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“Did he actually use my name?”
“He did.”
“What did he look like?”
“Brown hair and eyes. Like I said, he looked like you.”
“Shit.” Theo. It had to be. But why use my name?
“Think, please,” I said to her. “It wasn’t me. I need you to tell me exactly what the guy looked like.”
“I didn’t look that closely.”
“You know it wasn’t me.”
She regarded me intently. “Now that you mention it, you’re right. You’re a different man.”
“No shit.” I didn’t have a photo of Theo. If I had, I could have shown it to her and verified it was him. Or maybe not. She’d thought I was the same person at first.
“I’m done here. Thanks for your time.” I scribbled my car phone number down on a piece of paper. “If the other guy shows up again, please call me. It’ll be worth your while.”
“Of course, Mr. Steel. Happy to.”
Then I got the hell out of Dodge. This was crazy. Completely crazy.
My old man might have chosen this place because of the wet palms. The problem? Wendy had her own money. So did Theo.
If a greased palm was all these people needed, it didn’t matter who did the greasing.
Any grease would do.
And I had the distinct feeling I hadn’t been the first to grease these palms.
Chapter Forty
Daphne
My sweet little Jonah.
He nursed urgently at my breast. Yes, he’d finally gotten the hang of it, and though every tug hurt like hell, I welcomed the pain along with the knowledge that I was giving my child the nourishment nature provided him.
Nursing had quickly become my favorite part of being a mother. It allowed me a closeness with my son that I’d never imagined. I vowed to savor this time while I had it, for soon he’d outgrow his need for breast milk. Time would turn swiftly. Already, in my mind’s eye, I saw him as the strong man he’d grow into.
Just like his father.
His father who wasn’t here.
While his son’s life was being threatened.
Brad, we need you, I pleaded silently. Please come back to us.
I looked up when someone rapped softly at the door. I sighed. The police must be here.
“Come in.”
My mother entered. “They’re here, honey.”
I nodded. I pulled Jonah away from my breast, and he let out a howl. “He’s still hungry.”
“Did you pump anything today? I can feed him for a while so you can talk to the police.”
“Yeah. There’s a four-ounce bottle in the fridge. You’ll have to warm it up.”
She took the baby from me and put him against her shoulder, lightly tapping his back. “It’s okay, sweetie. Mommy has more milk for you.” She turned to me. “They’re in the living room talking to Mazie and Belinda.”
“All right.” I hastily fixed my bra and shirt and walked out.
“I wish I could tell you more,” Belinda was saying. “It was a teenager. I think his hair was brown.”
“All right,” an officer said.
“Here’s Daphne now,” Mazie said as I entered the living room. “Come sit down, dear.”
I nodded and sat down. “I’m Daphne Wa— er…Steel.”
Weird. I hadn’t made that mistake in a long time. Brad and I had been married for nearly eight months.
“Good evening, Mrs. Steel.” The officer stood and held out his hand. “I’m Officer Grant and this is Officer Ericson.”
“Thank you for coming,” I mumbled. I took a seat next to Belinda on the couch.
“I’m sorry about all this turmoil,” Officer Grant continued.
I nodded again.
“Do you have any idea who could have sent this note?”
“Not really. I suppose it could be related to the best man’s death at our wedding.”
“That has never been solved, though.”
“No. My husband has had PIs working on it for months.”
“Why do you think the two incidents might be related?” Officer Ericson asked.
“I don’t know.” I sighed. “Just please keep my baby safe.”
“We’ll do our best,” Officer Grant said. “But there must be a reason why you feel the two incidents are related.”
“I don’t really feel anything. I was just supposing.”
“Is there anyone who might have anything against you?” Ericson asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You and your husband got married quickly.”
“We did. But what does that have to do with anything?”
“Did you leave a disgruntled boyfriend behind? Or did your husband—”
“No,” I said flatly.
“To which question?”
“Both.”
Not exactly true, but Brad’s ex was safely in a mental hospital and couldn’t harm anyone.
“We can have the type analyzed, find out what kind of typewriter was used,” Grant said, “but I don’t know if that will help at all.”
“What about fingerprints?” Mazie asked.
“We can take a look, but that will only help if we have prints on file to match anything we find on the paper.”
“Plus, we’ve all handled it,” I said.
Numb. I was feeling so damned numb.
“When do you expect Mr. Steel home?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Where is he now? Can we get a hold of him?”
“I don’t know where he’s staying,” I said, “but he has a phone in his car. I can give you that number, although he didn’t answer earlier.”
