blaming you, or anything?” Charley said.
“No, she rarely puts herself first.” Without warning tears reappeared on her cheeks. Mrs. Ingram grabbed Murphy’s hand with both of hers. In an emotional outburst, she threw her arms around his shoulders. “Are you married? Do you have children?”
Wide-eyed, peering over her shoulder, he searched for Charley. His hands didn’t touch the distraught woman. As she clung to him, Charley signaled to Murphy, showing how he should comfort Mrs. Ingram by patting her shoulder.
Murphy tapped Mrs. Ingram’s back. His eyes focused on Charley as if to ask for help or forgiveness, Charley wasn’t sure which. She gave him an accepting nod.
“No, ma’am, to both questions,” he said.
Mrs. Ingram released her embrace, squeezed his shoulders, and shook him as if he was a fretful child. “Piece of advice, marry for love, not security. I realize Olivia is a product of infidelity. I didn’t know he was married until I told him I was pregnant.”
“Good advice. Thank you.”
Mrs. Ingram lowered her head and wiped her eyes with the back of her hands.
After Murphy recuperated, he took her hand. “Mrs. Ingram, you aren’t at fault for their behavior.” He released her hand, stood, and joined Charley at her seat. “Agent Faraday, you ready to go upstairs?”
Charmed by Murphy’s behavior, the pupils of Charley’s eyes enlarged as she stood. “Yes.”
Murphy and Charley took the stairs to the small interior foyer. They discovered a sizable master bedroom to the right and a modest guest room. On the left, the door to Olivia’s room, and a full bath.
Once inside the child’s bedroom, Charley and Murphy placed vinyl gloves over their hands.
A typical young girl’s room, decorated in shades of red and pink. Across from the door, the closed mini-blinds covered a double window with a desk extended along the wall to the corner. Stacked on the desktop, next to an easel, were small, multicolored, plastic storage bins containing art supplies. An unfinished piece of art stood neglected.
Beyond the desk on the dresser, Olivia’s crumpled teal shirt. Charley held it to her nose. “She uses peach bath wash.”
With a tight grip on the shirt, Charley stepped over to the full-sized bed pushed against the wall. She sat on the edge, eyeing the space above. “Oh, wow, the ceiling has glow stars. I love those. I wish it were dark.”
Murphy sat next to her, absorbing her smile. “What are you doing?”
“I’m trying for a sense of Olivia. There’s so little here.”
“We’ve gone from one extreme to the next in little girls’ bedrooms.”
“Olivia was here last night. What did she do? Read? Draw?” She rose from the bed, placed the shirt on the dresser and headed for the closet door. “I’ll take a look in the closet.” Charley opened the door, everything was in its place and color coordinated. “Is Olivia OCD, or her mother?”
“Both?”
“Possible.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Say goodbye to Mrs. Ingram.”
Murphy gazed across the room. “Wait a second, her painting, it’s sad.”
Charley turned, faced the artwork, and swiped the edge with her fingertip. “She painted this last night. Good job with the lightening streaks.” Her finger hovered over the canvas and stopped. “Across the water, there’s a light. Not sure from what.”
“The trees are bare, it’s eerie.”
“Yeah, it does. Too bad it’s unfinished, or maybe not.”
“What do you mean?”
“Olivia’s last piece of artwork.” Charley’s dismal expression captured his eyes. “I hope she comes home to finish the painting.”
Murphy dropped his head. “Let’s hope.”
∞ ∞ ∞
Mrs. Ingram waited for them in the den. “Did you find anything helpful?”
“No,” Charley said. “Your daughter is tidy.”
Mrs. Ingram lowered her head. “Like me, always in control.”
“Olivia’s bracelet, she wore it on which wrist?” Murphy said.
Mrs. Ingram looked at her arms,
“No, she rarely puts herself first.” Without warning tears reappeared on her cheeks. Mrs. Ingram grabbed Murphy’s hand with both of hers. In an emotional outburst, she threw her arms around his shoulders. “Are you married? Do you have children?”
Wide-eyed, peering over her shoulder, he searched for Charley. His hands didn’t touch the distraught woman. As she clung to him, Charley signaled to Murphy, showing how he should comfort Mrs. Ingram by patting her shoulder.
Murphy tapped Mrs. Ingram’s back. His eyes focused on Charley as if to ask for help or forgiveness, Charley wasn’t sure which. She gave him an accepting nod.
“No, ma’am, to both questions,” he said.
Mrs. Ingram released her embrace, squeezed his shoulders, and shook him as if he was a fretful child. “Piece of advice, marry for love, not security. I realize Olivia is a product of infidelity. I didn’t know he was married until I told him I was pregnant.”
“Good advice. Thank you.”
Mrs. Ingram lowered her head and wiped her eyes with the back of her hands.
After Murphy recuperated, he took her hand. “Mrs. Ingram, you aren’t at fault for their behavior.” He released her hand, stood, and joined Charley at her seat. “Agent Faraday, you ready to go upstairs?”
Charmed by Murphy’s behavior, the pupils of Charley’s eyes enlarged as she stood. “Yes.”
Murphy and Charley took the stairs to the small interior foyer. They discovered a sizable master bedroom to the right and a modest guest room. On the left, the door to Olivia’s room, and a full bath.
Once inside the child’s bedroom, Charley and Murphy placed vinyl gloves over their hands.
A typical young girl’s room, decorated in shades of red and pink. Across from the door, the closed mini-blinds covered a double window with a desk extended along the wall to the corner. Stacked on the desktop, next to an easel, were small, multicolored, plastic storage bins containing art supplies. An unfinished piece of art stood neglected.
Beyond the desk on the dresser, Olivia’s crumpled teal shirt. Charley held it to her nose. “She uses peach bath wash.”
With a tight grip on the shirt, Charley stepped over to the full-sized bed pushed against the wall. She sat on the edge, eyeing the space above. “Oh, wow, the ceiling has glow stars. I love those. I wish it were dark.”
Murphy sat next to her, absorbing her smile. “What are you doing?”
“I’m trying for a sense of Olivia. There’s so little here.”
“We’ve gone from one extreme to the next in little girls’ bedrooms.”
“Olivia was here last night. What did she do? Read? Draw?” She rose from the bed, placed the shirt on the dresser and headed for the closet door. “I’ll take a look in the closet.” Charley opened the door, everything was in its place and color coordinated. “Is Olivia OCD, or her mother?”
“Both?”
“Possible.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Say goodbye to Mrs. Ingram.”
Murphy gazed across the room. “Wait a second, her painting, it’s sad.”
Charley turned, faced the artwork, and swiped the edge with her fingertip. “She painted this last night. Good job with the lightening streaks.” Her finger hovered over the canvas and stopped. “Across the water, there’s a light. Not sure from what.”
“The trees are bare, it’s eerie.”
“Yeah, it does. Too bad it’s unfinished, or maybe not.”
“What do you mean?”
“Olivia’s last piece of artwork.” Charley’s dismal expression captured his eyes. “I hope she comes home to finish the painting.”
Murphy dropped his head. “Let’s hope.”
∞ ∞ ∞
Mrs. Ingram waited for them in the den. “Did you find anything helpful?”
“No,” Charley said. “Your daughter is tidy.”
Mrs. Ingram lowered her head. “Like me, always in control.”
“Olivia’s bracelet, she wore it on which wrist?” Murphy said.
Mrs. Ingram looked at her arms,
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