Page 72 of Fire on the Moon

“All right,” Henderson agreed. He looked at Francesca, “And I believe it would be safer if you stay away from your father until the whole matter is resolved. If the wrong people are hanging around, they could follow you back to the hotel.”

She felt her chest tighten. “He’s old and very sick. I . . .”

Before she could finish, Zane cut in. “We need to determine that the nursing home isn’t being watched. If nobody shows up after a few days, it should be all right to go over there.” He turned back to Henderson. “And I think Frank Decorah has made hotel arrangements for us. If you agree to the location.” He gave Henderson the address. The hotel was okay with the lieutenant, and Zane and Francesca finally left.

When they were out on the street, she looked at him. “Where are we staying?”

“A boutique hotel that’s not far from here.”

Knox was waiting for them down the street and called Zane on his cell phone when they reached the sidewalk. He was also staying at the same hotel. On the way over, Zane filled him in on what had happened in the interview, with Frank listening in on the phone.

The hotel was in a charming Victorian mansion that had been beautifully restored. Zane and Francesca had a large room decorated in soft beige and rose. In addition to the bed, there was a small sitting area with a couch and chair.

Francesca turned to Zane. “I keep feeling like every time we reach a safe place, something else happens.”

“This time, it’s going to turn out okay.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because things are falling our way.” He gave her a reassuring kiss. “You get some rest. I’m going to talk to the other Decorah agents.”

Francesca turned back the damask spread on the bed, kicked off her shoes, and lay down with the rest of her clothes on. The day had started in Florida getting stuck in the swamp and ended in Massachusetts with her uncle coming back from the dead like an evil jack-in-the-box. Only, surprise, he had never been dead. That had all been an elaborate hoax.

She closed her eyes and didn’t open them again until Zane came back into the room. She looked up to see he was carrying a tray.

“What time is it?” she asked, fighting for coherence.

“After ten.”

“I slept that long?”

“Yes, you needed it.”

Zane set down the tray on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

Francesca came over to the sitting area. When she lifted the cloth covering, she found a cardboard container of chicken soup.

“I figured you liked it,” he said. “We had it brought in from a restaurant down the street.”

“Thank you.”

He sat down beside her as she spooned up some soup. When she was almost finished, he said, “I have some news.”

He saw her tense and slung his arm around her shoulder. “It’s good news. The guy you hit, whose name is Fritz Eldridge, is recovering nicely. At first he wouldn’t say anything about the case. Then the cops informed him that he doesn’t have to be afraid of Angelo Lucci because he’s dead. There was an armed robbery warrant out on Eldridge. They said he could get a better deal if he cooperated. He thought that over for a few minutes and started confirming our story about what happened at your uncle’s house. It was a scam to lead Angelo to your dad, so he could kill him. He also confirmed that Conrad shot me before I shot him. And one more thing. He also told the cops where to find the other three men who were involved in the plot.”

Her throat was so tight she could barely get the words out to ask, “And what about my hitting him over the head?”

“He said it stopped him from killing me.”

She breathed out a sigh of relief but had one more question. “There’s still the problem of our breaking into their house.”

“That was a little trickier to get around, since technically we should never have been in there. But Frank Decorah got a very good lawyer who argued that we were only trying to find out why they were hunting us down.”

She gave him a wondering look. “Then it’s really over?”

“Yes.”

“Oh Lord, I . . . I couldn’t let myself believe it was really going to be okay.”

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