Page 60 of 3rd Tango
Out on the street, I realize Mom’s bodyguard, Tony, has been watching this whole show from his truck. He must’ve followed her and Al, and I’m glad he’s keeping a close eye on her, but I’m equally dismayed all of these people have seen me in these damn pajamas. It’s hard to convey the true Charlie-Schock-I’m-in-charge attitude while everyone keeps getting distracted by the fact I’m dressed like a three-year-old.
The least of my worries, right?
To top things off, a blue Mustang pulls up and there’s Matt. One more to join the party. I wonder if he knew Taylor was being forced to come here with Lind and take the DNA analysis.
My sister steps around Taylor so she can stand shoulder to shoulder with me. We both face Lind, a united front. “We don’t have to share anything with you,” she says bluntly. “Unless you have a warrant or something, right Charlie?”
From inside, comes another voice, one of the Citizens Solving Cold Cases calls out, agreeing with Meg. “Tell them, sister!”
“You’re not stealing my case!” Mom says with self-righteous determination.
Matt jogs up the sidewalk, consternation on his face as he surveys the confrontation. I take a deep breath and project every ounce of my true personality, regardless of my clothes, face, or the fact I used to be an agent and believe in teamwork. “Meg, Al, Mom, everyone inside.”
Lind turns to watch Matt approach Taylor. Meg pushes the others back.
Matt’s gaze bounces between me, Taylor, and Lind. “Nice pjs. What’s going on?”
I would never insist he cross the picket line, so to speak. His loyalty has to lie with Taylor, no matter what she’s being forced to do at the moment. I ignore his question, and in my pink unicorn pajamas, with my chin up, I do something really stupid.
“If you want a copy of Evelyn Jacoby’s analysis and the information regarding her next of kin,” I say to Lind, “then I suggest you fill out the paperwork to request a sample of her DNA be run through your system. That should only take, what? A couple weeks, maybe a month? Then, when you can upload them to one of the ancestry programs like GenCo, you’ll find the information about her brother. Until then, unless you get a warrant, we’re not sharing jack shit. Unless, as previously stated, you workwithus and allow my sister to interview Ms. Jacoby’s brother when you meet with him.”
Stepping back inside with a slight flourish of unicorns, I shut the door on Lind and Taylor’s shocked faces.
22
Meg
I’m waiting on Eric Bronson’s front porch while Taylor and Lind give him the news about Evelyn. After Charlie’s refusal, Lind reconsidered his options, figured it more expedient to strike a deal with us, and knocked on my sister’s door.
His deal included Matt and I tagging along. Now, wanting to give Mr. Bronson privacy, we’ve opted to stay outside.
I hate this. I don’t know what the relationship was between Eric and Evelyn, but for nearly twenty years he’s been waiting, wondering where she might be.
Today, he’ll have his answer. Right now in fact, he’s being informed his sister’s body was dumped and discarded, in a cold, damp hole.
At least Evelyn Jacoby will have a proper burial.
I peer up at the sky, a brilliant blue that reminds me, even if I struggle to believe it some days, there is a God and beauty does exist in a harsh world.
“Tough day,” Matt says.
He’s seated on the top step, an elbow propped on his knee, chin in hand.
“I’m trying to imagine what it feels like. Not knowing where your sister is.”
“Taylor is the perfect person to deliver this news.”
He’s right. As a child, Taylor’s sister had gone missing and was held captive by a psycho until Taylor found her last year. All that time. Lost.
So, yes, Taylor has a level of understanding none of us can relate to.
The front door of the nineteen thirty-ish two-story home swings open. I turn back to where Lind holds the door for Taylor.
She steps onto the porch, her gaze immediately going to Matt who offers one solid nod. If I know him at all, he’s fighting the urge to wrap her in his arms. He’s good like that. Always on alert when the women in his life need a shoulder to lean on. Or a hug.
Taylor simply nods back. She’s a pro and I suspect she won’t tolerate coddling in front of her boss. No matter how much she might need it.
Behind her, a man—Bronson probably—appears. The profile Charlie pulled advised us he turned sixty-three recently. His full head of gray hair and the sagging skin under his eyes reflect every one of them—if not more.
