NOW she has to stay on the case,” Max said.
Thacker countered. “She’s not a trained investigator.”
They were sitting in Thacker’s office this Tuesday morning. Max was pleading his case for keeping Afton on the job, while Thacker scratched his head, looking dubious.
“Doesn’t matter if she hasn’t come up through proper channels,” Max said. “She’s got all the right instincts. Last night proved it.”
“Hey,” Afton said. “Do I get to say something here?”
“No,” Thacker said. He leaned back in his chair, grabbed a yellow pencil, and twiddled it like a drummer would.
“Just let Afton stick with me for a couple more days,” Max said. “Until we talk to the babysitter and huddle with this Binger guy who got fired by Darden.”
“Farmer can handle that,” Thacker said.
“Okay, then just until Dillon gets back,” Max pushed.
“Which might not be anytime soon,” Thacker said. He blew out a glut of air. “On top of full-blown food poisoning, he’s flirting with pneumonia. He’s tossing down antibiotics like they’re Pop Rocks.”
“So where does that leave us?” Max asked.
“Maybe send flowers?” Afton asked. She was only half joking.
Thacker glowered at her. “Are you really okay?”
“Yeah. Hell, yes,” Afton said. She wasn’t really, she was sore beyond belief, but she wasn’t about to tell either of them that.
“No ill effects?”
Afton forced a cheery smile. “None.”
“Okay, well . . . okay,” Thacker said. “Afton can stay. But only because we’re so damn shorthanded. Between this kidnapping situation, the Bloomington Avenue double homicide, and that pharmaceutical heist, we’re all chasing our tails like a pack of wild monkeys.”
Afton had been holding her breath. Now she let it out slowly. She’d just noticed a little wooden sign on Thacker’s desk that said, WHEN YOU CHASE TWO RABBITS, BOTH GET AWAY. She wondered if that was a Thackerism or an ancient Chinese proverb?
“Anyway,” Thacker said, hunching forward, “as long as Afton’s going to hang around, I need to bring you both up to speed. There’s been a new twist in the Darden case . . .”
Max and Afton exchanged glances. “What?” Max asked.
“Susan Darden called the Homicide desk last night just after eleven o’clock,” Thacker said. “She was in a full-blown panic. Seems that Richard hasn’t exactly been a good and faithful husband.”
Max let loose a low whistle.
Afton perked up. “What’d he do? Have an affair?”
“Apparently Mrs. Darden overheard her husband talking on the phone,” Thacker said. “He was whispering sweet nothings to their former nanny.”
Afton fished for the name and came up with it. “Jilly Hudson?” She knew the FBI had interviewed the former nanny, even though Hudson hadn’t been considered a suspect. Now she wondered if the girl’s status might change. Sure it would. Of course it would.
“Isn’t she just a kid?” Max asked.
“She’s twenty-three,” Thacker said. “Old enough to know better.”
“So is Darden,” Afton put in.
“Anyway,” Thacker said, “Darden’s apparently been enjoying a full-blown, class A, convenient, extramarital love affair with Miss Hudson for a couple of months. And it started right there in his own little love nest.”
“Not anymore he’s not,” Max said.
Thacker continued. “Mrs. Darden was so off-the-chain furious when she found out that she demanded we send over a cruiser. By the time the responding officers arrived, she’d tossed her husband out on his ass. Apparently his shit was lying all over the front yard, too. Suits, shirts, underwear, golf clubs . . . everything scattered in the snow.”
Max scratched his nose. “Sounds kinda crazy. Like a scene out of an Adam Sandler movie.”
“Susan kicked him to the curb,” Afton said softly.
“I guess,” Max said. He patted his jacket for his notebook, didn’t find it, and said, “Don’t we have Richard Darden scheduled to come in for a second round of questioning this morning?”
“One o’clock,” Thacker said. “I can’t wait to hear his explanation about this—or maybe I can.” The phone on his desk suddenly shrilled. “Hang on.” He picked it up. “Yes, Angel?” He listened intently. “What? Now?” He straightened up in his chair and frowned. “Okay. Well, put her in Conference Room C. That’s right, the one that looks like a big orange Creamsicle puked its guts out.” Thacker hung up and shifted in his chair. “Change of plans.”
“What’s up?” Max asked. “Is the FBI stepping on somebody’s toes?”
“No. It appears that Mrs. Darden just showed up here. I mean right now this minute. And she’s asking to talk to the person in charge of her daughter’s investigation.” He cocked a finger at Max. “That would be you, my man.”
“Okay.” Max made a motion to stand up.
“Not so fast,” Thacker said. “Susan Darden also wants to see your sidekick here.” This time he pointed at Afton.