Page 120 of Almost Dead (The Cahills 2)

So what?

That didn’t change anything!

Paterno’s cell phone jangled as he backed the Caddy into a tight parking space in front of the realty company. Sybil Tomini, sitting in the passenger seat, braced herself, as if she expected him to scrape the grill of a Range Rover with his back bumper. He jammed the big car into park and answered the phone. He hadn’t been taking any calls for the past couple of hours, had half a dozen to return, but caller ID told him that Quinn was on the other end of the line.

“Paterno,” he said as Sybil Tomini hugged herself on the other side of the wide seat. Into the receiver he said, “Just a sec, Janet.” To the realtor, he held up a finger. “I’ll be right in.”

Sybil, already reaching into her purse for her pack of cigarettes and lighter, nodded. “I’ll find the file.” She climbed out of the car and lit up before she closed the door.

“I’m back,” he said to Quinn as raindrops began to shiver from the dark sky.

“I got your message earlier,” Quinn said. “You found Marla Cahill, and she’s dead?”

“Has been for a while. Couldn’t have been the doer in the murders. I’ll tell you all about it when I get back to the station.” He cut the engine and the lights. “We’re looking for Mary Smith now.”

“I’ve got something from that nurse in Idaho, the one who was working at Cahill House during the time Marla Amhurst had her baby.”

Paterno grunted for her to continue.

“The nurse is a little foggy and really didn’t want to talk to me. She’s retired now, her husband fishes all day, and she doesn’t want any trouble, but she said Marla had a baby girl who would be around twenty-six or twenty-seven now, which coincides with the dates in Eugenia’s diary.”

“Have you got a name?”

“Not for the child, but the adoptive parents were from Oakland—Ron and Christine Engles. I’m checking now to find out if they still live in the area.”

“While you’re at it, find out anything you can about Elyse Hammersly. Do a statewide search for priors. See if she was incarcerated with Marla Cahill, anything. She rented the house where we found Marla’s body in Berkeley. I’ll know more in a few minutes. I’m at the realty company now. I’ll fill you in when I get back to the station.”

Paterno dashed through the rain and headed into the front office. A door in the back wall was ajar, so he walked through. Sybil was at one of several utilitarian workstations, digging through a drawer. “I have keys to the file cabinets in the storeroom. I’ll be right back.” She headed toward a metal door past the other workstations.

Paterno waited, and Sybil returned with a folder. “I know I have this information on the computer too,” she said, calmer now that they were away from the bungalow where she’d found the corpse. “But there’s an agreement she signed…and I always take a copy of the renter’s ID. Also, we require proof of employment and a credit history. Let’s see…” Her fingers flipped through several folders before extracting one. “Here you go.”

With a feeling of getting closer to his goal, Paterno began reviewing the documents.

“They might have found Marla,” Jack said breathlessly as he rushed through the door. He’d been out jogging, working out some of his aggression while Cissy had been inside. His running gear was wet, his hair plastered to his head, his face tense, his expression dark.

Coco, from her little bed near the fire, lifted her head, letting out a disgruntled “woof” before returning to sleep.

Cissy’s heart skipped a beat. Hope shot through her, but it was followed quickly by fear. “What about B.J.?”

“No. Don’t think so. I just got a text message from a friend who’d seen it on the news. I’ve got a call in to Paterno.” Jack was sweating profusely, his face red, his hair wet, his cell phone in one hand, his iPod in the pocket of his sweats. He walked to the television and flipped through the news channels.

Nothing about Marla. At least not yet.

“Wouldn’t someone have told us? The FBI?” she asked as agents had been with them on and off since the kidnapping. Their phone lines tapped in case the kidnappers decided to call, all their mail searched for a note, the house under twenty-four-hour surveillance. So much for keeping them out of it.

“Not until they were certain, but you’d better brace yourself.”

“Brace myself?” she said, images of B.J.’s tiny unmoving body filling her head. “Oh God, Beej—”

“I’m talking about Marla. It’s possible that your mother might be dead.”

A chill swept up her spine. “What do you mean?” Marla? Dead? A multitude of emotions rocketed through her. She loved her mother; hated her. The woman was loathsome, a horrible creature, and yet she had, in her distant way, raised Cissy, been there for her. Marla’s was the face she remembered as a child, the person who had

taught her to tie her shoes, who had enrolled her in private school, who had shown her how to French braid her hair, and so much more. Marla, in her own way, had consoled Cissy when she’d scraped her knee or had her heart broken, and yet, over the years, there had been a rift between them, one that had started with Cissy’s teenage years and had never been bridged in the years since. But she’d always thought there would be time to make amends, if she ever wanted it…. Oh God…Dead? That seemed impossible. “Where’s our baby?”

“I don’t know.” Jack’s face was carved with worry, deep grooves around his eyes and mouth. Neither he nor Cissy had caught any sleep, and Cissy felt like the hours had dragged into a lifetime. She didn’t know what she would have done without Jack, without him to lean on, confide in, cry with.

Outside, along with the FBI vehicles, was a news van, seemingly permanently camped out on the street. Most of Cissy’s friends had called. Gwen and Tracy had stopped by; even Heather had phoned, clearly feeling sheepish about the way her affair with Donald had splashed across the news. Cissy was too worried about B.J. to even think about that issue. It was Heather’s problem.

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