said, though her mind was half–made up. Something had to give. She and Becca were always at each other’s throats, the cryptic messages from Mary Theresa, real or imagined, had to be dealt with, and finding out what had happened to her twin was a priority, whether she wanted it to be or not.
Maggie had never been one to sit back and let everyone else handle her problems and, now, it seemed, Mary Theresa needed her.
“Mom?” Becca’s face was serious again, worry evident in the way she chewed on the corner of her lip.
“Yeah?”
“Is something wrong with you?”
“You mean other than the fact that I can’t seem to get along with my daughter?” she teased, as the marshmallows melted into a gooey white mass. She took a swallow of the sickeningly sweet brew.
“No. I mean like are you sick?” Becca swallowed hard and her gaze shifted away. “You know…”
“No, honey, I’m not sick. Not physically. Not mentally.” She sighed and wished she could confide in her daughter, tell her the truth about hearing Mary Theresa’s voice, but that would only add fuel to the fire, scare Becca and bring back all the old, painful memories and concerns that her mother might not be sane, just because Maggie had seen a psychiatrist after her husband’s death. It hadn’t been a big deal, but Connie and Jim had insinuated time and time again that Maggie’s mental health was an issue. Clearing her throat, she said, “Drink up, then we’ll go back to bed.”
“So what’re you gonna do?” Becca asked. She took a final swallow, then handed her half-drunk cup to her mother.
“I wish I knew,” Maggie admitted. There wasn’t an easy answer. None. Life was getting much more complicated than she’d ever imagined. She carried both cups to the sink, where she noticed the mug Thane had used earlier. Touching the rim with one finger, she wondered why he’d chosen to show up at her doorstep. He could have called and told her about Mary Theresa, yet he’d decided to drive hundreds and hundreds of miles to see her in person.
Drumming her fingers on the edge of the counter, she stared through the kitchen window. Snow covered the ground and bowed the branches of the trees. Without any light from the moon, the night was eerie, the solitude that she usually found so comforting oddly disturbing.
“Mom?” Becca’s voice caught her up short. “What’s really going on?”
Maggie shook her head and sighed. Instead of acting as if she didn’t know what Becca was talking about, she said, “That seems to be the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question right now.” Running her fingers through her hair, she walked back to the living room and silently offered to help her daughter down the hallway. “I wish I knew the answer, Becca. Damn, but I wish I knew.”
Chapter Four
Detective Reed Henderson didn’t like being played for a fool, and in this case, the one involving Marquise or whatever the hell she wanted to be called, he was certain that someone was out to dupe him.
He picked at his teeth with his thumbnail, reached into his top desk drawer for his cigarettes, and found, instead, a pack of nicotine gum. He hated the stuff but wadded a piece into his mouth and thought it a damn poor substitute for a Camel straight.
A picture of Mary Theresa Reilly Walker Gillette aka Marquise was pinned over his desk. She was a looker, no doubt about it. Model slim with thick red-brown hair, eyes as green as jade, straight nose and perfect teeth surrounded by lips that were stretched into a smile that would light up any man’s day, she carried herself with the confidence of a truly beautiful woman who knew and calculated her effect on every man who happened to cross her path. Looking into the camera as if intent on seducing the man behind the lens, she exuded a sexual radiance that even he, after nearly twenty years on the force and the cynicism that came with the duty, recognized.
Marquise had star quality. Few men would be able to resist
Maggie had never been one to sit back and let everyone else handle her problems and, now, it seemed, Mary Theresa needed her.
“Mom?” Becca’s face was serious again, worry evident in the way she chewed on the corner of her lip.
“Yeah?”
“Is something wrong with you?”
“You mean other than the fact that I can’t seem to get along with my daughter?” she teased, as the marshmallows melted into a gooey white mass. She took a swallow of the sickeningly sweet brew.
“No. I mean like are you sick?” Becca swallowed hard and her gaze shifted away. “You know…”
“No, honey, I’m not sick. Not physically. Not mentally.” She sighed and wished she could confide in her daughter, tell her the truth about hearing Mary Theresa’s voice, but that would only add fuel to the fire, scare Becca and bring back all the old, painful memories and concerns that her mother might not be sane, just because Maggie had seen a psychiatrist after her husband’s death. It hadn’t been a big deal, but Connie and Jim had insinuated time and time again that Maggie’s mental health was an issue. Clearing her throat, she said, “Drink up, then we’ll go back to bed.”
“So what’re you gonna do?” Becca asked. She took a final swallow, then handed her half-drunk cup to her mother.
“I wish I knew,” Maggie admitted. There wasn’t an easy answer. None. Life was getting much more complicated than she’d ever imagined. She carried both cups to the sink, where she noticed the mug Thane had used earlier. Touching the rim with one finger, she wondered why he’d chosen to show up at her doorstep. He could have called and told her about Mary Theresa, yet he’d decided to drive hundreds and hundreds of miles to see her in person.
Drumming her fingers on the edge of the counter, she stared through the kitchen window. Snow covered the ground and bowed the branches of the trees. Without any light from the moon, the night was eerie, the solitude that she usually found so comforting oddly disturbing.
“Mom?” Becca’s voice caught her up short. “What’s really going on?”
Maggie shook her head and sighed. Instead of acting as if she didn’t know what Becca was talking about, she said, “That seems to be the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question right now.” Running her fingers through her hair, she walked back to the living room and silently offered to help her daughter down the hallway. “I wish I knew the answer, Becca. Damn, but I wish I knew.”
Chapter Four
Detective Reed Henderson didn’t like being played for a fool, and in this case, the one involving Marquise or whatever the hell she wanted to be called, he was certain that someone was out to dupe him.
He picked at his teeth with his thumbnail, reached into his top desk drawer for his cigarettes, and found, instead, a pack of nicotine gum. He hated the stuff but wadded a piece into his mouth and thought it a damn poor substitute for a Camel straight.
A picture of Mary Theresa Reilly Walker Gillette aka Marquise was pinned over his desk. She was a looker, no doubt about it. Model slim with thick red-brown hair, eyes as green as jade, straight nose and perfect teeth surrounded by lips that were stretched into a smile that would light up any man’s day, she carried herself with the confidence of a truly beautiful woman who knew and calculated her effect on every man who happened to cross her path. Looking into the camera as if intent on seducing the man behind the lens, she exuded a sexual radiance that even he, after nearly twenty years on the force and the cynicism that came with the duty, recognized.
Marquise had star quality. Few men would be able to resist
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