Which part?
The part I can’t say over the phone.
Why had she returned to her house after dropping off Tommy? Was she picking something up? Her gun, for protection? Or was there something else she’d wanted to showme? I thought of the computer. The one she’d used to write her Book Babe reviews. The one the police had never found.
The British voice on Tommy’s TV show was talking about jumping in muddy puddles. Tommy called for his grandma softly, as though he’d fallen half-asleep and this was an involuntary action. Calling for Grandma. Like the beating of a heart. “It’s that wordfinallythat haunts me,” Mimi was saying. “I’mfinallydoing the right thing. So Leila had been doing the wrong thing for a very long time. Right? Doesn’t that make sense?”
“Yes,” I said.
“I wish it didn’t.”
Mimi took both of my hands in hers. Her face was flushed, her eyes thick with tears. “Sunny,” she said, “I don’t know if I can survive this.”
“You can,” I said. “I know you can. Because I know you love Tommy and Tommy needs you and—”
The blue monitor shrieked. Mimi jumped from the couch.
“What’s happening?” yelled Mrs. Dorsey. “What on earth is going on?”
Mimi didn’t respond. Tommy was screaming.“Grandma, help! Help!”
Mimi pushed away from the wall and hurled herself down the hallway.
I followed. She threw open the door to her room. There was a neatly made bed with an old-fashioned bedspread—white, with pink roses and ruffles. A chest full of toys at its foot. A pile of stuffed animals atop a toddler bed against the wall. A crudelydrawn pig with a British accent was on the TV, telling her mommy how much she loved her.
I didn’t see Tommy at first. But then I did. He was on the floor, sobbing, his face pressed to the window. “It’s okay, baby,” Mimi said. She crouched down and took him in her arms and rocked him back and forth. “What’s wrong?” she said. “What’s wrong, honey? You can tell Grandma. Why are you crying?”
I moved to the window and peered out. A black Porsche convertible was parked at the curb in front of the house. It was the same 911 Carrera that I’d seen at Leila’s. The top was up, though. In the purplish twilight, I could see the silhouette of the driver inside. A big, hulking man with cropped, curly hair. I couldn’t make out the details of his face, but I knew he was angled toward the window. He was watching us.
“I’ll be right back,” I told Mimi.
“What’s going on out there?” Mrs. Dorsey hollered from the end of the hall.
I grabbed my purse and hurried out of the room, then threw open the front door and ran straight at the Porsche, just as it pulled away from the curb.
“Stop!” I yelled. To no one.
The sound from the tires echoed, like a scream.
Forty-four
By the time I was able to get into my car and start it up, the Porsche was long gone. Fortunately, I’d managed to get a good look at the license plate. I remembered the number long enough to text it to myself. Then I found Klamm’s card and called him.
“Hey, Sunny.” He said it as though we were old pals. I liked this kid.
“Still at the crime scene?”
“Yep.”
“Any news?”
“None. We had three more sobbing ladies drop by to pay their respects. But they left when we asked them to.”
“How’s Hanson? Throwing any more hissy fits?”
He chuckled. “He’s out back, taking a whiz,” he said. “What’s up?”
“Remember that Porsche 911 Carrera I told you about?”
