"Not tonight, sweetie. We have ice cream at home. Daddy has to get back."
Gus wasn't sure if he should call the police or his investigator. He had to do something, but not in front of Morgan. He merged aggressively into traffic. With a little attitude behind the wheel, he could have them home in fifteen minutes. As they cruised up 1-5, Gus dissected the note in his mind, particularly the last part. Or I end up like her daughter. Shirley Borge had committed suicide. Why would his discussions with Meredith Borge prompt an-other suicide?
Or maybe that was the point. Shirley's death had not been a suicide.
"Daddy, can I get a cat?"
He checked her in the rearview mirror. A couple of years back Morgan had asked for one. The answer had been no.
"We can't get a cat, remember? Your mother's allergic." "Are you 'lergic?"
"No"
Is Aunt Carla 'lergic?"
"No."
"Then why can't we have one now?"
She was testing him to see if he thought her mother was really coming back. If he hadn't been so distracted, if the whole damn situation hadn't been so sad and pathetic, he would have thought she was a pretty clever kid.
"Morgan, if we get a cat, we would just have to get rid of it when your mother comes home."
She wasn't satisfied. She knew her trick had been foiled.
The iron gate at the end of their driveway opened, and the car pulled up to their house. Once inside, Morgan went to her room. Gus went straight for the telephone.
The red light on his answering machine was blinking. One message. He hit the PLAY button. "This is Meredith Borge calling for Gus Wheatley."
There was a long pause. Gus moved closer to the machine, as if willing her to continue. Finally she said, "Meet me in the coffee shop at the Red Lion Hotel by the airport at eight o'clock tonight. Just you. I got no interest in talking to the police."
More silence, then the digital voice announced, "End of messages."
It was a cryptic message, all the more eerie on the heels of the note on his windshield. Gus wasn't sure what to make of the pair. Bizarre coincidence? Some kind of setup? He checked his watch. Not quite six. Plenty of time to drive out to the airport and meet her.
Car keys in hand, he picked up the phone and called his investigator.
"Dex, we need to meet. Someone left a note on my windshield this afternoon. It's signed by someone named Flora. But I'd swear it's Beth's handwriting."
Chapter Fifty-five.
The chill of night had covered the valley, yet Andie felt numb to the cold as Felicia led her to the main farmhouse. It was either the fortified camas cake or the apprehension over the lie-detector test. Or both.
Andie knew polygraphs could be beaten. The problem was, she wasn't sure she could beat one.
They walked around to the back of the house and stopped at the cellar doors. They weren't actually going inside the house. It was off limits to the likes of Felicia and certainly Andie. Those were the rules, she knew, but that didn't take the edge off the thought of being trapped in the basement with a possible serial killer.
Felicia opened the cellar doors. "He's waiting for you."
It was one of those defining moments for an undercover agent. Andie hadn't been at it nearly long enough to know when to step out of role and run for it.
"Are you coming with me?"
Felicia shook her head. "Just you and Steven."
Andie glanced down the dark cement staircase, then back at Felicia. "Wish me luck."
"There's no such thing as luck, Kira."
Then why do I feel so shit out of it? thought Andie. She started the climb down into the cellar. The instant she reached the bottom stair, the doors closed behind her. Total darkness. She waited for the eyes to adjust, but there was no adjustment to the complete absence of light. Her heart raced. She was about to make a dash for the doors, somewhere up the stairs behind her. Then a light switched on.
Steven Blechman was standing just three feet in front of her. She started, nearly panicked.
"Welcome," he said as he extended a hand.
She struggled to bring her adrenaline under control. "You scared me."
"There's nothing to be scared of."
"Easy for you to say."
"Yes, it is. Fear is a human bondage I shed long ago." "I guess I'm not quite on your level yet."
"That's okay. You're learning." He took a half step closer, again offering his hand. "Come."
Andie met his gaze. Funny, but he didn't have yellow eyes, blazing eyes, eyes that glowed in the dark. He looked like just a normal guy.
"Where are we going?"
"Nowhere. We're staying right where we are."
"Do we have to do this down here? It's kind of cold." "You're nervous," he said with a half smile.
"Wouldn't you be?"
"Sure. Everyone is."
"So, Felicia was right? You give everyone a lie-detector test."
"Absolutely."
Andie looked around. The lighting from the lone bulb hanging from the ceiling was dim, at best. Still, Andie could see everything in the cellar. A sump pump. A couple of old bicycles. Two chairs. But nothing that resembled a polygraph.
"Where is your equipment?"
"My what?"