THE NEXT MORNING, JACK GRABBED A CUP OF COFFEE ON HIS way out of the hotel. He’d finally reached Taylor around nine last night and had been relieved to hear that Jeremy was staying overnight.
Agatha Moroni lived in a brick colonial on a picturesque street in Towson, Maryland. The magnolia was in bloom and the breeze blew the sweet scent in the air. Spring was Jack’s favorite season—everything coming back to life after the desolation of winter. When he rang the doorbell, he heard the high-pitched barking of what he thought had to be a little dog.
Sure enough, when the inner door opened, a white poodle jumped between a woman and the screen door. The woman, who was wearing a lavender sweater set and tan pants, her hair and makeup perfect, shooed the dog away as she opened the door for Jack.
“Hester, go good place,” she said in a southern accent. The dog gave a final bark and trotted over to a dog bed in the living room, plopping down. Agatha rolled her eyes at Jack. “Sorry about that. He thinks he’s a German shepherd.”
Jack smiled at her. “No worries. I’m a dog lover.” He didn’t mention that he didn’t consider any animal under fifty pounds a real dog. “Thanks again for agreeing to talk to me.”
“Of course. Why don’t we go sit in the kitchen? I’ve just made some coffee.”
He followed her though the marble hallway into a large, bright kitchen with a cozy built-in table by the window.
She poured them each a cup, and Jack took a seat where she had put his saucer.
“Oh goodness, I forgot spoons! Hold on.” Before she’d gotten very far, she turned to look at Jack again. “Would you like cream or sugar?”
“Just black. Thanks.”
She sat across from him but shot up from her seat almost immediately. “The muffins! I swear, if my head weren’t attached . . .” She brought a plate of what looked like homemade muffins over from the counter and placed it on the table. “Oh shoot, no plates.” She started to get up again but Jack put a hand up.
“It’s okay, thanks. The coffee’s all I need.”
She gave him a sheepish smile and sat down, brushing a stray hair from her forehead. “Maggie always used to tell me to slow down. I get a little turned around sometimes.” Her eyes filled with tears and she shook her head. “I still can’t believe she’s gone. It’s unbelievable . . . just unbelievable.”
“Had you known her a long time?” Jack asked.
“Since our sons were in kindergarten. We became best friends.” She shook her head again. “It just doesn’t make any sense. Maggie was the sweetest, most unselfish person I ever met. When I moved here from Atlanta, I didn’t know a soul. She took me right under her wing that first day, when I stood there looking just as lost as last year’s Easter egg.” Agatha sighed and took another sip of her coffee. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do without her. And her poor boy. He saw the whole thing. He’s going to be needing help for a long time.” She looked up at the ceiling for a minute then back at Jack. “I’ve never seen such rage. It was like someone took over her body. And it happened so fast. Sometimes I still think I imagined it.”
Jack gave her a sympathetic nod but his mind was moving a mile a minute. “It must have been horrible.”
“It was the worst thing I’ve ever witnessed. And that poor coach. She kept stabbing him over and over. Like she was possessed.”
Jack was reminded of Dr. Russell’s words describing his wife’s actions.
“Do you know if she ever drank or maybe experimented with any drugs?”
She shrugged. “An occasional glass of wine, but don’t tell Kent that. She had to sneak it from him. He’s a bit of a Goody Two-shoes, if you ask me. Kept a tight rein on that household. But Maggie doing drugs? No way.”
So much for her husband’s assertion that she never touched a drop of alcohol. Jack suddenly wondered if there were marital troubles Dr. Russell had neglected to mention and if Maggie was keeping secrets. She was a nurse, after all; she could easily have had access to drugs. Maybe it was something that had been tampered with that was not widely distributed. Again, Jack thought of the autopsy results he hoped Russell would share.
“Was Maggie happy in her marriage?”
Agatha shrugged. “As happy as anyone. You know, we’re all just trying to do our best, raising the kids, keeping the house. She also had a demanding career. She needed our girls’ nights once in a while. But Kent’s basically a good egg.”
“Is there anything else you can think of? Anything at all that was off or different about her in recent days?” Jack asked.
“No. Nothing.”
“To your knowledge, she wasn’t taking any new medication—prescription or over the counter?”
“Not that I know of.”
He handed her a card. “If you think of anything else, please call me.”
“I will.”
Even though Jack left without any more pertinent information, he was still glad he’d made the visit. It was always good to make a personal connection if possible and made people more likely to reach out if they thought of something else. As he drove away, something bothered him. He was going on the assumption that he’d find a common thread among the incidents, but he wondered if something more sinister was at play. Intentional almost, and his mind drifted back to his thoughts of a mastermind.
He’d go over the files again tomorrow and see if anything stood out, if he’d missed anything. If he got a move on, he might be able to avoid rush hour and get home by three. Tomorrow, he’d set up some more interviews. But tonight, he was looking forward to a quiet family evening.
As he was about to drive off, his phone buzzed and he looked down to see private number. Swiping the screen, he spoke into the phone. “Jack Logan.”
The voice on the other end was breathless. “Jack. Don’t hang up, please.”
He froze, his mind taking a moment to register that it was actually her. “What the hell do you want?”
“I need your help. You’re the only person I can trust.”
He should hang up, tell her to lose his number. While his mind battled, she rushed on.
“Crosse tried to kill me. I’ve been in hiding, but I need my passport. I need to come back. Sybil’s dying. I need to be there for her.”
Her words were like a gut punch. His ex-wife Dakota’s wonderful aunt Sybil was still young, only in her sixties. “What? She’s sick? What is it?”
“Cancer.”
He drew a deep breath. “I’m really sorry to hear that, but you have a lot of nerve asking for my help,” he growled.
“I’m not asking for me. But for Sybil. She’s all alone. I just need you to get my passport from her and get it to me so I can get back into the country.”
“Have someone else get it for you. You can’t seriously expect me to help you.”
“There’s no one else I can trust. Please, Jack. Do you really think I’d come to you if I had any other choice?”
“Where are you?” he asked against his better judgment.
“Mexico.”
He sighed. “Let me think about it. Text me a number where I can reach you.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” He hung up, shaken. Why had he told her he’d think about it? He didn’t owe her a damn thing. But Sybil was a different story. She’d been good to Jack. And Dakota, damn her, knew it would be hard for him to turn his back on Sybil. What would he tell Taylor? There’s no way she’d understand. He put the car in drive and headed back to the hotel. What the hell was he getting himself into now?