Twice Kissed - Lisa Jackson [116]
She showered, changed, and decided it was time to be independent. Within forty minutes, she’d ordered coffee, fruit, and breakfast rolls from room service as well as charged a rental car to her Visa card, and checked with Detective Henderson only to find that there weren’t any new leads or breaks in the case. Finally she dialed Becca in California and woke her grumpy daughter up for the second day running.
“Don’t you know it’s early here?” Becca complained.
“I just wanted to see that you were okay. I called last night, but you were out.”
“Yeah.” She heard Becca yawn and presumably, from the sound of it, stretch. “Aunt Connie told me to call you today. Is something wrong? Did you find Marquise?”
“Nothing’s wrong and no, I haven’t located her yet.”
“What do the police say?” Becca, for the first time in weeks, actually sounded interested in what her mother was doing.
“Nothing more than the last time I talked with you.”
There was a minute’s hesitation before Becca said, “She’s all right, isn’t she? Marquise? She’s okay?”
“I hope so.” Maggie wished she could give her daughter more encouragement, then decided she needed to lighten the conversation. There was no reason for Becca to worry. “So how’s Jenny?”
“Okay, I guess, just pissed off—I mean ticked off—that I don’t have to go to school and she does.”
“It’s only temporary. Until your ankle’s healed and I’ve found Mary Theresa.”
“I know, but it still bugs her.” Maggie thought she detected a small note of triumph in Becca’s voice, which was unusual. For as long as Maggie could remember, her daughter had worshiped the ground that her older cousin walked on. Jennifer McCrae could do no wrong in Becca’s estimation.
“So how is the ankle?”
“A lot better. Don’t even need crutches.”
“You’re sure? Aunt Connie said something about a specialist.”
“Aunt Connie’s just paranoid. She’s always talkin’ about doctors and lawyers and all that stuff. You know, she’s kinda weird, Mom.”
Maggie smiled. Becca was definitely mellowing.
They talked for a few more minutes, and Maggie hung up feeling relieved, that there might be a chance she and her daughter could bridge the seemingly ever-widening gap that stretched between them.
“Room service.” A deep male voice accompanied a sharp rap on the door.
Within minutes she was eating a scone, washing it down with coffee, and making a list of everyone she wanted to interview, starting with the people at the television station and Eve, Mary Theresa’s secretary. Eve had been with Mary Theresa for years, ever since she’d moved from California to Denver. Twice divorced and fighting her expanding figure, she was a workaholic who was “the most organized person you’d ever want to meet,” Mary Theresa had told Maggie once. Eve had known Mary Theresa longer than anyone, aside from Thane, in the area.
Next, Maggie wanted to speak to Mary Theresa’s psychiatrist and doctors, or at least the ones she’d seen in the weeks prior to Marquise’s disappearance. She also put Syd Gillette, Mary Theresa’s second husband, near the top of the list. According to M.T.’s calendar, she’d met with Syd the night before she’d disappeared.
“Curiouser and curiouser,” Maggie whispered, tucking her bare feet beneath her as she sat in a corner of the couch while sipping a cup of strong coffee. The gas logs sizzled and through the gauzy curtains sunlight was streaming into the room, lifting her spirits. It felt good to be doing something and compiling a list of the people in Mary Theresa’s life was a start.
A key turned in the lock, and she felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment as she glanced up to watch Thane let himself into the room. His jaw was black with a day’s worth of whiskers and he’d donned jeans,