I sat up. “Sylvia was here? What did she want?”
“I don’t know. She was talking to Mrs. Haggerty when I got here. She said something about going to the station to look for Nick.”
“Oh, boy,” Vero said.
“Jesus, Georgia! You couldn’t have led with that?!” I bolted out of the back of the van and raced into the house, where Mrs. Haggerty’s School for Finlay Donovan’s Wayward Children was already in full swing. Delia was hunched over the table, pencil in hand, as she meticulously copied the alphabet onto a sheet of hand-lined paper while Zach stood naked in the corner, screaming bloody murder, his clothes scattered over the floor and snot pouring from his nose.
“I. DO. SCHOOL. TOOOOOOOO!!!!” he shouted at Mrs. Haggerty’s back as she rewarded Delia’s progress with a sticker.
“Only boys who use the toilet and keep their pants on go to school.” Mrs. Haggerty turned to me. “We’re out of toaster waffles. I’ve made you a list to take to the store.”
Zach demanded a sticker at the top of his lungs. He was past the point of no return, and there was no sense in trying to calm him. I raised my voice to speak over him.
“I can’t go to the store right now,” I said, pulling on my sneakers and coat. “Maybe Vero can take you.”
“But we’re in the middle of arithmetic and toilet training.”
“And we all see how wellthat’sgoing,” Vero said over Zach’s screams.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Haggerty, but I have an emergency I need to handle right now. I’ll take you shopping when I get home.” I kissed each of the kids on their heads in case Nick murdered me and I never got to see them again. “Vero’s in charge,” I told them.
Delia nodded. Zach threw himself on the floor and screamed louder.
Mrs. Haggerty stood in my way as I gathered my purse and keys. “My book club meeting is this evening,” she said. “I’ll need a ride. Cameron was supposed to drive me, but he’s taken my vehicle to the repair shop.”
I fought the urge to offer to drive her off a cliff. But maybe this was serendipitous. I could take Mrs. Haggerty to her book club meeting and Vero could stay behind with the kids and search the house for that missing neighborhood watch diary. If she could find it, that would solve at least one of my problems.
I pasted on a smile as I circumnavigated Mrs. Haggerty. “I’m sure I’ll be back in plenty of time to take you. What book are you all discussing?” Maybe I could cram the CliffsNotes version before the meeting.
“We’re not,” she said bluntly.
Vero raised an eyebrow. “You’re not discussing a book at book club?”
“On Saturdays, we discuss. On Tuesdays, we vote.”
“Vote on what?” Vero asked.
“On the next book, of course! If you let one person choose, you’ll be lucky if anyone else bothers to read it. You end up sitting in an empty room with the host, with nothing to do but complain about your husbands and gossip about the neighbors. Regardless, we’re notaccepting new members, so there’s no point in either of you coming. You can wait in the car.”
I decided not to point out the note her friend had left in my mailbox the other night about joining her club. Apparently, Mrs. Haggerty didn’t want an author who writesthose kinds of bookscramping her style.
“Fine. I’ll drive you to your meeting, and I’ll wait in the car. We’ll stop for groceries on the way home.”
And as soon as I got her out of the house, the hunt for her diary was on.
CHAPTER 17
I’d known I was too late the moment I entered the Fairfax County police station. The duty officer at the desk was turned in his chair, facing the room of officers behind him, his shoulders rocking with laughter. I rapped on the window to get his attention.
“Oh, hey, Finlay,” he said as he tried and failed to quiet the last of his chuckles. I smiled and returned the greeting, trying not to make it obvious that I couldn’t remember his name when I stole a peek at his uniform. Between my frequent visits to this station with Georgia over the years—and, more recently, with Nick—and the week I had spent at the citizen’s police academy, my welcome here was a fair bit warmer than the one I had experienced at Loudoun’s precinct the day before.
“Is Nick here?” I asked, though, judging by the jovial tone of the bullpen behind him, I feared I already knew the answer to that.
“Yep. Some lady is back there with him. She said she came all the way from New York City to meet—and I quote—‘the hot cop named Nick.’” The duty officer’s eyes watered as another laugh burstout of him. “I figured she was one of those crazy stalkers that started showing up here after all that PR last fall. Between the interviews and Nick’s press pictures all over the news, we’ve had women showing up here at all hours wanting to ‘report a crime’ or take selfies with him. I assumed she was one of ’em, but then she said she knew you. I asked Nick if it was okay to send her back. I’m guessing he didn’t know what he was in for when he said yes. This is the most entertainment this department has seen for weeks. Jesus,” the officer said, shaking his head, “I hope Nick doesn’t put my name in for a demotion.” He wiped his eyes, still giggling to himself as he buzzed me in.
My stomach dropped as I opened the door and followed an explosion of laughter to the bullpen. A cluster of young patrol officers stood just inside the entrance, blocking my view. I tapped one of them on the shoulder and nudged my way between them, blanching at the scene on the other side.
Sylvia stood by the watercooler, wearing neon-green stiletto heels and a matching spandex dress that was probably restricting circulation to most of her essential organs. Judging by the amount of cleavage on display, there definitely wasn’t room for any socks in her bra. Her arm was slung around a young cadet. She towered over him, her shoes leaving him at eye level with her chest. She held out her cell phone, asking one of the other uniformed officers to take their picture. She fluffed her hair, gave each of her breasts a vigorous hoist, and ran a finger over the front of her teeth, checking them for lipstick before the camera flashed. Sylvia took her phone back and frowned at the screen.
