“Tom Nolan.”
My stomach tightened.
“And he did,” Ben added. “Work at Baker, I mean. Tom was in sales there.”
“Was this recently?”
“No, I’d say somewhere around six or seven years ago. The poor guy ended up with cancer and had to stop working for a while. But he’s fully recovered now. From what I hear, he works for one of the hotels.”
Okay, I could see why Alice’s curiosity had been aroused.And yet his connection to Baker went back years ago, so that hardly pointed to anything.
“Did your mom say how she found this out? Could it have been online?”
“No, it sounded as if someone told her, though I can’t recall the exact words she used.”
“And how did she react when you confirmed it?”
“She just said something like, ‘Hmm, okay, thanks.’ I’m sorry not to have mentioned this last night. She’d been so nonchalant, I didn’t even think of it until after you and I spoke.”
I pressed my hands to my lips, thinking. This couldn’t be the scary clue Alice had stumbled on. Besides the fact that she hadn’t turned it up online, she would have already known that Nolan and Shannon were acquainted through the parish, and so why would it have mattered that they might have crossed paths when Nolan worked for her father’s company?
And yet it was possible that Alice had followed the thread and it led her someplace truly disturbing. Maybe Nolan had developed a desperate obsession with Shannon while he was at Baker but let it subside during his cancer treatment, only to fan the flames again once Shannon began attending mass in July.
“I’m just glad you told me now,” I said finally. “I’m not sure it’s of any significance, but it’s worth checking out, and I’m going to do that.”
“By the way, the memorial service is going to be on Thursday. I’d love for you to be there.”
“Ben, I’d be so honored to attend. Will you text me the details?”
He promised he would and excused himself, saying he needed to meet up with his girlfriend.
Back in my room, I tried the parish house, hoping to reach Nolan there, but I ended up with the outgoing voice-mail message, which told me the hours were between nine and four.
I glanced at my watch: 5:24. There was a slim chance Baker Beverage might still be open. I tried the main number, hoping to speak to either Riley or Cody, but the outgoing voice-mail message relayed that business hours ran only until five. I had no luck reaching Cody on his cell, either.
One option, I decided, was to simply show up at Baker. Even if Cody wasn’t there, Riley might be hanging around, still playing catch-up, and she could fill me in on Tom Nolan’s employment history with the company.
When I pulled up near the front of the building twenty minutes later, I was relieved to see a light on in the reception area. I parked in the same spot I’d used the other day and hurried toward the building, but before I even had a chance to ring the bell, two men emerged through the doorway, zipping their jackets in unison as one regaled the other with an anecdote. They both wore khaki pants and collared shirts, open at the neck. Sales guys, I figured.
“Can I help you?” one of the men inquired.
“Yes, hi, thanks. I’m here to see Riley,” I said, stretching the truth.
“You know where she sits?”
“Yes, thanks.” It looked like I was in luck.
He held the door for me, and I made my way down thelong hall to the bullpen area. There was a sweet, syrupy smell to the air today, which I assumed was emanating from the bottling plant.
Riley was at her desk, eyes glued to her computer screen, and I could see Cody through the glass wall of his office, talking on his landline with the glass door closed and his back to the main room. There was only one other person in the cubicle area, an older woman with long, wavy gray hair, buttoning a red sweater coat. The overhead fluorescent lights were off, which gave the place a slightly more inviting vibe today, though it had to be tough to work someplace without windows.
Riley looked startled when she eventually caught sight of me, and she rose quickly from her chair. Her glossy hair was pinned in a sloppy bun today, and she was wearing more makeup than she’d bothered with on Saturday. Pretty but professional.
“How did you get in here?” she demanded.
“Oh, sorry, someone was nice enough to let me inside. I hope you don’t mind, but I had a follow-up question.”
“Is there a problem?” She glanced quickly toward Cody’s office, and, perhaps sensing my presence, he swiveled his chair in my direction and raised his free hand in a half wave.
