But be alert. You have wireless in your house in Loudoun?”
“Yessir.”
“Can you disable it?”
“Sure.”
I added, “And make sure Amanda doesn’t configure your computer for dial-up.”
“She’d know how to do that?”
“She’s a teenager,” I said. “She could build a computer out of kitchen appliances.”
“Suppose you’re right about that.” He looked at the Kesslers. “How much did you tell her?”
Ryan said, “Pretty much everything. But I didn’t overdo it.”
“She’s got some grit, your daughter. It’d take a lot to get her rattled. But I’ll keep her distracted.”
“Thanks, Bill.”
“And when you leave,” I told him, “keep her down. Have her look for something you lost under the front seat. Just for a block or two.”
Maybe Carter thought this was excessive but he agreed.
Amanda bounded down the stairs, clutching a pillow in a red-and-white gingham case. It seemed teenagers couldn’t travel without pillows, girls at least. Security blankets maybe.
“Uncle Bill, hi!” She hugged the man and sized up Freddy and Garcia, the new arrivals.
“Hey, this’s some weird adventure, honey,” Carter said.
“Yeah.”
“We better hit the road,” the former cop said.
I was amused; the solidly built teenage athlete had around her shoulder a purse in the shape of a plush bear, with a goofy smile and a zipper down its back.
Joanne grabbed the girl and hugged hard, to her stepdaughter’s embarrassment.
Then her father did the same. He too was treatedto a stiff return embrace. “Come on, humor your old man,” Ryan said affectionately.
“Dad . . . okay.” She stepped back, though her father kept his hands on her shoulders.
“You call us anytime. About anything.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“It’s going to be fine, honey.” Then the bulky detective released his grip, apparently worried that his coddling might give his daughter more cause to worry. He smiled.
“Like, bye.” Lugging her pillow, backpack and bear purse, Amanda ran to Carter’s SUV.
Again the former cop hugged Joanne and then gripped Ryan’s hand with both of his. “I’ll take really good care of her. Don’t worry. God bless.”
Then he was gone.
Ryan returned to the den and came out with his briefcase and another backpack. It was heavy and I assumed it contained ammunition and possibly another weapon.
Freddy called his men outside on the radio. We heard one of them respond, “Carter’s gone. Nobody following. The girl wasn’t visible.”
Then I heard footsteps on the stairs, and a woman, quite attractive, appeared in the kitchen doorway. She was blinking, as if she’d just awakened, though she was dressed in a nice outfit and her face was made up. She bore a faint resemblance to Joanne and was six, eight years younger. She was taller but willowy, not as solid.
“This is Maree,” Joanne said.
“Well, lookit this,” she said. It seemed that she hadn’t quite believed what her sister had been telling her. Sure enough: “I thought you were kidding,Jo. I mean,” looking at Freddy and Garcia, “didn’t I see you in The Sopranos ?” She poured some orange juice and added an herbal powdered concoction to it. She drank it down and made a face.
The agents regarded her blankly.
Maree had longer and straighter hair than her sister’s and it was mostly but not completely, or authentically, blond. She wore a full suede skirt and a gossamer floral blouse of yellow and green. Silver jewelry. No wedding ring. I always look, not for availability, of course, but because marital status gives me information about a lifter’s options in getting an edge on the principal.
A fancy camera dangled over her shoulder, and I could see in the foyer her luggage. She had a large wheelie, a heavy backpack and a laptop case, as if she were going away for two weeks. Maree picked up a stack of mail on a table near the kitchen door. The pieces had been sent to her but the printed address—in the North West
“Yessir.”
“Can you disable it?”
“Sure.”
I added, “And make sure Amanda doesn’t configure your computer for dial-up.”
“She’d know how to do that?”
“She’s a teenager,” I said. “She could build a computer out of kitchen appliances.”
“Suppose you’re right about that.” He looked at the Kesslers. “How much did you tell her?”
Ryan said, “Pretty much everything. But I didn’t overdo it.”
“She’s got some grit, your daughter. It’d take a lot to get her rattled. But I’ll keep her distracted.”
“Thanks, Bill.”
“And when you leave,” I told him, “keep her down. Have her look for something you lost under the front seat. Just for a block or two.”
Maybe Carter thought this was excessive but he agreed.
Amanda bounded down the stairs, clutching a pillow in a red-and-white gingham case. It seemed teenagers couldn’t travel without pillows, girls at least. Security blankets maybe.
“Uncle Bill, hi!” She hugged the man and sized up Freddy and Garcia, the new arrivals.
“Hey, this’s some weird adventure, honey,” Carter said.
“Yeah.”
“We better hit the road,” the former cop said.
I was amused; the solidly built teenage athlete had around her shoulder a purse in the shape of a plush bear, with a goofy smile and a zipper down its back.
Joanne grabbed the girl and hugged hard, to her stepdaughter’s embarrassment.
Then her father did the same. He too was treatedto a stiff return embrace. “Come on, humor your old man,” Ryan said affectionately.
“Dad . . . okay.” She stepped back, though her father kept his hands on her shoulders.
“You call us anytime. About anything.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“It’s going to be fine, honey.” Then the bulky detective released his grip, apparently worried that his coddling might give his daughter more cause to worry. He smiled.
“Like, bye.” Lugging her pillow, backpack and bear purse, Amanda ran to Carter’s SUV.
Again the former cop hugged Joanne and then gripped Ryan’s hand with both of his. “I’ll take really good care of her. Don’t worry. God bless.”
Then he was gone.
Ryan returned to the den and came out with his briefcase and another backpack. It was heavy and I assumed it contained ammunition and possibly another weapon.
Freddy called his men outside on the radio. We heard one of them respond, “Carter’s gone. Nobody following. The girl wasn’t visible.”
Then I heard footsteps on the stairs, and a woman, quite attractive, appeared in the kitchen doorway. She was blinking, as if she’d just awakened, though she was dressed in a nice outfit and her face was made up. She bore a faint resemblance to Joanne and was six, eight years younger. She was taller but willowy, not as solid.
“This is Maree,” Joanne said.
“Well, lookit this,” she said. It seemed that she hadn’t quite believed what her sister had been telling her. Sure enough: “I thought you were kidding,Jo. I mean,” looking at Freddy and Garcia, “didn’t I see you in The Sopranos ?” She poured some orange juice and added an herbal powdered concoction to it. She drank it down and made a face.
The agents regarded her blankly.
Maree had longer and straighter hair than her sister’s and it was mostly but not completely, or authentically, blond. She wore a full suede skirt and a gossamer floral blouse of yellow and green. Silver jewelry. No wedding ring. I always look, not for availability, of course, but because marital status gives me information about a lifter’s options in getting an edge on the principal.
A fancy camera dangled over her shoulder, and I could see in the foyer her luggage. She had a large wheelie, a heavy backpack and a laptop case, as if she were going away for two weeks. Maree picked up a stack of mail on a table near the kitchen door. The pieces had been sent to her but the printed address—in the North West
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