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That brought me up short. I’d never in my life defied an order purposely; what was it about her that made me consider it now?
Chapter Eight
Maggie
The statement process was less painful than I had anticipated. Luckily, details were easy for me, and the fact that I’d kept my mouth shut—for the most part—during the incident had allowed me to retain more descriptive facts. Sometimes my ability to recall details so entirely was a pain in the ass. There were many things that I sure wished I couldn’t remember or hadn’t seen so up close and personal.
Mrs. Tompkins dead cat was one of them. I’d been nine, and I found her half-decayed cat in the woods behind the house. The image had burned into my mind, and I’d had nightmares for a year. To this day, I still couldn’t be around a cat without shuddering.
I was able to zip through the interview rather quickly, and then they had a sketch artist come in and work with me. I enjoyed doing that part. I wasn’t artistic in the slightest bit. I couldn’t even draw a straight line with a ruler, but with my comprehensive details and the detective’s computer program, we blew out the composite in short order.
We were heading to his desk when I spied Greg with a cup of coffee, and my mouth began to water. I’d been jonesing for one since eight this morning. The brew was kind of gross and very bitter, but it was coffee and contained much-needed caffeine, so I practically sucked it down in seconds.
Detective Highmore and I were almost done with the final touches to the composite when I felt a hand on my lower back and was getting ready to swing around and punch someone for being so brazen with their contact—but found it was Greg. I wasn’t sure that I should allow him to have such intimate contact either, but at least it was better than a stranger.
I wasn’t surprised that Greg didn’t remember my ability to recall details. Back in high school, I hadn’t said much about it. People were always jealous because I could remember things so easily, and I usually just shrugged it off. No one in their teenage years wanted to be different than their friends. Nope, that could get you ostracized even faster than not dating the right guy or wearing the right clothes.
Of course, I’d dated the right guy—until he left me—wore the right clothes, had all the proper friends, and hid my abilities from everyone. Every once in a while, I even purposely screwed up on a test or an assignment so people wouldn’t get suspicious.
Of course, once I went into journalism, I found that my knack for remembering details after only seeing or hearing them for a moment was a blessing and helped gain me high honors in my classes, and a job. Sadly, the position wasn’t exactly what I wanted, but it had gotten me in the door.
I had learned that no matter where you worked, you had to start at the bottom and work your way up. While in Atlanta, I had done well for myself, and I was finally reporting serious news. I didn’t get many articles on the front page, but I was at least in the front section and not buried in the back of the paper. I had even started to get more of a following when we finally went digital, and I was able to track my links and shares on my articles.
I had hoped another year or two, and I would have been in the running for the headlines. Only my mother got sick, and I decided to come home. What kind of daughter would I be if I didn’t help her? A few of my friends in Atlanta had told me to put her in a nursing home and let them take care of her, but I couldn’t do that. She had given everything of herself to me, been there for me every step of my life, so how could I not do the same for her when she needed me—especially with the fact that her faculties were diminishing.
Now, there were full days that she didn’t know who I was. The first time I realized that she didn’t know me was a karate kick to the solar plexus. I had quietly reminded her that I was her daughter, Maggie, and then I had kept on talking. When I had finally stepped away from her, I had sunk to the floor and sobbed into my hands. I was used to it now, but somedays it still hurt a lot.
“So, Ms. Valor, would you say that this is a correct representation of the man you saw in front of the jewelry store?”
“Yes, that is the man I saw.”
“Alright.” He grinned. “We will put this in front of Chuck and see what he says. Maybe knowing that we have a photograph of him, he might be more willing to give him up. He’s got to know that we’ll find him sooner or later.”
“Until you do, should I be worried?”
The detective stood. “No, I don’t think so. I’m sure he is trying to get out of the area. He’s going to want to sell those diamonds as quickly as he can, and he won’t be able to do that anywhere local.”
“So, you don’t think that I should be worried that he has my address? All of our addresses?”
“No, he’s not going to do anything. If the guy is smart, and I have to think that he has a few brain cells in that skull with the way he disappeared, he’s long gone from here. He probably hightailed it out of town within an hour of leaving the coffee shop.” I glanced at Greg and wondered if he agreed. “I appreciate you both coming down. If you’ll excuse me, I need to get this approved and out to patrol and then start my next interview. I’ll call you if we hear anything, or once we have the guy in custody.”
Greg and I both shook his hand, and then Greg led me from the area and to the hallway that led to the front. At the counter, he stepped away. “Did someone drop off keys for Gregory Blaire?”
“Yes, sir.” He tossed them to him, and Greg thanked him as we left. We found his truck, and he helped me into the passenger side. I found myself glancing in the back to make sure there were no car seats back there. He must have noticed because he chuckled and shook his head but didn’t say anything.
“What’s your address?”
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to take you home.”
“I don’t want to go home. I need to go to work. My boss was already pissed at me this morning about my latest column; I’m sure he wants my head on a silver platter now since I haven’t been to work yet, and it’s—holy crap! It’s almost two in the afternoon. No wonder I’m starving.”
“Want to grab a bite to eat on the way to your office?”
“No, I keep snack bars in my desk drawer. That will have to do today. I have to get the next three articles written.”
“Do you know what those are going to be about?”
