Cry Mercy (7 page)

“It sounds like a
very
good idea,” Chloe had responded thoughtfully.

Mary handed Emme an envelope. “All the enrollment
forms, the requests for medical records, that sort of thing, are in here. Just get them back as soon as possible. Now, Chloe, shall we go?”

Before Emme knew it, Chloe was settled for the day. The classroom in the church basement was in a long, narrow, bright room with a carpeted floor and lots of books and play areas. The teacher, Mrs. McHugh, appeared to be running a structured ship, which was what Chloe was accustomed to, and she welcomed the Caldwells with a wide smile.

“Chloe, we're so happy that you're joining us today. Victoria, would you like to show Chloe where to put her things?”

Not hesitating even for a kiss good-bye, Chloe skipped off, her little backpack over her shoulder.

“She'll be fine,” Mrs. McHugh had assured Emme, who merely smiled and said, “Apparently.”

Emme itched to take a quick run over to Our Lady of Angels at lunchtime to check on Chloe, but knew better than to actually go. If there were a problem, someone would have called her, she was sure. But knowing Chloe, there'd be no problems. She was a very social little girl and was never happier than when she was with her friends. The fact that Chloe had taken off without a backward glance that morning had reassured Emme that her daughter would be fine and would indeed be making new friends before the day was out. Knowing that Chloe was in a good place was all Emme needed to be able to turn her attention to the file on her desk.

She read for several hours before Susanna had tapped on her office door.

“We're going to lunch,” she told her. “You're welcome to join us.”

“Oh.” Emme glanced at her watch. “I didn't realize it was so late.” She reached for her bag. “Do you generally call out for lunch? Is there a place that delivers?”

“Yes, it's called Trula's kitchen.”

“Trula makes lunch for everyone?”

“Every day. And if you work late, you get dinner as well.”

“Isn't that a bit of an imposition on her?”

Susanna laughed. “Let me know when you're going to have that conversation with her, would you? I'd like to listen at the door.”

They met up with Mallory in the hall, and Robert in the kitchen where Trula was ladling soup into white bowls.

They enjoyed a chatty, informal, intimate meal for a full hour before Robert excused himself and left the house by the back door. Susanna looked over at Trula, who said, “Golf with Kevin and a couple of his parishioners.”

“Have you made any headway with that file?” Mallory asked as they returned to the wing of the house Robert had turned over for offices.

“I think so,” Emme replied. “At least, I have a plan in mind, if you have a few minutes to go over it with me. I'm sure you have ideas on how you'd like to proceed.”

“One of the good things about this being our first case is that there is no precedent.” Mallory snapped on the switch for the overhead light in her office, then
paused in the doorway. “Why not get your notes and come in and we'll talk it over.”

Their ideas for working the case had been eerily similar, right down to the notes they'd made. By the end of the workday, Emme had her game plan ready, and had made several calls, the first to Nick Perone, the uncle of the missing girl. The second was to Edward Dietrich, chief of police in Eastwind, Maryland, the home of Chestertown College and, until five months ago, Belinda Hudson. She'd meet with both of them tomorrow, as well as, hopefully, Belinda's roommate, though she knew that might be a stretch. Emme had left a message for Debra Newhouse, and with luck, that call would be returned by the end of the day.

She pulled up a map of Maryland on her laptop, and charted her drive. If she left Conroy immediately after dropping off Chloe at school, she'd be able to make it to Nick Perone's by ten in the morning. Giving herself an hour there, she could be in Eastwind by one. If her meetings with both Chief Dietrich and the roommate went well and were conducted in a timely fashion, she'd be back in Conroy before five to pick Chloe up at school.

She typed up her notes and printed them out after forwarding a copy to the main file, which would be accessible by all the members of the team. Emme didn't mind sharing her thoughts with the others—as far as she was concerned, if anyone had a better idea than she did, she'd want to hear it. At ten till five she lifted the pages from the printer's tray and clipped them together. Tucking the pages first into a plain folder, then into her bag, she turned off the desk lamp
and looked around the office that would be, for a while anyway, her daytime home. It was all so much more than she'd expected, more than she dared hope for. Over the weekend, she'd begin the search for a place for her and Chloe to live, and while she knew that Mallory had stressed the provisional nature of her position, Emme knew that if her luck held as it had so far that week, she and Chloe would be hanging their hats in Conroy, Pennsylvania, for a good long time to come.

N
ick Perone's auto-repair shop in Khoury's Ford, Maryland, near the mouth of the Susquehanna River, was a fancier affair than Emme had expected. Set at the back of a wide parking lot, the building was red brick, the windows shuttered and the front door painted shiny black, and looked more like a Colonial-style home than a place where cars were fixed. She parked in the shade of a tall maple to the right of the door, and gathered her bag and notebook. She wasn't sure that Nick Perone would have something to say that wasn't reflected in the file he'd submitted to the foundation, but if he did, she wanted it committed to paper rather than memory.

A brass sign on the door welcomed her to Perone Automobilia and invited her in. She found herself in a well-decorated reception room complete with cushy sofas and chairs and a large flat-screen TV. A counter with a granite top separated the room from the receptionist's desk. Emme glanced over the counter but the desk was unattended. She leaned on the cool stone and looked around, thinking perhaps she'd misunderstood what Nick Perone had told her on the phone
the day before. When he'd given her an address and driving directions, she'd asked if they'd be meeting at his home.

“No,” he'd replied, “I have an auto restoration business. I get in early, so whenever you arrive, I'll be available.”

A door on the left opened and a man in a light blue button-down shirt entered the reception area.

“Mr. Perone?” Emme asked.

“No,” he replied. “Can I help you?”

“I have a meeting with Mr. Perone this morning.”

“Oh, you're the investigator from the Mercy place.”

“Mercy Street Foundation. Is Mr. Perone here?”

“He's in the back, said to send you on in when you got here.” He opened the door and held it for her. She stepped into a large warehouse-type garage—so well camouflaged from the exterior—where several old cars were parked here and there in various stages of disassembly.

“Where? …” she asked.

“Last bay there on the right.”

Emme walked the length of the garage, ignored by the mechanics she passed, who appeared oblivious to her presence. The air smelled of grease and heated metal and something that reminded her of glue. The last bay held the chassis of a white car up on concrete blocks, the hood of which was open. The back of a pair of worn jeans appeared to be draped over the grill. As she drew closer, Emme could see the jeans were worn by a dark-haired man who was leaning as far into the car as one could without actually being part of the engine.

“Mr. Perone?” she called over the sound of a saw that seemed to echo through the high-ceilinged space.

“Yeah,” he replied without raising his head.

“I'm Emme Caldwell. We spoke yesterday on the phone.”

“Oh. Right. You're here about Belinda.” He withdrew from under the hood and turned. There were dark streaks on his chin and over one very blue eye. Emme extended a hand but he held up a dark-stained cloth. “Sorry. I'd shake but I don't think you want to be wearing this for the rest of the day.”

“It's nice to meet you all the same,” she replied, feeling a bit awkward. “Is there a place where we can talk?”

“We can go in my office.” He draped the cloth over the hood of the car and headed toward the office.

“I didn't realize there were still this many old cars on the road.” She tried to lengthen her stride to keep up with him.

“What?” He stopped and turned and for a moment she felt trapped and held by those deep blue eyes.

“All these old cars.” She averted her gaze and gestured toward the lot of them. “Do you think more people are keeping their older models rather than buying newer ones because of the economy?”

He looked at her as if she had two heads. Then, with studied patience, he said, “These are classic automobiles. Collectors items.”

“Sorry. They just look … well,
old
to me.”

“Yeah, well, that ‘old car’ I'm working on will be worth about a quarter of a million dollars when I'm finished with it.” He opened the door and held it for her.

She stopped and turned back to look at the car in the last bay.

“You're kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Why?”

He paused in the doorway. “That's a 1956 Porsche 356. Back in 1969, the original owner parked it in one of several garages on his property and dropped dead the next day. The family kept the property as a rental all these years but no one bothered to look in those locked-up garages until they decided to sell the whole parcel. When they finally opened the doors, they found that”—he nodded toward the Porsche—“and a 1955 Thunderbird. Mint.”

Emme looked blank.

“Never mind,” he said, holding the door for her. “You're here to talk about my niece.”

“Right. Belinda.” She followed him into an office that was as comfortably furnished as the reception area.

He gestured for her to sit at one of the club chairs that faced his desk. He held up his hands and said, “Give me just a second to clean up a bit.”

He ducked out of the room, and Emme settled into the chair, grateful for a moment to be alone. Nick Perone was nothing like she'd expected. There was a vibration of sorts that seemed to emanate from him and it unsettled her. That he was really good-looking was obvious, but she'd met a lot of really good-looking guys. It was this other thing—this vibe—that set her on edge.

She looked around the room, taking in the décor. On the walls were rows of photographs of—what
else? she thought wryly—cars. Lots and lots of cars. Old cars, mostly, as best she could tell. She wondered if any of them had passed through his garage.

“Sorry,” he said as he returned and took his place behind his desk. “Now. About Belinda …”

“I've read through the file you sent to the foundation, of course, but I wanted to get some facts nailed down. You're Belinda's legal guardian—”

“Until she turns twenty-one, yes,” he nodded.

“She'll be twenty-one in …?” She looked through her notes to avoid making eye contact.

“In two years. And while I appreciate you speaking of her in the present tense, I understand the odds of finding her alive.”

“Well, I think we both realize the odds, Mr. Perone. I'm not going to try to build up your hopes. Your niece has been missing for five months and there's been no word from her. Could she still be alive? Possibly. Is it likely? No, but stranger things have happened.”

“I just want to know the truth. If she is alive, let's find her. If she isn't, let's find out what happened.”

“I promise we'll do our best to find the truth.”

She acknowledged his “Thank you” with a nod, then continued. “So Belinda is your sister's daughter…”

Emme had read all the reports, but she wanted to hear what Nick Perone had to say about his relationship with his niece in his own words. Sometimes the depth of information depended on the manner in which the questions were asked, and she preferred to ask her own questions.

“My sister, Wendy, was her mother, yes.”

“And she's deceased.”

“Wendy died in a car accident five years ago.”

“I noticed there was no information in any of the reports about Belinda's father.” Emme flipped over her notebook as if she were reading.

“I have no idea who her father was.”

“You don't know who fathered your sister's child?” Emme raised an eyebrow as if learning this for the first time, too, though of course she was well aware of what he'd previously told the police.

“No. She never told me, and since it wasn't something she wanted to talk about, I never pressed her on it.”

“Did she ever marry?”

“Once, very briefly, right out of college. I think it lasted maybe three months. Once they were divorced, she never mentioned his name again.”

“But you weren't curious? Not even a little?”

“Sure. But when someone makes it clear that they don't want to discuss something, you leave it alone.”

“So no hints, no clues?”

“The only thing Wendy ever said about Belinda's father is that he would never be a factor in her life. Look, we weren't particularly close. And we were half-siblings. Same dad, different mothers. Wendy was twelve years older than me. I was eighteen, just starting college, when Belinda was born. My contact with Wendy was usually limited to Christmas and birthdays. Frankly, I was surprised when I got the call from Wendy's lawyer telling me that she'd been in an accident and wasn't expected to survive, and that I should come right away because I was soon to be the guardian of a fourteen-year-old girl.”

“She never told you she'd made you Belinda's guardian?”

“Nope.” He leaned back in his chair. “Not that I'm complaining. Belinda is a great kid. It wasn't always easy, not by a long shot. The first eighteen months she was with me were pretty rocky, frankly, but we've done okay these past few years. We managed to become a family in spite of ourselves.”

He handed her a framed photograph from his desk. In it, he had his arm over the shoulders of a tiny, confident-looking young woman in a cap and gown.

“Belinda's high school graduation. Just two years ago, almost to the day.”

“She's beautiful.” Emme had seen other photographs of the missing girl in the file. When Nick submitted his application, he'd sent several pictures in an attached file. Belinda Hudson had been petite and perfectly proportioned, with dark blond hair and a pretty smile. Had some unknown someone been dazzled by that smile, drawn to that beautiful face, with dark intentions? She'd seen all too many times what could happen to pretty young girls when they'd unwittingly attracted the attention of the wrong person.