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John returned with a slip of paper and handed it to her. “Don’t talk on the phone while you’re driving. I saw what you’re capable of tonight.”
She thanked him and reached down for the automatic window control.
“Wait, did you log on to Emma’s email account, check her activity?”
“That was always Dad’s job. I’ve tried to respect her privacy.”
“My turn, then. I still have a key to the house.”
“She keeps her password info taped under the lip of her desk, but she keeps her email up on the home computer, so it’s not hard to log on.”
“If you’re gonna traipse off after Emma, the least I can do is search around and see if I can’t fill in some gaps for you. Got your cell phone charged?”
What would she do without John? “I even brought my car charger. Proud of me?”
He grinned at last, then leaned in and kissed her cheek. “I’ve got your back, cuz. Watch for deer and call me when you get there.” He straightened and stretched. “Guess I’ll overlook your poor driving skills this time, but beware of weekenders. That can be a bear, even on the four-lane.”
He’d pulled away in his cruiser before she edged back onto the road. This was not the time to resume panic mode, and she couldn’t imagine how this night could get any worse.
Nicolas Tyler slid the hasp one more time along the riding mower’s blade, sharpening it to perfection. He was rotating to the next cutting edge when the wall phone rang loudly enough for the neighbors to go deaf. His hand jerked, and the fleshy part of his right thumb encountered the newly sharpened blade.
It was a clean cut, and while the pain of it registered he couldn’t help a buzz of pride at the quality of his work as he watched blood seep from the wound. He winced at the continued ringing of the phone. Should’ve chosen lawnmower maintenance as his primary profession twelve years ago and avoided all the frustration of education, more education, sleepless residency, divorce, frivolous lawsuits. He preferred the landscaping business to family practice for now, and solitude to marriage to a cheater.
He glared at the phone as the ringing persisted. Voice mail was turned off; everyone knew Dad’s cell number. Why did Dad keep this phone out here, anyway? Didn’t a guy deserve some time to himself? But then, Dad wasn’t a recluse. Nick had been the one to morph to introversion when he received the notification of a frivolous malpractice lawsuit. Things had gone downhill from there.
He’d disconnected the doorbell after Chloe left and discontinued the landline at his home in Rockford, Illinois, only a few weeks before the explosion.
The ringing stopped and Nick relaxed. Dad had his cell phone with him in case someone wanted to contact him, but he was on leave from the church. A pastor couldn’t lead his flock when he was driven to his knees with grief; his church should understand that. Nick could think of no one he wanted to talk to. The neighbors knew he wasn’t much of a socializer these days.
He reached for the first-aid kit in its cubicle above the work stand. A little peroxide, gauze and tape would take care of this.
He was pouring medicine into his wound when the phone jangled again. He jumped, splattering the liquid in a three foot radius and giving the garage floor an expensive cleansing. Peroxide bubbled on his hand, the gauze hovering over his thumb, tape tangling in his arm hair. With a yank and a grunt, he tore away the tape and lost a considerable amount of arm hair. And women waxed. Go figure.
He pulled out another strip of tape, secured the bandage and replaced the top on the peroxide bottle before strolling toward the phone. Maybe it was Dad. One never knew when he might run into trouble with that old pickup truck.
A quick check of the incoming number sent a shiver down Nick’s spine as it had the last time he’d answered a call from Emma Russell—the name Mark Russell flashed on the tiny screen. As if he was receiving a message from a dead man.
For that fraction of a second, as before, Nick’s mind ricocheted through the grief, blackness and shock. Then he answered the phone, fully expecting to hear young Emma’s voice again. She’d called him and emailed him after he’d sent the girls flowers and a sympathy card, and she’d called again today. The kid had an uncanny sense of compassion for one so young. It surprised him that he didn’t mind talking to her.
