Max walked toward the house. Instead of going back through the gate, she looked in the closest window. A door led to a laundry room. The blinds were only partly closed. A faint light was coming from above the kitchen stove on the other side of the laundry room, but she couldn’t make out much of anything in the near-dark.
She needed to get inside. If Marie Richards really was in danger, she could have left in a hurry—or left against her will.
Her car is gone. Would anyone who might do her harm take her car?
If they didn’t want anyone to know she was in trouble. Or grabbed her on the road.
Max slipped on thin leather gloves and was about to pick the lock when she stopped. Considered.
Max rarely hesitated when entering an empty house. She’d done her fair share of sneaking around, and misdemeanors didn’t much bother her. She could generally talk her way out of it on the rare occasions she was caught. But ever since she’d started seeing Ryan, she thought twice about intentionally breaking the law. It seemed odd to her, because she’d dated cops and FBI agents before and not once had her relationship stopped her from pursuing the truth, even when she had to commit a small crime.
She couldn’t do it. While she could talk her way out of trespassing, breaking and entering would be harder. She’d find a way to get inside if she needed to, but not when it was close to midnight. Maybe a welfare check. Rogan had friends in SAPD, he could convince someone to come by.
Resolved, she walked back through the gate just as a flash of light turned down the driveway.
Well, dammit. Her gut had been off and Marie had been out late with her kids.
The lights flicked off, but the car remained idling.
No voices. No kids. No tired mom. A car door opened, the dome light shining in the dark.
Max stayed close to the gate. She didn’t dare move. She stood flat against the house, her low-heeled boots sinking into the mulch, a bush under the laundry room window partly shielding her. If she stepped forward she might be seen—would definitely be seen when the headlights went on.
The door didn’t close at first. The car hummed. She really wanted to look, see if there was a license plate, but she didn’t know if someone was in the car or if it was even Marie Richards.
She had a strong feeling it wasn’t.
Two minutes after the car pulled in, the car door shut. She heard the car slip into reverse at the same time the lights came on.
She held her breath.
The car didn’t move.
Had they seen her? She didn’t think so, but she couldn’t be certain. Who was it? It certainly wasn’t Marie.
Was this some sort of setup? Max couldn’t imagine why Grant would set her up, but she supposed he might not want her investigating his case. Maybe there was something he wanted to hide. Yet— She had made no indication to Grant’s attorney that she would visit Marie tonight. And why say he’d talk to her at all if he didn’t want to? She couldn’t force him to meet with her.
After what seemed like forever but was less than two minutes, the car backed out and drove off.
Max waited a full minute before leaving her hiding spot. She walked briskly down the driveway intending to make a beeline for her car; instead, she looked at the front of the house.
The intruder hadn’t gone in, otherwise she would have heard him entering. He’d been out of the car less than a minute—spent more time sitting in the car after returning. He hadn’t knocked on the door or rung the bell—she would have heard that as well. So what had he been doing on the front porch?
Though there was a mailbox mounted under the numbers of the house, there was also an old-fashioned mail slot in the door. Very common with older homes, and the mail slot was no longer used. She first looked in the mailbox—there was mail. Today was Monday, and Marie hadn’t picked up her mail. Max looked through it—all junk mail, except for two postcards dated late last week with pictures of the Gulf, one addressed to Jason Richards, the other addressed to Kyle Richards, and signed Dad. Each card had the same message:
Great news! My boss invited us to sit in his box for Astros opening day. Mom can come, too, if she wants. Plenty of room.
To Jason he added:
Mom said you want to start baseball in the spring. I’ll be back for six whole weeks starting Thanksgiving morning and we’ll practice every day. Miss you.
To Kyle he added:
Mom said you got straight Excellent marks on your report card except for talking. Ha-ha. That’s great, kid!
Max put the cards and junk mail back. Definitely not a family torn apart after the divorce. Sounded like Marie talked to her ex regularly and he was involved in the kids’ lives. Why the divorce?
What did it matter? People had reasons for their decisions. She didn’t know, and it didn’t matter.
She was just curious.
Had the kids gone to school today? Had Marie gone to work? That might be something she could get if she was sneaky about it, or maybe Rogan had an easier way. Schools were tight-lipped about the privacy of students and teachers.
Because she still wore her gloves she opened the screen and peered through the mail slot. Cautiously. She didn’t know what the stranger was doing here—maybe he’d just checked the mail like she had, determined that Marie hadn’t come home. Then he would know the kids’ names, if he didn’t know them before.
There was a sheet of paper on the floor right in front of the mail slot. The house felt empty. She wanted that paper desperately, but that meant she would have to break in.
What would Ryan do if she got arrested?
She walked back to her car but didn’t leave. She had an idea. Not technically breaking and entering. Possibly a misdemeanor, if she was caught. But she was willing to take the risk.
Max always kept a variety of useful tools in her oversized purse, especially when she was working an investigation. But, damn, she didn’t have duct tape. Why hadn’t she brought it?
Because you haven’t been in the field lately.
She dug around her bag and found a pack of gum. She didn’t like gum and never chewed it for pleasure. She only carried it for situations like this.
She stuck two pieces in her mouth and grimaced at the burst of sickly sweet flavor that invaded her taste buds. While she chewed, she searched for a string. She had none. Why didn’t she carry string? She felt like she was losing all the skills she’d spent more than a decade acquiring.
She remembered seeing a first-aid kit in the glove compartment box when she tossed in the rental forms at the airport. She pulled it out and searched for gauze. There was one pad, but it was multi-layered. Unfolded, it was about three feet long. She rolled it lengthwise so it made a three-foot-long rope. She needed something heavy to weight it down. She looked at the car fob in her hand … if she lost it through the mail slot, she’d be in real trouble. Instead, she pulled out her personal house keys and tied one end around the loop. If she lost those, she could more easily get them replaced.
She walked briskly back to Marie’s house. Without hesitating, she stuck the gum onto one of her keys, molding it around to better hold, then she slipped the weighted end through the mail slot.
She swung it back and forth until it was over the paper, then let it drop. She dragged it toward her, sliding the paper across the floor. When it was right by the door, she slowly pulled it up. As soon as the paper reached the slot, she put her gloved fingers through and grabbed it.