloe Caldwell…”

Nice of her to have bailed her mother out on that one. Emme still didn't know what reason she'd have ended up giving for the change, but was grateful not to have had to go that route.

She cleared her throat and smoothed the lapels of the white shirt she'd ironed in the hotel room just an hour ago. With some trepidation she watched Chloe disappear into the kitchen with the older woman-the cook? the housekeeper?-and wondered at the wisdom of permitting Chloe to go off into this huge house with a total stranger, however benign and grandmotherly she might have appeared. Surely it would be okay , she told herself. Would Robert Magellan have someone of questionable character working in his home?

The kitchen door closed with a whoosh that was audible even at this distance. She was half-tempted to follow, just to make sure, when a tall, good-looking man with dark hair stepped into the hall from a door at the very end.

“Oh.” He seemed surprised to see her. He glanced at his watch. “Two o'clock. You're here for Mallory.”

He took several steps forward and rapped on a closed door before pushing it open.

“Mal, your appointment is here.”

“Thank you.” Emme had expected to be nervous-she generally wasn't nervous by nature-but suddenly the import of where she was and what she was doing hit her. She started down the hall in his direction. “You're Mr. Magellan, aren't you?”

“Robert.” He nodded, then as an afterthought, extended his hand. “It's Robert. You must be… ah…”

“Emme Caldwell.”

“Yes. Right.” He gestured in the direction of the office. “Mallory?”

“Yes. I'm here.” A pretty blond woman appeared in the doorway. “Come in, Emme.”

The woman stood aside for Emme to enter, then turned to Robert and asked, “Did you want to sit in?”

“No, no.” He appeared horrified at the thought. “Your job. Your decision. It's in your hands.”

“Right. I'll see you later then.” Mallory closed the door behind her. “I am Mallory Russo, by the way. We spoke on the phone.”

“Yes. I should apologize for the short notice.”

Mallory pointed to a chair and Emme sat.

“I have to admit I was surprised to hear you were in Conroy,” Mallory said as she seated herself behind her desk. “I haven't had time to finish reviewing all of the applicants and as you can imagine, we need to vet-”

“I do understand,” Emme told her. “I've been thinking about moving east for some time now, but when I saw your press conference and then went to your website, I thought the foundation was worth looking into. You said you were looking for good investigators, I was looking to make a move in this direction and I was going to need a job. I figured, why wait?”

Emme smiled as if there was no need to state the obvious.

“We're looking for the best in the business.”

“I believe I qualify. If you check with my former chief of police-”

“I already did that,” Mallory cut her off. “She gave you the highest recommendation. But you understand, we have hundreds of applicants for this position.”

“I was under the impression that there were a number of positions open. Mr. Magellan's press conference seemed to imply that he was looking for more than one investigator.” Was Mallory always this cool, this businesslike to everyone, or has she simply taken an immediate dislike to me? Emme wondered. “And that he was very eager to take on that first case.”

“That he is,” Mallory conceded. “But Robert has never worked in law enforcement, and he might not be the best person to judge an applicant's qualifications.”

“Then by all means, let's talk about mine.” Emme settled back, her elbows resting casually on the arms of the chair, and put on her most confident air.

For the next hour, they discussed Emme's training, number of years with the Silver Hills force-seven-and her previous work experience. Mallory appeared to be impressed that Emme had started with the police department as a records clerk right out of high school while taking courses at the local community college. From there, she'd gone on to the police academy, and last year had been sent for special training at the FBI Academy. They talked about the number of cases she'd taken lead on, percentage of cases solved, the number and type of professional courses she'd taken since graduating from the police academy.

“How many homicides have you worked on?” Mallory asked.

“I'd have to go year to year to count them up. I'd say we had roughly a dozen of what I'd consider routine homicides over the past twelve months. That includes domestics, killings that occurred while committing other crimes, hit and runs, and so forth. And then we have the situation where, Silver Hills being very close to the Mexican border, we have significant drug traffic, with the accompanying thugs sliding back and forth between the two countries. It's not unusual to find bodies in the desert or in the mountains right outside of town. The state does pitch in on those, however.”

“How many of those ‘routine’ homicides have you taken lead on?”

Emme paused, debating. It was bad enough she was lying about who she was. She knew Steffie would back anything she said, but if she got the job, she wanted it to be on the merits of her own performance.

“I haven't been lead, per se, on any of them,” she answered truthfully. “The detectives take lead on homicides in our department.”

“How close do you think you were to making detective, Ms. Caldwell?” Mallory glanced down at her notes.

“I guess you'd have to ask Chief Jenkins that.”

“Actually, I did. She said you'd have been given strong consideration for the first available opening…”

Thank you, Steffie .

“… but that she didn't anticipate having any openings for at least another five, possibly ten years.” Mallory leaned her forearms on her desk. “She added that you possessed exceptional investigative skills and if she had any reason to think there'd be one sooner, she'd have done whatever she could to have talked you out of this move.”