Split Second

CHAPTER 6

Hoover Building

Tuesday morning

“Please, Dillon, I can do my job. I want to work; I need to work.”

Savich looked beyond Agent Lucy Carlyle’s pale, composed face, beyond the misery sheening the air around her, to the fierce determination in her eyes. They were a darker blue than Sherlock’s, the color of the Caribbean under a cloudy sky. She looked as neat and puttogether as she always did, her chestnut hair, many different shades after the hot sun of summer, plaited neatly in a thick French braid, and her signature small silver hoops hanging from her ears. Her skin was so pale—was it whiter than usual? Grief, he knew, could leach the color out of you. She was wearing black boots and a white blouse and a black pants suit that looked to be a size too large for her. How much weight had she lost in five days?

He said, “What are you going to do with your dad’s house, Lucy?”

Why did he care? “I’m going to sell it. I’ve decided to sell my condo, too.” She drew a deep breath, spit it out. “I’m going to move into my grandmother’s house.”

This surprised him. Savich had heard about Helen Silverman Carlyle’s huge mansion in Chevy Chase, Maryland, one of those fine old houses built at about the turn of the twentieth century, a barn of a place and a bear to heat, he imagined, in the Maryland winters. She’d been quite the philanthropist, a friend, in fact, of his own very famous grandmother, Sarah Elliott.

“Your grandmother died a while ago, didn’t she?”

“Three years. My dad kept Mr. and Mrs. McGruder on to take care of the house and grounds after she died. They live in town, and checked in with my dad several times a month.” She swallowed, looked down at her boots, frowned because she saw some mud on the toe, then looked up at him again.

“Why are you moving into her house, Lucy?”

Why does he want to know all this stuff ? He can get the truth out of a stalk of asparagus, so keep it simple. “I don’t know, it’s just something that feels right.”

A black eyebrow shot up. “It feels right to you?”

Idiot. He can spot a lie even before it’s out of your mouth. He was simply curious, but now you’ve got him focused on it.

She found a smile. “You’re my boss, Dillon, but I know I can keep some things private; it’s in my job description.”

He smiled back at her. “Point taken. Are you going to need some help moving?”

She shook her head. “I’ll take it slow and easy, move a bit at a time. Please, let me work while I’m doing it.”

“Tell you what, why don’t you work the Black Beret case with Coop in the mornings and take the afternoons off to get yourself moved. It’s a big house, Lucy. Are you sure you want to rattle around in it alone?”

“I grew up in that house. I love it.”

He frowned.

“What are you thinking, Dillon?”

“What? Oh, someone walked on my grave. I had this strange feeling someone else was outside Mr. Patil’s Shop ’n Go when the cops started arriving, but that’s impossible, the cops would have seen anyone out there.

“Now, Lucy, you promise me you’ll holler loud if you need help? With anything?”

Savich watched her walk slowly from his office, after less resistance than he’d expected. It seemed she’d have agreed to anything just to get out of there. There was something going on with Lucy, and he’d bet some fresh grilled corn on the cob it was more than her grief for her father. No, this was something else, and it was connected, somehow, to her grandmother’s house. Too bad his gut wasn’t telling him any more than that. He’d have to keep a close eye on her.

Savich rose and walked to his one big window. It was a cool day, with lots of sun, and there were a good dozen people already eating an early lunch in the park across the street. He felt it again, someone walking on his grave, and he let his mind float back to that night, trying to focus on something or someone who didn’t belong beyond that huge glass window at the Shop ’n Go just as the police arrived, but it was growing fainter in his mind.