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25
WASHINGTON, D.C.
MONTROSE PARK
R STREET NW
MONDAY AFTERNOON
Griffin tossed the neon green Frisbee toward Sean, who ran, jumped, and managed to snag it. The Frisbee was Sean’s birthday present from Marty Perry, and it glowed bright at night. Sean whooped, did a fast fist pump, and threw it to his mom.
Sherlock caught it and threw it on to Dillon, who plucked it out of the air, grinned at everyone, and waved toward the blanket they’d spread on the nearly dead grass in Montrose Park. Even so, it was a beautiful spot, wide open, perfect for whatever a kid would want to do.
Everyone was warm enough still, but Savich knew it wouldn’t last, and that’s why he’d had the idea to bring Sean to the park with them while they still had some sun. Savich knew all of them were tired and needed a bit of time to decompress.
Savich flipped the Frisbee to land on top of their ancient red-and-white-striped wool blanket, a witness to many a picnic. Everyone took a drink and a cookie. Between bites, Sean told them all about a video on YouTube about the best ways to throw a Frisbee. He took them through every single step. He told them the boy who made the video, Ellery, lived in Australia and could throw a Frisbee so far his friends spent days looking for it. “Even farther than you, Papa. I emailed him. I hope he’ll email me back, maybe give me some private pointers.”
Sean’s attention veered from the Frisbee when he saw a half dozen teenage boys throwing a football around twenty yards away, having a great time hooting and hollering. Sean walked closer to watch them, all the adult eyes on him. Savich said, “You’ve seen all the photos Pippa’s sent. She planned to go back this morning and question Mrs. Filly, but I haven’t heard from her. I reminded her last night to check in with me, told her again to be careful.” He looked down at his Mickey Mouse watch. “She hasn’t called, and all my calls have gone to voice mail.”
“Dillon, call her again while Griffin and I pack everything up. It’s getting too cold to stay out much longer anyway.”
As Savich stepped away and pulled out his cell, he heard Griffin say to Sherlock, “You wanted to know about Jessie’s birthday party for her daughter. Picture a dozen eighteen-year-old girls, all laughing and talking and slurping down ice cream smoothies when Jessie brought me into the living room and yelled out, ‘Surprise, girls!’ All eyes turned to us. There was instant silence, not a single slurp, and then they rushed me. It was like a tsunami. I gotta say, though, the chocolate cake was delicious, pecans whipped into the chocolate frosting. Almost made it worth it.”
When Savich walked back, Sherlock was laughing so hard she was holding her stomach. Sean looked over, realized he’d missed out on something, and ran back to go down on his knees beside her. “Mama, what? What’s the joke? What did Uncle Griffin say?”
Griffin said, “Sean, I was telling your mama about a birthday party, and the chocolate cake, nearly as great as the one your mama served at your birthday party back in September. Here, let me show you some photos.” Sean was treated to photo after photo of girls he didn’t know, girls way too old to hold his interest. He paused at one photo. “Mama, I think Marty will look like her when she grows up.”
Sherlock looked at a young girl with an impish face, capped by spikes of black hair, tiny diamond studs in her ears. She didn’t look as mature as the other girls, more like a bud nearly ready to bloom. She didn’t look a thing like Marty Perry except for the wicked intelligence shining from her dark green eyes. You knew looking at her she was fun. Sherlock said, “Griffin, send me her photo, and we’ll show it to Marty, see what she thinks.”
Savich took a quick look at the girls’ photos and smiled at the one Sean had talked about. She looked clever and smart. He lightly poked Sherlock’s arm. “Would you mind packing up? I need to speak to Griffin. Sean, there’s one cookie left with your name on it.”
Savich and Griffin walked a bit away while Sean munched his cookie and helped his mother fold the blanket and close down the drink cooler.
Savich said without preamble, “I still can’t reach Pippa Cinelli, only voice mail, no answer to my texts. I think something’s wrong.”
Griffin said, “I can leave right now, Savich. Wait, Congressman Manvers said he had to go out for a meeting this evening, which means Rebekah would be alone. I know her assistant, Kit Jarrett, would stay with her, but is that enough?”
Savich shook his head. “You go watch over Rebekah. I’ll go to St. Lumis.”
Savich pulled Sherlock aside. “I’ve got to go see what’s going on, make sure Pippa is all right. Rush hour traffic shouldn’t be too bad on a Monday night. I’ll call you, keep you updated.”
Sherlock was as worried as Dillon, but she didn’t want to pile on. “Do you want to call Police Chief Wilde? He’s right there.”
“Not really. That last puzzle section with Major Trumbo hanging out the Alworth Hotel window, surrounded by flames? Until we find out what it all means, I want to keep this as private as possible.”
