Closet Confidential (27 page)

I hesitated. There was another possibility. What if she
had
followed him unaware that Nick had been lured by someone who was not expecting her to show up? What if Nick had been murdered before she arrived? It would explain the open door of the patrol car and the fact that Nick couldn’t be found, as well as the attack on Pepper, a possible witness. Maybe Nick was lying on the bottom of the Hudson. Perhaps subconsciously Pepper knew that. It didn’t explain why there was no extra car. But what if the murderer had been in the car with Nick? Holding him at gunpoint. No way could I give these theories an airing in front of Pepper. Why wouldn’t the police have considered this?

I said, soothingly, “Of course, memory loss is to be expected. You were very badly injured and in a locked vehicle. I couldn’t even get in to see if you were dead or alive.”

“Locked? I must have locked the car.” I could tell she was struggling to remember what happened. “But why would I lock it after someone hit me?”

Tierney said, gently this time, “I’m hoping you can tell me.”

“I don’t know.”

“Was it Nick?” There was the question, slippery as a snake. Oh, Tierney, shame on you.

“No.”

“Who then?”

“Listen to me. I do
not
know. But it couldn’t have been Nick. He’s never raised a hand to me. Ever.”

I stared at Tierney. I wished I shared Pepper’s absolute certainty that Nick hadn’t hit her or worse, tried to kill her.

“I’ll have to check in again. I hope your memory will start to come back.”

“What did the doctor say?” Pepper asked.

“Maybe, but don’t count on it.”

“And in the meantime what are you doing to try to find Nick?”

“Ground searches of the area. We’ve had the choppers out. We have an all-points bulletin out for him.”

“You’re assuming he’s hiding. But what if he’s injured? Or worse?” The panic in Pepper’s voice was unavoidable.

Tierney said, “I’ll be back. And, um, by the way, you won’t need Charlotte as your stand-in relative much longer. Your parents are coming to take care of the baby.”

“What?”

“They’re on their way from Florida.”

“Who contacted them?”

Tierney blinked. “I don’t know.”

“Must have been one of Dad’s old buddies from the department,” Pepper said. “I suppose it could have been anyone.”

This time he shrugged. “They’re coming. I thought you’d be happy.”

He wouldn’t have thought that if he’d known how Pepper grew up, but as we liked to point out, he was new in town.

“Well, they’re not getting my son. I can tell you that.”

“You are going to need help.”

“Listen, Detective. You don’t get a vote in my son’s well-being. Charlotte, I want Margaret in here right away. I want to make sure that Little Nick is taken care of if something happens to me.” She inhaled. “Or to his father. I want that in writing and I want it now. I need to have someone reach them and tell them not to bother. And I don’t want them in this room, either.”

Tierney practically needed to pick his jaw up off the floor.

She said, “Talk to the chief, Connor. Tell him I said that, and make sure they don’t show up here. I mean it.”

I let go of her hand and headed for the door. “I’ll call Margaret right now. I know she’s already been talking to Jack. I think there’s a plan to give Sally and Benjamin temporary guardianship. But now that you’re conscious again, you can make that decision. It will be better.”

Tierney gave me a tight nod and passed me, heading down the corridor, keys jingling. I hurried after him. “I’m sorry things are working out this way, Connor.”

“Working out this way? You mean
you
doing whatever you can to make this more difficult than it already is?”

“Pepper wanted me to support her. We go back a long way.”

“And half the time you’ve been at each other’s throats.”

“Well, not this time.”

“What’s that about her parents?”

“Long story. Miserable childhood.”

“Can I have more detail?”

“You’ll have to ask her. It’s not my story to tell. But you know Pepper. She means it.”

“I do know Detective Monahan. It doesn’t take twenty years to pick up on what kind of person she is. There’s a very good chance that Nick Monahan tried to kill his wife on that beach. Got that?”

I rambled off my theory that Nick might have been killed and the killer interrupted by Pepper.

“Contain your imagination, Charlotte. And don’t do anything else to make this situation more difficult than it is.” He strode off, keys jingling even louder, back ramrod straight. I stood there to catch my breath. Officer DeJong watched, mouth open. I might find it harder to trick him the next time.

I walked back to Pepper’s room.

“Is he gone?” she asked as I stepped inside.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“He went . . . I’ll double-check.” I stuck my head out the door and glanced down the corridor. I could see Detective Tierney turn the corner to the elevator bay.

“He’s gone,” I said.

“Good. Now here’s what I want. Don’t argue. Don’t do anything but listen.”

“Okay.”

“Nick’s in big trouble. I can tell.”

“I’m sure—”

“Don’t interrupt, particularly don’t interrupt to lie. He’s in trouble, and he’s not smart enough to get out of it on his own.”

I kept my mouth shut.

“They think he did this. I can tell. I know our techniques. And they’ll find him. He’s not bright enough to stay hidden, and he’ll do something impulsive or idiotic. He’ll be killed, if he’s not dead already. So, Charlotte . . .”

“Yes.”

“I need you to find him before they do.”

The problem was, I agreed with Pepper. Nick was quite likely to do something that would make things worse.

I tried calling Tierney without success. I had decided to push my idea that someone might have taken Nick. Of course, that didn’t quite match up with Pepper’s fear that Nick would do something stupid, even if he wasn’t guilty of anything. Tierney was a pro. He could decide which theory made sense, once I had a chance to explain my views to him.

I was chewing my lower lip as I crossed the Woodbridge General parking lot. Still, I thought, I had found Pepper at Bakker Beach. The police hadn’t. That was because I knew Nick and had a pretty good idea of how he’d behave. There was no point in trying to figure out in which instances he was using logic. That didn’t help much with Nick.

I sat in my rented Matrix and thought hard. What did I associate with Nick the Stick Monahan? Okay. Women, beer, cars, trucks, and bad decisions came to mind. Make-out spots, too.

I wasn’t likely to figure out what women he might be ogling, as it could be fifty percent of the population. He wouldn’t hide out in a bar or a roadhouse. But cars and trucks. Now, that was a possibility. I drove by the house on Old Pine Street and up to the garage. Nick’s prized ’Stang was parked inside. As was his shiny black truck. Naturally, the cops would have checked those out. Those license plate numbers would be flagged in the system.

Nick had the best security you could buy for that garage. I wasn’t sure if he had video surveillance for his home, wife, and baby, but I knew he had cameras trained on those vehicles. The cameras would capture anyone approaching the garage, but the recording device would be in the house. There might be other information in the house, too. Maybe I could uncover something Nick had left, a clue to his whereabouts or what had frightened him. Maybe even footage of Nick sneaking home. The house, naturally, would be locked.

Just in case, I tried the door.

Good deadbolts front and back. A security system that would require a code. No way was I getting into the Monahans’ house or garage.

Before heading back to the hospital to see if Pepper could help with the alarm code and key problem, I popped home to check on the dogs and to pick up those blankets for Jack. I had almost forgotten them with all the drama and it was getting late in the day.

After Truffle and Sweet Marie had a quick walk, a snack, and a fast but halfhearted training session, they turned their tails toward me and went back to sleep on the sofa.

I headed downstairs to Jack’s apartment to find the blankets. Jack hadn’t exactly said where I’d find these alleged blankets. Most of his storage was for bike parts. I’d given up pestering him about it, even though I’d truly believed that once he had the shop, he wouldn’t store quite so much bike junk in what was supposed to be his home. Still, I persevered and eventually ended up at the armoire in his bedroom where he kept his collection of Hawaiian shirts, baggy shorts, and scary Lycra racing gear. The blankets were folded neatly and stacked on the top shelf.

Of course, the shelf was too high for me to reach. Jack might be six feet and a bit, but I don’t quite make it to five. I glanced around. Naturally, Jack did not need ladders. I checked my watch. I had to get going if I was going to accomplish anything with the rest of the day. I blame it on the stress of the situation, because I did what I always tell people not to do. I took what seemed like the easy way. Instead of heading back upstairs to my apartment where there was a perfectly good stepladder, I jumped up and grabbed the corners of the bottom blanket and tugged. It wasn’t as if they could break, right?

Both blankets tumbled to the floor. That part was good, but the shoebox that had been apparently sitting on them tumbled, too. Crap. We all have stuff in our closets that we don’t want anyone to see. That’s my theory. Of course, I hadn’t included Jack in this theory, because he is the most transparent person I know. Still, as the box hit the floor and spilled open, photos fluttered around.

I scrambled around to gather them up. There were old Polaroid photos of his plump, perfect parents. Shots of us misfits standing around the kitchen while Jack’s roly-poly mum made cookies. Photos of us in Halloween costumes, also courtesy of Jack’s mother. Nice images of Jack’s dad and the gang on a sled on the toboggan hill. Pepper in pig-tails, Margaret short of a tooth, me standing on a chair seeming to give orders. Good times. I gathered them up, feeling the ache of memory as I thought of the Reillys and the difference they’d made in all our lives, not only by adopting Jack, then a gangly boy with spiky hair, but also in the kind and nurturing way they had treated all us misfits. I hadn’t realized that Jack still had these photos. I wondered why he’d never trotted these pictures out at one of our events. As I picked up the photographs one by one, glancing at each, I came upon my graduation photo. “Charlotte” was written on the back in Jack’s casual scrawl. Then the shot of me leaving Woodbridge to head to New York City, the first big job. A blurry print of me on campus during the early college days. Then next to the Miata. There was one of me at Margaret’s wedding party months earlier, and another one, I guess you could call it candid. I was asleep on my sofa surrounded by wiener dogs, my mouth open, drooling, with an empty bowl of popcorn on my chest. I didn’t find any shots of Sally, Margaret, or Pepper, but I found dozens more of me.