OUR TWO DEAD soon became three, when Charlotte Nicholson, her face blue, the body still warm, turned up in the Pontiac’s trunk.
Tony Nicholson and his presumed girlfriend, Mara Kelly, were both mute except to say that they hadn’t done anything wrong and they had no idea who the dead men were. That’s as much as we got before the FBI took them into custody.
By now, the response team had swelled to three Bureau cars, Alexandria police, EMTs, and the local sheriff’s department. As soon as I could, I called Bree to check in.
That’s when I realized that my phone had been off for hours—ever since the sweep at the private club out in Culpeper. When I turned it on, there were three voice mails waiting—all from Bree.
Right away I got nervous.
I listened to the first message. “Hey, it’s me. Listen, the doctors are concerned about Nana’s kidney function. They say her fluid levels aren’t what they should be. There’s no prognosis yet, but you should give me a call. Love you.”
I turned toward my car now and started walking, not at all sure I wanted to hear the second message.
“Alex, it’s Bree. I tried the Bureau, but nobody seems to know where you are. I don’t have Ned’s cell. I’m not sure what else to do. Nana isn’t good. I hope you get this soon.”
I was running, but the third message nearly stopped me cold on the spot.
“Alex, where are you? I hate to leave this on your phone, but… Nana’s gone into a coma. I’m going back in now, so you won’t be able to reach me anymore. Get here as soon as you can.”