card was pinned to the corkboard. Beside it, on a scrap of paper, were Joe’s name and number, scrawled in Lia’s handwriting.
Penny eyed the information as she dialed Hannah’s number. How had Lia gotten their neighbor’s number, and why?
The agent’s phone bumped her over to voice mail, and Penny left a concise but shaken message, requesting Hannah to call her back.
She hung up and waited, suddenly conscious of how dark and quiet her house was. What if she wasn’t alone? She strained her ears and listened. A muted sound seemed to come from upstairs.
Fear had her snatching the phone up a second time. She tapped out Joe’s number, refusing to ask herself why she was calling him, of all people.
“Montgomery.”
Just the sound of his voice sent warmth rushing through her. “Hi, this is Penny. I know you’re busy, but can you come over for a sec?”
His leather sofa creaked. “What’s wrong?” he asked, obviously picking up on her fright.
“I want you to hear something on my message machine.”
“Be right there.”
She dashed to the porch to wait for him, too rattled to put away her groceries.
Joe found Penny standing on her front porch, trying not to wring her hands. Her enormous eyes hit him like a punch in the gut. “What happened?” he asked again.
“Come inside. I want you to hear this.” Casting a wary glance up her staircase, she led the way to the kitchen, where groceries had yet to be put away. She ignored them, pushing a button on her wall phone.
Joe listened to heavy breathing and then a panic-stricken message, while Penny wrapped her arms around herself.
“He admitted to killing my father,” she marveled, when the message came to an end. “That’s all the proof we need.” She was trying to sound cool, like the call hadn’t rattled her, but she didn’t fool him.
“This is the guy who’s been harassing you,” Joe guessed, forbearing to mention that the caller hadn’t admitted to killing anyone.
“My father’s former colleague,” she confirmed, “the one who sold the ricin to terrorists, we think.”
“And then murdered your father,” he added, for clarification.
“Yes.”
“I thought you said the FBI was working on this.”
“They are. I just called the agent in charge of the case and left a message. Hopefully she’ll call me right back.”
“I’m sure she will.” Her wide-eyed vulnerability made her look especially feminine, as did her civilian clothing—soft, faded jeans and a stretchy pink sweater that highlighted her perfect little breasts.
“I’m glad Ophelia wasn’t home to take this call,” Penny said breathlessly. “She would have totally freaked out. But hey, now we have we have his recorded confession. That should help speed up his arrest.”
Her quick chatter betrayed agitation. On instinct, Joe stepped forward and offered her a reassuring squeeze. “He’ll be out of the picture in no time,” he comforted.
He didn’t mean the hug to be personal, but it unsettled her enough to blurt, “So how was your trip?”
“Good,” he said, letting his arms fall. “I’m glad I went.” He could actually breathe again. Yes, some awful things happened that night, but he didn’t need to blame himself entirely.
“Thanks for carving the pumpkins,” she told him, with a wry little smile that drew his gaze to her full mouth.
“No problem.” A current of awareness passed between them. “You, uh, you want me to have a look around?” Joe offered. “Make sure nobody’s lurking upstairs?”
“Would you?” She sounded relieved.
“Sure.”
He poked his head around the first floor, then took the stairs two at a time as Penny trailed behind. He peered into closets and under beds, taking silent but approving note of the understated traditional decor. Her bedroom was tidy and neat, filled with a light, rosy fragrance. The room Ophelia used was a wreck.
“All clear,” he said, having assured himself that she was home alone.
They
Penny eyed the information as she dialed Hannah’s number. How had Lia gotten their neighbor’s number, and why?
The agent’s phone bumped her over to voice mail, and Penny left a concise but shaken message, requesting Hannah to call her back.
She hung up and waited, suddenly conscious of how dark and quiet her house was. What if she wasn’t alone? She strained her ears and listened. A muted sound seemed to come from upstairs.
Fear had her snatching the phone up a second time. She tapped out Joe’s number, refusing to ask herself why she was calling him, of all people.
“Montgomery.”
Just the sound of his voice sent warmth rushing through her. “Hi, this is Penny. I know you’re busy, but can you come over for a sec?”
His leather sofa creaked. “What’s wrong?” he asked, obviously picking up on her fright.
“I want you to hear something on my message machine.”
“Be right there.”
She dashed to the porch to wait for him, too rattled to put away her groceries.
Joe found Penny standing on her front porch, trying not to wring her hands. Her enormous eyes hit him like a punch in the gut. “What happened?” he asked again.
“Come inside. I want you to hear this.” Casting a wary glance up her staircase, she led the way to the kitchen, where groceries had yet to be put away. She ignored them, pushing a button on her wall phone.
Joe listened to heavy breathing and then a panic-stricken message, while Penny wrapped her arms around herself.
“He admitted to killing my father,” she marveled, when the message came to an end. “That’s all the proof we need.” She was trying to sound cool, like the call hadn’t rattled her, but she didn’t fool him.
“This is the guy who’s been harassing you,” Joe guessed, forbearing to mention that the caller hadn’t admitted to killing anyone.
“My father’s former colleague,” she confirmed, “the one who sold the ricin to terrorists, we think.”
“And then murdered your father,” he added, for clarification.
“Yes.”
“I thought you said the FBI was working on this.”
“They are. I just called the agent in charge of the case and left a message. Hopefully she’ll call me right back.”
“I’m sure she will.” Her wide-eyed vulnerability made her look especially feminine, as did her civilian clothing—soft, faded jeans and a stretchy pink sweater that highlighted her perfect little breasts.
“I’m glad Ophelia wasn’t home to take this call,” Penny said breathlessly. “She would have totally freaked out. But hey, now we have we have his recorded confession. That should help speed up his arrest.”
Her quick chatter betrayed agitation. On instinct, Joe stepped forward and offered her a reassuring squeeze. “He’ll be out of the picture in no time,” he comforted.
He didn’t mean the hug to be personal, but it unsettled her enough to blurt, “So how was your trip?”
“Good,” he said, letting his arms fall. “I’m glad I went.” He could actually breathe again. Yes, some awful things happened that night, but he didn’t need to blame himself entirely.
“Thanks for carving the pumpkins,” she told him, with a wry little smile that drew his gaze to her full mouth.
“No problem.” A current of awareness passed between them. “You, uh, you want me to have a look around?” Joe offered. “Make sure nobody’s lurking upstairs?”
“Would you?” She sounded relieved.
“Sure.”
He poked his head around the first floor, then took the stairs two at a time as Penny trailed behind. He peered into closets and under beds, taking silent but approving note of the understated traditional decor. Her bedroom was tidy and neat, filled with a light, rosy fragrance. The room Ophelia used was a wreck.
“All clear,” he said, having assured himself that she was home alone.
They
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