eyes narrowed a bit in a smile, erasing the squint lines.
“Yes, she shows Megan how to, what did you call it?” Patience put her hands in the air. “Pat-a-cake?”
“Oh, I don’t know what you call it. Just …” She put her hands up and clapped them to Megan’s again. “Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack, all dressed in black, black, black. With silver buttons, buttons, buttons, all down her back, back, back.” Megan squealed with delight.
Quinn laughed. “I remember the girls doing that in elementary school.”
Patience took a pale blue cotton cardigan sweater from the couch and smiled at them. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Tim.” She said his name very deliberately, as though she was trying to prove something.
“It was nice to meet you,” Sweeney told her.
“Yes.” She smiled in a sly sort of way that involved her eyebrows. “You as well.”
Sweeney shot him an inquiring look once Patience was gone.
“I’ve been trying to get her to stop calling me Mr. Quinn,” he explained. “But now she calls me Tim in this way that makes me wish I’d never brought it up.”
“She seems great, though. She’s amazing with Megan.”
“Oh, yeah. I couldn’t ask for anyone better.”
There was an awkward silence that was filled by Megan asking to be picked up. Quinn lifted her into his lap and sat her on the end of his knee, bouncing her up and down.
“So, have you had a good summer?” Sweeney asked, not quite ready to get to the point.
“Yeah. Busy. I took a week off, though, and Megan and I went to the Cape. It was nice, kinda weird being there by myself with her with all the families around, but it was okay. She loved the beach.”
“Good.” Sweeney looked around the room. He’d changed it since the last time she’d been here, but she wasn’t sure how. It seemed neater, less cluttered, toys and books piled into baskets nextto the couch. The wall over the fireplace was nearly filled by a large picture of Megan, posed smiling in front of an obviously fake background of bright flowers. “You’re probably wondering why I’m here,” she said finally.
He looked embarrassed, then stood up and said, “Kinda. Hey, you want to go for a walk? It’s hot in here.”
“It’s hotter outside.” She looked up and found that he was nervous, so she stood up. “Okay. We might as well.”
He got Megan strapped into her stroller and they headed out into the humid evening. A couple of boys were playing soccer in one of the postage stamp front yards along the street. As they passed, the ball shot out at them and Sweeney stopped to toss it back. The air smelled of summer, of rotting fruit, of Popsicles, of grass. Quinn was wearing khakis and a navy polo shirt, but he’d changed into flip-flops and she could see the tan lines along his feet. Looking at him in profile, it struck her that he was tired.
“Okay,” Sweeney said. “So there’s something I want to ask you about. It may be nothing. I don’t know.” As they walked, she told him about her exhibit and the missing collar, and then about Karen Philips and the art heist.
When she was done, he just looked confused.
“So …?” He raised his eyebrows skeptically at her.
“So …” Now that she had to explain her suspicions to him, she realized she couldn’t put them into words. “So doesn’t it seem strange to you that, I don’t know, that all these things happened around the same time? That she worked on this collar, that she was there when the museum was robbed, that the collar has disappeared from the museum, and that she killed herself? Doesn’t that seem strange to you, when I say it like that?”
Quinn looked pained. “Sweeney, I was at the scene of a murder yesterday, then I came home and discovered one of my knives missing, then when I went out to my car today, someone had keyed the passenger side door. Does that seem strange to you, when I put it all together like that? What do you think? That she had something todo with the robbery
“Yes, she shows Megan how to, what did you call it?” Patience put her hands in the air. “Pat-a-cake?”
“Oh, I don’t know what you call it. Just …” She put her hands up and clapped them to Megan’s again. “Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack, all dressed in black, black, black. With silver buttons, buttons, buttons, all down her back, back, back.” Megan squealed with delight.
Quinn laughed. “I remember the girls doing that in elementary school.”
Patience took a pale blue cotton cardigan sweater from the couch and smiled at them. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Tim.” She said his name very deliberately, as though she was trying to prove something.
“It was nice to meet you,” Sweeney told her.
“Yes.” She smiled in a sly sort of way that involved her eyebrows. “You as well.”
Sweeney shot him an inquiring look once Patience was gone.
“I’ve been trying to get her to stop calling me Mr. Quinn,” he explained. “But now she calls me Tim in this way that makes me wish I’d never brought it up.”
“She seems great, though. She’s amazing with Megan.”
“Oh, yeah. I couldn’t ask for anyone better.”
There was an awkward silence that was filled by Megan asking to be picked up. Quinn lifted her into his lap and sat her on the end of his knee, bouncing her up and down.
“So, have you had a good summer?” Sweeney asked, not quite ready to get to the point.
“Yeah. Busy. I took a week off, though, and Megan and I went to the Cape. It was nice, kinda weird being there by myself with her with all the families around, but it was okay. She loved the beach.”
“Good.” Sweeney looked around the room. He’d changed it since the last time she’d been here, but she wasn’t sure how. It seemed neater, less cluttered, toys and books piled into baskets nextto the couch. The wall over the fireplace was nearly filled by a large picture of Megan, posed smiling in front of an obviously fake background of bright flowers. “You’re probably wondering why I’m here,” she said finally.
He looked embarrassed, then stood up and said, “Kinda. Hey, you want to go for a walk? It’s hot in here.”
“It’s hotter outside.” She looked up and found that he was nervous, so she stood up. “Okay. We might as well.”
He got Megan strapped into her stroller and they headed out into the humid evening. A couple of boys were playing soccer in one of the postage stamp front yards along the street. As they passed, the ball shot out at them and Sweeney stopped to toss it back. The air smelled of summer, of rotting fruit, of Popsicles, of grass. Quinn was wearing khakis and a navy polo shirt, but he’d changed into flip-flops and she could see the tan lines along his feet. Looking at him in profile, it struck her that he was tired.
“Okay,” Sweeney said. “So there’s something I want to ask you about. It may be nothing. I don’t know.” As they walked, she told him about her exhibit and the missing collar, and then about Karen Philips and the art heist.
When she was done, he just looked confused.
“So …?” He raised his eyebrows skeptically at her.
“So …” Now that she had to explain her suspicions to him, she realized she couldn’t put them into words. “So doesn’t it seem strange to you that, I don’t know, that all these things happened around the same time? That she worked on this collar, that she was there when the museum was robbed, that the collar has disappeared from the museum, and that she killed herself? Doesn’t that seem strange to you, when I say it like that?”
Quinn looked pained. “Sweeney, I was at the scene of a murder yesterday, then I came home and discovered one of my knives missing, then when I went out to my car today, someone had keyed the passenger side door. Does that seem strange to you, when I put it all together like that? What do you think? That she had something todo with the robbery
Similar Books
