David Baldacci - True Blue

Timothy sucked in a breath at this remark and gave Angelina a little pat with the back of his hand, which told Mace that he didn’t actually like dogs, hair-teased or not.

“So, how’s the rural aristocratic life treating you both?” Timothy daintily patted his lips with a monogrammed napkin and glanced at Dana, apparently waiting for her to respond.

“Timothy has been elected to head up the local planning commission. It’s an important position because you wouldn’t believe what people want to do out here development-wise. It’s a travesty.”

You mean like putting up a twenty-thousand-square-foot Scottish castle smack in the middle of farmland and raising your working-class neighbors’ property taxes tenfold? Mace thought. But she said, “Congratulations, Timothy. That’s great.”

His chest puffed out a bit as he swallowed the last bit of sandwich. When he spoke it was as though he were addressing an adoring audience of thousands. “I will endeavor to carry out my duties to the best of my abilities. I take the stewardship that has been granted to me very seriously.”

God, you are the biggest prick. “I’m sure you do,” Mace said pleasantly.

Dana said, “So what are your plans, Mason? ”

Mace slowly put down her coffee cup. “I’d actually considered stripping on Internet webcams for food, but then a job offer came along.”

“What sort of job offer?”

“An assistant to a college professor.”

“Why would a college professor want you as an assistant?” scoffed her mother.

“He’s blind, on a tight budget, and I’m apparently cheaper than a seeing-eye dog.”

“Will you please be serious for once in your life, Mason!”

Okay, I tried playing patty-cakes and I don’t like it. “What does it matter to you what I do? I’m sure we can agree that you’re a few decades late on playing mommy.”

“How dare you-”

Mace could feel her ears burning. She didn’t want to go there. She really didn’t. “Oh, I always dare. So just back off, lady.”

“Then let me explain to you quite clearly why it is my business. If you can’t support yourself, guess who you’ll be running to with your hand out?”

Mace formed fists so tight all of her finger joints popped. She leaned into Dana until their noses were only separated by a bare inch. “I would gnaw off my hand before I came to you or Scotch Bonnet Boy over there for one freaking dime.”

A scarlet-faced Timothy scrambled to his leather-booted feet. “I think I’ll go do some yoga. I feel my balance is off.”

Dana immediately put out her hand for him to take. “All right, dear. But remember, we have dinner tonight with the mayor and his wife at the French Hound.”

The moment he’d fled the room, Dana whirled on her youngest daughter. “It’s nearly impossible to believe, but I think prison has actually made you worse.”

This barb was so weak that Mace simply ignored it and studied her mother in silence for a few moments. “So why are you still all so kissy-kissy to him? You’ve got the ring. You’re legally locked to Lord Bonny Butt.”

She said stiffly, “He’s a Scottish earl, not a lord.”

The truth suddenly hit Mace. “Bonny Butt’s got a kick-ass prenup, doesn’t he?”

“Shut up, Mason! This minute.”

“So how does it work? You vest a few diamond bracelets, some cash, and a bushel of Triple A bonds for each year of matrimonial bliss?”

Her mother snapped, “I don’t even know why I invited you here.” Mace rose. “Oh, that one is easy, actually. You just wanted me to see how fabulous your life is. Well, I’m duly impressed. I’m happy that you’re so obviously happy.”

“You’re a terrible liar. You always were.”

“I guess that’s why I became a cop. I can just pull my badge and figure out who’s trying to screw with me.”

“But you can’t be a cop anymore, can you?” This came out as a clear taunt.

“Not until I figure out who set me up.”

Dana rolled her heavily made-up eyes. “Do you really think that’s going to happen?”

“I don’t think. I know it will.”

“Well, if I were you, I’d work very hard for your little college professor. Because I see ‘assistant’ as being as good as it gets for you from here on.”

“Thanks for the encouragement. I’ll see myself out.”

But her mother followed her as far as the front door. As Mace strapped on her helmet, Dana said, “Do you know how much trouble you’ve caused for your sister?”

“Yeah, actually I do.”

“And of course you don’t care at all, do you?”

“If I told you otherwise would you believe me?”

“You make me sick with your selfish ways.”

“Well, I learned from the master, didn’t I?”

“I spent the best years of my life with your father. We never had any money. Never went anywhere. Never did a damn thing. And we never would.”

“Yeah, punishing the wicked and making the world a better place for all was just the pits, wasn’t it?”

“You were only a child. You had no idea.”

“Oh, I had more than an idea. Talk about me? You’ll never have it nearly as good ever again. I don’t care how many rich Timothys you marry.”

“Oh, you think so?”

Mace lifted her visor. “Yeah, because Dad was the only man you ever really loved.”

“Just please go away!”

Mace noticed the slight tremble in her mother’s right hand. “Do you know how lucky you were to have a man that good so in love with you? Beth never had that privilege. And I sure as hell haven’t.”

She thought she saw her mother’s eyes turn glassy before the door slammed shut.

Mace mangled the Ducati’s gears in her sudden panic to get out of this place. Maybe her mother was right. Maybe she would never be a cop again. Maybe this was as good as it would ever get for her.

BETH READ THROUGH the report on her computer screen three times. This was something her father had taught her. Read through once for general conceptualization and then a second time for the nitty-gritty details. And then read it a final time, at least an hour after the first reading, but do so out of order, which forced your mind and your eyes from their comfort zones.

Beth refocused. They had scrubbed Diane Tolliver’s computer at work and at her home without revealing any surprises. The work computer had yielded a mass of legal documents and research items and correspondence on dozens of complicated deals. The woman’s town house in Old Town Alexandria had yielded no clues or leads. They would work outward now, from her job and personal life. Murders were almost never random occurrences. Family, friends, acquaintances, rivals, spurned lovers-those were the categories from which the takers of human life were most often spawned.

She looked down at the one interesting item on Diane Tolliver’s work computer. The e-mail she’d sent to Roy Kingman Friday night. The missive was cryptic and she was hoping that Kingman could explain it, but when interviewed by her detectives over the phone he claimed to have no idea what it meant or why it had been sent to him.

They also knew from the electronic records from the garage that Tolliver had left the office Friday night at two minutes before seven and returned at a little before ten, leaving again around ten-forty. The cleaning crew had come in at seven-thirty and left around nine-thirty. They had seen nothing unusual.

What did people do for a few hours on a Friday evening? They had dinner. The fact that she had driven showed it was too far to walk. They were accessing the woman’s credit card records to see what restaurant she’d gone to. That would only work if she had paid the bill, of course, but it was a viable lead.