The In Death Collection Books 26-29 - J.D. Robb [569]
“The old man played baseball back in high school, through college and into Double A. Got picked up by the Yankees, played a season—hit three-fifty-two.”
Intrigued, Eve gave the memorabilia a closer study. “What position?”
“Catcher. Then he bunged up his knee, and that was that. Went into teaching, and coached high school ball. Moved up to principal, then to county administrator, some politicking. Worked construction most summers. Hell of a guy,” Feeney added with obvious admiration. “He was up here quizzing me on the equipment. Hope I’m half as sharp at his age.”
She turned from the shelves. “Am I doing the right thing, Feeney? Letting MacMasters in on this?”
He leaned back in his chair. “Does it feel like the right thing?”
“Yeah. Yeah, it does.”
“Then you’ve got to go with it.”
Moving back to the screen, Eve watched the Mimotos. Charity stood, hands on her hips, giving orders while her men loaded. Just another morning, from the looks of it, Eve thought. Another summer morning in the suburbs. Family calling out to one another, laughing, ribbing each other.
She watched Mr. Mimoto give his wife an enthusiastic hug, saw his lips move as he whispered in her ear.
“Is he worried?”
Feeney shook his head. “You’d think he would be. I asked, thinking I’d give him the pep talk. But he said his Charry can handle herself. He was proud of it. I have to say, I’m half inclined to think she’d take this bastard down without us.”
“Maybe so.” Eve laid a hand on Feeney’s shoulder. “But let’s do it for her. There they go,” she mumbled, as the last of the men piled in an AT.
Charity stood, blithely waving good-bye. Then turned, strolled back toward the house, pausing to stoop and pull a few weeds out of a flower bed on the way.
In moments, Eve heard the sound of piano music drifting up the stairs.
“Nice,” Feeney commented after a few bars. “Nice to hear a classic, and hear it played with some style.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Eve stepped to the privacy-screened window to scan the street from another viewpoint. “What is it, Beethoven or something?”
“Kid.” Feeney let out a windy sigh. “I don’t know where I went wrong with you. You got no culture. That’s Springsteen. That’s The Boss.”
“Boss of who?”
Feeney shook his head in disgust. “Hopeless. Get out of here and send Jamie in. We’re on the clock now. And besides, he can be educated about classic music.”
“Fine. Check the eyes and ears one more time,” she told him as she walked out. “Let’s make sure they’re a go everywhere we need them.”
She did another walk-through of the house, checking on the position of her men, running checks on all coms. No mistakes, she thought, not this time.
She joined Peabody in what Charity called her sitting room just off the living area.
“The music’s nice,” Peabody commented.
“Yeah, so I’m told. He’ll tag her first, on her pocket ’link, so she’ll be ready for him, quick to open the door. And it’s a way of making sure she’s alone, that the house is empty. It’s the same pattern as Deena. Good neighborhood, most of the residents at work. She’s set out something to drink, to eat. That’s her habit, her way. He knows it.”
“It’s nearly time,” Peabody added. “And she just keeps playing the piano.”
“She’d make a good cop.” Eve glanced at the miniscreen that gave her a full view of the living area.
She had men posted inside and out, some of them—like herself and Peabody—literally steps away from Charity Mimoto.
No, Eve wouldn’t let him hurt her.
But she needed him inside. He wouldn’t hear the cage door slam down, she thought. Wouldn’t know he’d walked into the trap.
“We got him,” Jenkinson said in her ear. “Heading east on foot, two blocks. Navy shirt, brown pants, ball cap, black shades. He’s wearing a black backpack and carrying