So I called the Schroder’s residence, and his little sister, Grace, picked up. “Hi, Grace, can I talk to Stubs?”
“Hold on,” she said, and I could hear her heels clapping down the hallway. I heard her tell her brother that I was on the phone, and he muttered something I didn’t quite catch. “He doesn’t feel like talking,” his little sister said.
I swallowed hard. He was still shutting me out. “Yeah, okay, Grace. Thanks. Please let him know that if he wants to call me later, he should try this number. It’s my new cell.”
“Okay,” she said. Then she hung up like a typical seven-year-old, assuming the conversation was over.
I sat on the edge of my bed for a long time and stared at my phone. Stubby was my only friend. I missed him so much it hurt. And I couldn’t imagine what I’d do if he shut me out permanently.
Donny arrived from the city in the late afternoon, and he took me and Mrs. Duncan out to eat.
At dinner he let me know that Ma was going to be transported to the rehab center the next day. “If she does well, we’ll be able to see her around Christmas.”
I was so relieved she was getting help, but still, Christmas felt so far away.
On the way home, Donny said, “I’ve gotta go back to the city in the morning and grab some files from the office. I think I’m gonna work out of your house as much as I can for the next few months.”
I squinted at him. “You trying to keep an eye on me?”
He rubbed the top of my head playfully. “Someone’s got to.”
I knew what he meant even though he didn’t come right out and say it. The whole county was worried about this killer on the loose, and Donny wanted to stick close to me until he was caught.
And even though there was a patrol car parked out in front of our house when we got home, I felt really glad to have him in the house.
THE NEXT MORNING WAS SATURDAY, and I slept in. When I finally got up, I found a note from Donny on the kitchen table saying that he’d headed to the city and he’d be back by late afternoon. He also added that he wanted me to stay in the house until he got back. I rolled my eyes at that part.
The home phone rang around ten A.M. and, puzzled by the caller ID, I picked it up with a wary “Hello?”
“Maddie?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s Agent Faraday.”
“Oh, hey. What’s up?”
“Can you and your uncle come down to the office this morning?”
“Uh…” I said. “Donny’s in the city.” Faraday didn’t reply right away so I added, “Is something wrong?”
“No, no…I only wanted to fill you two in on what we’ve turned up so far.”
“I can come down,” I volunteered.
There was a chuckle on his end of the line. “What do you think your uncle would say to that?”
I grinned. “He’d be royally ticked off, so let’s not tell him.”
Faraday chuckled again. “Yeah, okay. Can you be here by twelve? We’ll talk and then I’ll treat you to lunch.”
“Sure.”
“Good. Oh, and, Maddie, do you have any cash on you to take a cab?”
“A cab?”
“Yeah. I don’t want you riding your bike over here. I want you to call a cab. I’ll reimburse you and make sure you get home safe after lunch, okay?”
That was weird. Still, I agreed and called for a cab to meet me at my house at eleven thirty. It was interesting how, just a little while ago, Agent Faraday had thought that I was this terrible person, and now he wanted to treat me to a cab ride and lunch.
I showered and changed into a sweater and jeans, then met the cab and arrived at the bureau offices at about quarter to noon. I waited in the reception area and took in the busy office, teaming with agents and men and women in uniform. I guessed that it was all hands on deck as the whole city searched for the killer.
I heard Faraday’s voice from the corridor ask loudly if anyone had heard from Agent Wallace, but I didn’t hear anyone say they had. And then he came around a corner and spotted me. “Hey,” he said, crooking his finger. “Come on back.”
I followed him to his office and he pointed me to a seat. His desk was again piled high with clutter. There were the usual stacks of paper, but also other items like a pair of torn and bloody jeans encased in an evidence bag, and a pair of familiar-looking boots that looked brand-new. There was a yellow tag dangling off the shoelace on one of the boots.
Faraday must have seen me staring at them, because he lifted the boots and said, “Remember those size twelve boot prints we found at the crime scenes?”
“Yeah?”
“From a pair of Timberlands exactly like these. I recognized the tread ’cause I recently bought a couple of pairs myself.”
My brow rose, and then something really weird happened. I remembered seeing a pair like those recently, but where? And then an unbidden suspicion came to my mind, which I immediately and firmly rejected. Faraday took his seat and said, “How’ve you been?”
His question threw me. “Uh…fine, sir. Thanks.”
“Good,” he said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the desk. “We think we found another clue, Maddie. And it has to do with you.” Faraday lifted a few articles of the clutter from his desk, searching for something, and he finally came up with a familiar-looking notebook. My pulse quickened. “First, I have a question for you.”
“Okay…” I tensed, afraid again that I’d been lured into a trap.
Faraday opened my deathdate notebook to the middle and swiveled it around so I could see. Tapping at one of the names he said, “A lot of these have the letter C in front of them. Can you tell me what that means?”
“It stands for client,” I told him, feeling a blush touch my cheeks. I’d never talked about my notebook openly with anyone but Donny and Stubby, and it felt weird to discuss it now.
Faraday turned it back around and grunted. “That’s what I thought.” After flipping a few pages he stopped on a page near the end and said, “Do you remember talking with a Silvia DeFlorez?”