Cry Mercy (4 page)

She turned the mug around to see which of Trula's pithy sayings she'd gotten that morning.
The truth is rarely pure and never simple
.

Amen to that.

“I did.” Trula took a seat without waiting to be offered one. “So … I'm waiting.”

“For? …” Mallory took a bite of muffin and smiled. “Delicious. You could package these and sell them and make big bucks, Trula.”

“Don't change the subject. You know what for.”

“You don't take no for an answer very often, do you.” It wasn't a question.

“Not if I can help it.”

Mallory sighed, resigned.

“I got a call this morning from one of the applicants for the investigator job.”

“So? That's what you wanted. That's why we went through that whole press conference thing and did the website. What's the problem? Is the applicant unqualified?”

“No. She appears to be as qualified as most, I guess. Some may be better, some may be not as. Her qualifications aren't the problem.”

“So?”

“So she's in Conroy and she wants an interview.”

“Again,” Trula sighed, “I say, so?”

“So she was a cop in California. She applied online the day the application was posted, quit her job, packed it all up, drove east, and is counting on us hiring her.”

“Do I have to repeat myself a fourth time?”

“So who does that?” Mallory frowned. “Who quits their job and drives across the country, demands an interview for a job she may not get?”

“Asked or demanded?”

“Asked. But I had the feeling if I'd said no, she'd have begged until I said I'd see her.”

“When is she coming in?”

“This afternoon. I told her I could see her around two.”

“Doesn't give you much time to check her references.”

“I already did that. Actually, I do a preliminary
check of the ones who look qualified as soon as I get the app. If I know up front that someone isn't going to be a contender, that's one less interview I have to arrange.”

“Did she check out?”

Robert wandered in and took the chair next to Trula's.

“Did who check out?” he asked.

Mallory filled him in on the conversation thus far.

“So did she?” Trula repeated.

“She did. Actually, her former boss gave her a glowing reference.” Mallory took a sip of coffee. “It was as if she couldn't say enough about her. I can't explain why, but it just sounded … I don't know, too pat or something.”

“Why's that?” asked Susanna, who'd been listening at the doorway.

“You're chief of police in a town not far from the Mexican border. One of your best officers quits the force with no notice—I mean, how much notice could she have given? The application just went online two weeks ago, and this woman is already here after having driven from California. And yet you still give her the highest possible recommendation? You never mention the fact that she left you high and dry and a man short?” Mallory shook her head. “Something about that just isn't sitting right with me.”

“So maybe after you talk to her, you'll have an idea why.” Robert stood and stretched. “I trust your instincts, Mal. It's up to you whether or not to hire her.”

“Well, I'd sure like to have an opportunity to interview some of the competition.”

“There isn't going to be a whole lot of time to deliberate. If it looks like she can't cut it, cross her off the list and go on to the next one. We're going to need staff pronto.”

“We're going to need the
right
staff,” Mallory reminded him. “You want the best person for the job, not just
any
investigator.”

“True enough. But you can't tell me that in that entire bunch of applicants you can't find someone who fits the bill who can start really soon. We set the first of the month as our deadline to kick off that first case, and the first is closing in on us very quickly,” he pointed out. “Kevin will be here late this afternoon and we'll be deciding which case gets the privilege of being number one.”

“I have it down to three,” Mallory told him. “The write-ups are on your desk.” She turned to Susanna. “Yours, too.”

“I already read through them. Interesting. A little something there for everyone,” Susanna remarked.

“How many submissions did we get?” Robert asked.

“Six hundred and twelve,” Mallory told him.

“How did you cut them down to three?”

“Wasn't easy.”

“I should go take a look.” Robert stood. “Did Kevin get copies, Mal?”

“I faxed them to the church office this morning.”

“Well, then, I'll leave this other thing—the possibly overzealous applicant—in your hands,” Robert said as he left the room.

Mallory turned to Susanna, who shrugged and said, “Like Robert said, it's up to you. But we will
need to hire someone soon. Over six hundred submissions in two weeks? Craziness.” She followed Robert out the door.

Mallory turned to Trula.

“Don't look at me. I'm just the cook.”

“My ass.”

Smiling, Trula stood and picked up the crumpled napkin and the empty mug.

“Lunch is in thirty minutes.”

Emme stopped in front of the ornate iron gates that shut off Robert Magellan's estate from the rest of the world. She put the car in park and stared at the guard who was walking toward her.

“Can I help you, miss?” he asked.

“Is this Robert Magellan's? …”

He nodded.

“I have an appointment with Mallory Russo.”

“Ms. Caldwell?”

It took a split second for her to realize he was addressing
her
. “Yes.”

“You're expected.” He smiled and returned to the small booth he'd been sitting in. “Go on through and follow the drive to the circle on the right. You can leave your car there. Someone will meet you at the door.”

“Thanks.”

More curious than ever, she drove through the opening gates.

“Mommy, is this a castle?” Chloe asked from the backseat. “Are we going to see a prince?”

“Sort of,” Emme mumbled and followed the guard's instructions to the front door.

“Who lives here, Mommy?”

“A very wealthy man who puts his money to good use to help people who have problems.”

“I have problems,” Chloe told her. “I don't have a school.”

“Not that kind of problem, sweetie.”

“What kind?”

“He helps to find people who are lost.”

“Do you think he could help me find Bobo?” One of Chloe's favorite stuffed animals had been inadvertently left behind when her mother had grabbed a few cherished items from Chloe's room.

“I think he only looks for people.”

“Bobo was people,” she heard Chloe whisper.

When they reached the circle, Emme parked and got out, and couldn't help but stare at the Tudor mansion that seemed to go on forever.

“I bet a princess lives here too.” Chloe unbuckled her seat belt and eagerly jumped from the car without waiting for assistance. “Will I get to see her?”

“There's no princess, sweetie,” her mother said as she took her hand. Together they started toward the front door.

It opened almost immediately. A woman of indeterminable age stood at the threshold. She was dressed in a denim skirt that had faded from too many washings, a blue chambray shirt with the sleeves rolled to her elbows, and a bright red apron dotted with spots of flour here and there. White tennis sneakers worn without socks were on her feet, her white hair was wrapped into a bun at the nape of her neck, and her glasses sat upon the very end of her nose.

“Come in, Emme Caldwell.” She gestured with one
hand. Seeing Chloe, her eyebrows raised almost to her hairline. “And who might this be?”

“This is Chloe, my daughter.” Emme's words began to pour out in a rush. “I'm sorry, I know it's highly unusual to bring a child to an interview like this but we just arrived in town last night and I couldn't leave her in the hotel. I probably should have mentioned it when I spoke with Ms. Russo. I promise she won't be a bother to anyone. She's very well behaved. She has a coloring book and her crayons and she can sit on the floor outside the office while I meet with Ms. Russo.”

“Nonsense.” The woman shut the door behind them. “Chloe can give me a hand in the kitchen. Do you like to bake, Chloe?”

“I baked cookies one time for Mr. Pendergast. He lived next door to us and he had his …” Chloe frowned and tugged on her mother's hand. “What did the doctor take out of his stomach?”

“His appendix.” Emme stood in the vast entry and fought the urge to gape at the paintings that lined the walls. They all looked authentic.

“That.” Chloe stared up at the woman in the apron. “What's your name?”

“Trula.”

“Like truly, only not?”

“Exactly.” The woman smiled at Emme. “Mallory knows you're here. Her office is the third door down this hall on the left. Chloe and I will be in the kitchen when you're finished. Don't feel the need to rush. Cookies take time.”

Emme prayed that Chloe would remember the conversation they'd had several nights ago—and every
night since—about their new last name. Convincing Chloe that her name was now Caldwell, not Nolan, and that her mother's first name was now Emme, not Ann, had not been as much as a trial as she'd feared.

“Why, Mommy? Did my name change because I moved?” she'd asked the night before.

“No. It's because …” Emme had tried to come up with something plausible. “It's sort of like a game, sweetie.”

Even to Emme, that sounded beyond lame.

“That's a silly game.”

“I know.” Emme sighed, trying to come up with something better. How to explain to a child that it was a matter of life and death?

“Do you like the way it sounds better?” Chloe had asked, saving her.

“I do.”

“I do, too.” Chloe had begun to sing, ad nauseam, “Chloe Caldwell, Chloe Caldwell, Chloe Caldwell …”

Nice of her to have bailed her mother out on that one. Emme still didn't know what reason she'd have ended up giving for the change, but was grateful not to have had to go that route.

She cleared her throat and smoothed the lapels of the white shirt she'd ironed in the hotel room just an hour ago. With some trepidation she watched Chloe disappear into the kitchen with the older woman—the cook? the housekeeper?—and wondered at the wisdom of permitting Chloe to go off into this huge house with a total stranger, however benign and grandmotherly she might have appeared.
Surely it would be okay
, she told herself. Would Robert Magellan
have someone of questionable character working in his home?

The kitchen door closed with a whoosh that was audible even at this distance. She was half-tempted to follow, just to make sure, when a tall, good-looking man with dark hair stepped into the hall from a door at the very end.

“Oh.” He seemed surprised to see her. He glanced at his watch. “Two o'clock. You're here for Mallory.”

He took several steps forward and rapped on a closed door before pushing it open.

“Mal, your appointment is here.”

“Thank you.” Emme had expected to be nervous—she generally wasn't nervous by nature—but suddenly the import of where she was and what she was doing hit her. She started down the hall in his direction. “You're Mr. Magellan, aren't you?”

“Robert.” He nodded, then as an afterthought, extended his hand. “It's Robert. You must be … ah …”

“Emme Caldwell.”

“Yes. Right.” He gestured in the direction of the office. “Mallory?”

“Yes. I'm here.” A pretty blond woman appeared in the doorway. “Come in, Emme.”

The woman stood aside for Emme to enter, then turned to Robert and asked, “Did you want to sit in?”

“No, no.” He appeared horrified at the thought. “Your job. Your decision. It's in your hands.”

“Right. I'll see you later then.” Mallory closed the door behind her. “I am Mallory Russo, by the way. We spoke on the phone.”

“Yes. I should apologize for the short notice.”

Mallory pointed to a chair and Emme sat.

“I have to admit I was surprised to hear you were in Conroy,” Mallory said as she seated herself behind her desk. “I haven't had time to finish reviewing all of the applicants and as you can imagine, we need to vet—”

“I do understand,” Emme told her. “I've been thinking about moving east for some time now, but when I saw your press conference and then went to your website, I thought the foundation was worth looking into. You said you were looking for good investigators, I was looking to make a move in this direction and I was going to need a job. I figured, why wait?”

Emme smiled as if there was no need to state the obvious.

“We're looking for the best in the business.”

“I believe I qualify. If you check with my former chief of police—”

“I already did that,” Mallory cut her off. “She gave you the highest recommendation. But you understand, we have hundreds of applicants for this position.”

“I was under the impression that there were a number of positions open. Mr. Magellan's press conference seemed to imply that he was looking for more than one investigator.” Was Mallory always this cool, this businesslike to everyone, or has she simply taken an immediate dislike to me? Emme wondered. “And that he was very eager to take on that first case.”

“That he is,” Mallory conceded. “But Robert has never worked in law enforcement, and he might not
be the best person to judge an applicant's qualifications.”

“Then by all means, let's talk about mine.” Emme settled back, her elbows resting casually on the arms of the chair, and put on her most confident air.

For the next hour, they discussed Emme's training, number of years with the Silver Hills force—seven—and her previous work experience. Mallory appeared to be impressed that Emme had started with the police department as a records clerk right out of high school while taking courses at the local community college. From there, she'd gone on to the police academy, and last year had been sent for special training at the FBI Academy. They talked about the number of cases she'd taken lead on, percentage of cases solved, the number and type of professional courses she'd taken since graduating from the police academy.

“How many homicides have you worked on?” Mallory asked.

“I'd have to go year to year to count them up. I'd say we had roughly a dozen of what I'd consider routine homicides over the past twelve months. That includes domestics, killings that occurred while committing other crimes, hit and runs, and so forth. And then we have the situation where, Silver Hills being very close to the Mexican border, we have significant drug traffic, with the accompanying thugs sliding back and forth between the two countries. It's not unusual to find bodies in the desert or in the mountains right outside of town. The state does pitch in on those, however.”