Alex Kava Bundle - Alex Kava [197]
He took out the yellowed newspaper clippings: Firefighter Sacrifices Life, Trust Fund Established for Hero. What a horrible way for her to lose her father, in a hellish fire.
“Do you dream about him, Maggie O’Dell?” he whispered. “Do you imagine the flames licking off his skin?”
He wondered if he had finally found an Achilles’ heel to the brave, unflinching Special Agent O’Dell.
He set the articles aside. Underneath, he discovered a bigger treasure—a leather appointment book. He flipped to the upcoming week, immediately disappointed. The anger returned as he double-checked the penciled notation. She would be in Kansas City at a law enforcement conference. Then he calmed himself and smiled again. Maybe it was better this way. Still, what a shame Agent O’Dell would miss his debut in Newburgh Heights.
CHAPTER 13
Sunday, March 29
Maggie unpacked the last of the boxes labeled Kitchen, carefully washing, drying and placing the crystal goblets on the top cupboard shelf. It still surprised her that Greg had allowed her the set of eight. He claimed they had been a wedding gift from one of her relatives, though Maggie didn’t know anyone remotely related to her who could afford such an expensive gift or have such elegant taste. Her own mother had given them a toaster oven, a practical gift void of sentiment, which more likely reflected the characteristics of the O’Dells she knew.
The goblets reminded her that she needed to call her mother and give her the new phone number. Immediately, she felt the familiar tightness in her chest. Of course, there would be no need for the new address. Her mother rarely left Richmond and wouldn’t be visiting any time soon. Maggie cringed at the mere thought of her mother invading this new sanctuary. Even the obligatory phone call felt obtrusive to her quiet Sunday. But she should call before leaving for the airport. After years, flying still unhinged her, so why not take her mind off being out of control at thirty thousand feet with a conversation that was sure to clench her teeth?
Her fingers moved reluctantly over the numbers. How could this woman still make her feel like a twelve-year-old caretaker, vulnerable and anxious? Yet, Maggie had been more mature and competent at twelve than her mother ever was.
The phone rang six, seven times, and Maggie was ready to hang up when a low, raspy voice muttered something incomprehensible.
“Mom? It’s Maggie,” she said in place of a greeting.
“Mag-pie, I was just going to call you.”
Maggie grimaced, hearing her mother use the nickname her father had given her. The only time her mother called her Mag-pie was when she was drunk. Now Maggie wished she could just hang up. Her mother couldn’t call her without the new number. Maybe she wouldn’t even remember this call.
“You wouldn’t have gotten me, Mom. I just moved.”
“Mag-pie, I want you to tell your father to stop calling me.”
Maggie’s knees buckled. She leaned against the counter.
“What are you talking about, Mom?”
“Your father keeps calling me, saying stuff and then just hanging up.”
The counter wasn’t good enough. Maggie made it to the step stool and sat down. The sudden nausea and chill surprised and annoyed her. She placed her palm against her stomach as if that would calm it.
“Mom, Dad’s gone. He’s been dead for over twenty years.” She gripped a kitchen towel, the nearest thing she could lay her hands on. My God, could this be some new dementia brought on by the drinking?
“Oh, I know that, sweetie.” Her mother giggled.
Maggie couldn’t ever remember her mother giggling. Was this a sick joke? She closed her eyes and waited,