Alex Kava Bundle - Alex Kava [89]
“Why in the world would my father head this investigation?”
“He did catch Ronald Jeffreys,” Darcy McManus said into her channel’s camera, and only then did Nick realize they had been filming this whole fiasco. He avoided looking into the camera and stared at the man, waiting and ignoring his expression of boredom.
“When your father talked to us earlier, he made it sound—”
“He’s here?” Nick blurted, and immediately regretted it. His incompetence was showing once more.
“Yes, and he made it sound as though he had returned to help with the investigation. I believe his exact words were…” The man slowly and deliberately flipped through his notes. “’I’ve done this before. I know what to look for. You can bet this guy’s not getting by this old bloodhound.’ I’m not familiar with bloodhounds, but I did interpret it to mean he was here in a professional capacity.”
Other reporters nodded in agreement. Nick looked from one to another while his insides churned. His collar strangled him, the jacket made him sweat. Another trickle slid down his back. They waited. Every word would be weighed, every gesture measured. He imagined tonight someone would rewind their videotaped version of the news just to see him run down the steps backward. He didn’t care. He turned and ran up the staircase, taking two and three steps at a time, silently praying he didn’t trip and end up back at the bottom.
He crashed through the sheriff’s department doors, smacking the glass against a metal trash can and a wall. A spider crack raced through the bottom of one of the doors, but no one seemed to notice. Instead, all eyes stared at Nick, their heads turned, their attention diverted from the tall gray-haired man in the center of them.
The same group Nick couldn’t get to check a lead without a groan or a question was gathered around the distinguished-looking gentleman, an aging prophet with the beginning of a paunch over his belt and the bushy eyebrows that were now raised in indignation.
“Slow down, son. You just damaged government property,” Antonio Morrelli said, pointing to the crack in the glass.
Despite the rage and frustration, Nick shoved his hands into his pockets, felt his shoulders slump as his eyes found his boots. Suddenly, he found himself wondering how much it would cost to replace the glass.
CHAPTER 50
Maggie sipped her Scotch and watched from a corner table as she tried to determine which of the airport-lounge customers were business travelers and which were vacationers. The storm had delayed flights, hers included, and had packed the small, poorly lit lounge, which consisted of an L-shaped bar, several small tables and chairs, dozens of model airplanes suspended from the ceiling and an old jukebox filled with songs like “Leaving on a Jet Plane” and “Outbound Plane.”
Her green and black John Deere jacket was stretched across the chair opposite her to prevent any unwanted company. She had already checked her luggage, everything except her laptop computer, which was secure underneath the John Deere green. She thought about calling St. Margaret’s again. She was beginning to think something dreadful may have happened. Otherwise, why would Father Francis have stood her up at the hospital? And why was there no one at the church rectory to answer the phone?
She wanted to call Nick, had in fact dialed the number but then hung up. He had enough things to handle without checking on her hunches. Besides, she was running out of change for the