CHAPTER
45
Maggie excused herself, suddenly feeling claustrophobic up against the wall. Yarden and the bomb expert named Jamie couldn't move quick enough to release her from the corner of the booth. She needed to get out of the noise and the crowd and the prying concern of Nick Morrelli's eyes. She escaped to the restroom, only to find a long line waiting for the stalls. But it was quiet here if you didn't count the cell phone conversations.
On her own phone she searched the queue for Patrick's number. She had called him a week ago?ten days at most?to invite him to Thanksgiving. He already had plans. He was going out of town with friends to spend the long holiday with them. She pretended like it was no big deal.
Maggie blamed herself. She was the adult, twelve years older and yet, she had no idea how to take on the role of the decision-maker, the family planner. No idea how to be or act like a big sister. Hell, she had no idea how to act like a family.
Now as she searched her phone's menu she wondered why she hadn't memorized his phone number. She was good with numbers and details. Even as she jotted things down while viewing the videotapes she knew she didn't need the notes. The discovery of Patrick two years ago had brought with it a whole storm, not just about having a brother but all her preconceptions about her father. The parent she loved and missed and remembered with adoration had actually led a secret life. And for two decades her mother continued to keep his secret. Patrick reminded Maggie of that every single time she saw him or talked to him. It was crazy and she needed to find a way around it if she ever intended to have a relationship with him. But not having his phone number was another reminder that she evidently wasn't ready. Now here she was hoping Patrick's number was in her phone's call history.
Her fingers kept hitting more than the arrow buttons. She had to focus, to concentrate despite the flushing toilets and the nagging little girl who wanted to go into the stall by herself. Even from behind the stalls there were conversations. People on their phones. Couldn't they go to the restroom without talking about their day? Though tonight's conversations were sprinkled with excitement and concern about the bombing and the newly released suspects.
Finally, Maggie found the number. She started to hit "return call" then glanced around again and stopped. How exactly was she going to do this? She moved away from the line, back into another corner by a sink that had an Out of Order sign posted on the mirror in front of it.
She hit the button, closed her eyes and waited. It didn't need to ring twice.
"Becca?" It was Patrick, anxious and out of breath.
She had no idea who Becca was. Of course not. She had no idea who any of her brother's friends were.
"It's Maggie, Patrick."
The silence lasted so long she was afraid he had hung up.
"Patrick, are you involved in this?"
She wished he'd ask what? Maybe even pretend he had no idea what she was talking about.
"I wasn't with Chad and Tyler, if that's what you're asking."
Maggie leaned against the tiled wall. God! He knew who they were. If he hadn't known them, he wouldn't call them by name. They'd only be the other two suspects.
"You know them?"
"They were friends of one of the friends I was with." He let out a long sigh. "That sounds lame, doesn't it?"
He sounded so young. Had she ever been that young, that na?ve? She noted that he said "were." Past tense. Did he know the two young men were dead?
"You're wanted for questioning," she told him and hated that she sounded entirely like an FBI agent and not at all like a sister. Why could she not get a hang of this?
"Yeah, I just saw."
"Where are you?"
Silence.
"Patrick, you're going to have to trust me or I can't help you."
"Let me think about it."
She was pacing as much as the corner allowed, getting frustrated. What was there to think about? Letting her help him or trusting her?
"I'll let you know," he said in what sounded like a rush. And then he was gone. Silence.
"Damn it!"
Her anger surprised her and drew looks. Even a couple of stall conversations came to a halt. Maggie pretended to ignore it all and she stomped toward the door. This time the line parted for her long before she had to ask or squeeze through.