The FBI Thrillers Collection Books 1-5 - Catherine Coulter [470]
The doorbell rang.
Paul jumped to his feet. “Oh, God, what if something’s happened to Jilly?”
He ran out of the living room. Maggie said to me, “I realize you don’t want to hear this, Mac, but there was talk. Just maybe it wasn’t Paul she was having all that sex with.”
I wanted to punch her. Jilly screwing around? I’d never believe that. Not Jilly. I didn’t have time to question Maggie about it before Paul returned to the living room. Standing beside him in the doorway was a small girl—no, a woman—perhaps twenty-five. She had dark brown hair, thick and curly, pulled back with two plastic clips. Her skin was whiter than a pair of my boxer shorts fresh out of the drier. No freckles. She wore glasses with rounded gold frames. She was wearing jeans that were too loose on her and a white shirt, probably a man’s, that hung halfway down her legs and was rolled up to her forearms.
“Hello, Cal,” Maggie said, rising slowly. “What brings you here?”
Good grief. Cal Tarcher, in the flesh. The girl who was going to be jealous of Jilly’s new dress. Sister of Cotter, the vicious bully.
I watched Cal raise her head, look furtively toward Paul, and say, “My father sent me. I’m glad you’re here, Maggie. All of you are invited to our house tomorrow night.” She looked toward me. “Are you Jilly’s brother?”
“Yes. I’m Ford MacDougal.”
“I’m Cal Tarcher. Is Jilly all right?”
“She’s still the same. In a coma.”
“I’m so sorry. I went to see her yesterday afternoon. The nurse told me to talk to Jilly, just talk about anything—the weather, the latest Denzel Washington movie—whatever. Anyway, the party. Will all of you come?”
“Of course we’ll come,” Paul said, a hint of impatience in his voice. “Your father commands and we struggle to be first in line.”
“It’s not like that, Paul,” Cal said, without looking at any of us.
Cal looked over Paul’s right shoulder, toward a painting with two long diagonal slashes of stark black paint slapped on dead-white canvas. “We’re all very worried about Jilly, Paul. Dad hopes you’ll be able to make time and come to our house for at least a little while tomorrow night. He really wants to meet Jilly’s brother. Maggie, do you know if Rob is working tomorrow night?”
“That’s a loaded question. What makes you think I know his schedule?”
Cal Tarcher shrugged. “You’re both law officers.”
“Yeah, right.”
Cal Tarcher was very uncomfortable with this, probably embarrassed. What was going on here? I felt as though I’d been dumped in the middle of a play and I didn’t have a clue what the plot was. “I’ll call him,” Cal said in a low voice. Then she raised her head and looked directly at Maggie. “It’s just that he’s more likely to come if you ask him. He’ll do whatever you ask. You know he doesn’t like me. He thinks I’m stupid.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Cal,” Paul said. “Rob doesn’t dislike anyone. It would take too much mental energy and he’s got to conserve all he’s got. I’ll call him for you, all right?”
“Thank you, Paul. I’m off to invite Miss Geraldine. She’s had a bad cold, but she’s better now. I’m taking some homemade coffee cake to her. My father admires her so very much, you know.”
“Beats me why,” Paul said. He added to me, “Miss Geraldine Tucker is our mayor and a retired high school math teacher. She also heads up the Edgerton Citizen Coalition, better known as the BITEASS League. Its members range in age from in vitro to ninety-three—that’s Mother Marco, who still owns the Union 76 gas station downtown.
“And no, there’s no correlation between the letters and the name of the group. Didn’t your dad come up with that, Cal?”
“It was my mom, actually.”
“Your mother? Elaine?” There was surprise and disbelief in Maggie’s voice.
“Why, yes,” Cal said. “My mom’s got a great sense of humor. She’s also very smart. Actually you, Mr. MacDougal, are the only one coming who isn’t