Chapter Thirty-Four

When the detective identified himself, Margo’s shoulders dropped. She moved to one side, holding the door open. “You’d better come in.”

His nostrils flared, the young man appeared to hesitate an instant then stepped over the threshold. Just inside the door, he stopped and looked around before turning to face Margo and Cleg.

Margo surreptitiously eyed him as his eyes darted around the living room, taking in every detail. Her stomach dropped even further, and her face froze as if suddenly turned to concrete. There had to be some way to spin the mess, some way to keep her in the clear.

She closed the door, moving slowly to allow her frantic mind time to come up with a suitable explanation. How much did this guy know and how much was he just guessing?

Margo led the detective into the living room, Cleg rattling after them. She indicated the sofa. “Please have a seat. Can I get you something to drink? Water? Coffee?”

The detective shook his head. “No thanks.” He remained standing. “You say you were just leaving to look for Jillie?”

Cleg’s eyes widened and his whining voice climbed up the scale. “We haven’t…We didn’t actually—”

Margo shot a censorious look at her spouse. Diarrhea of the mouth, that’d always been Cleg’s problem. No connection between his brain and his pie-hole.

Her voice cut through his rambling like a scythe through tall grass. “Maybe we made a mistake by not contacting someone earlier.” She pasted a contrite look on her face. “But the child has been through so much lately, we just thought she wanted some time to herself.”

Detective Ruiz’s upper lip curled a bit. “She’s only eleven years old.”

“Actually, she’ll be twelve in a few weeks.” At the look that flashed across the detective’s face, Margo lifted her hand, palm upward. “But I can see now that we might have been—”

“I’d like to see her room, if I may.” When Margo hesitated, he added, “I’m sure you’ll want to do anything you can to help find her.”

A muscle spasm in Margo’s face pulled her mouth into a grimace and set her right eyelid twitching. “Of course. Follow me.” She turned and headed up the stairs, the detective close behind.

By the time they got to the top of the stairs, panic had made Margo’s breathing so shallow, she was dizzy. If the guy hadn’t been so young, she might have tried the life-is-just-so-difficult ploy while batting her eyelashes at him. But something about his demeanor radiated cynicism, like he’d see right through her.

This whole mess was turning sour. And there she was, caught in the headlights with nowhere to run. Margo took a deep breath, steadied herself against the wall and opened the door to Digger’s room.

For the next couple of minutes, Detective Ruiz did a thorough search of the room. He looked in the closet, pulled drawers out of the bureau, and pointed to the bed underneath the window where the girl had left it. “Is this the way she got out?”

Margo nodded. “We haven’t had a chance to put it back where it belongs, we’ve just been so worried.”

When Ruiz saw the urn on the bureau, he shot a quizzical look at her.

“That’s our son Digger’s urn. This was his old room.”

“And you made that little girl stay here, in the same room with his cremains?”

Margo took a deep breath. “It’s the only room that isn’t already in use.” Even as she said the words, she knew how they sounded. This guy wouldn’t buy anything she said after that. And he wouldn’t leave a single detail out of his report. She could almost feel the handcuffs snapping around her wrists.

Ruiz made his way through the house and basement then headed back to the living room. He removed a business card from a shirt pocket and placed it on the end table next to the sofa. “If she contacts you, or if an elderly woman comes by looking for her, call me.”

As soon as the policeman left, Margo gently closed the door then whirled on her spouse. “Do you think you could have acted more suspicious?”

“What did I do?”

“The only silver lining to all this is that the kid still hasn’t turned up.” Margo sucked air through her teeth. “Hustle, Tubbo, time’s running out and we have work to do.”

“But shouldn’t we have told the detective what you figured out, Lollipop?”

“What are you blathering on about?” Margo tied her scarf around her neck.

“Shouldn’t we have told him you think the girl has been back to get food and stuff? Wouldn’t that have made us look less suspicious?”

“What us? The only one who looked suspicious was you.”

“Maybe we could have told him that we’ve been leaving food out for her—”

Margo shook her head. “How typically short-sighted of you. If he thought she’d been back, he’d stake out the house. And I don’t want him looking over our shoulders.”

“Ah.” Cleg nodded his head as if he’d suddenly achieved enlightenment.

Margo stepped to the window. She pulled the curtain aside just enough to allow her to watch the detective get into his car, where he sat for several minutes doing who-knew-what.

After Ruiz left, Margo turned toward Cleg. “At first, I thought it might be a good plan to hide out in the kitchen and wait for her to come back. But she’s too smart, she’d never just waltz in here without making sure we’re gone. And now we’re out of time. That cop will report everything he suspects. Next thing we know, the place will be swarming with cops looking for the kid and some old lady. I’m not going to let that treasure slip through my hands, not when I’m so close.”

“What do you have in mind, Honey Bits?”

Margo opened the door then turned back toward her spouse. “That kid has managed to completely disappear. Once we find her and get our hands on that treasure, she can stay disappeared. No one’ll be the wiser.”

“What d’you mean, Lamb Chop?” A series of expressions flowed across Cleg’s face, from the despised, empty-headed stare, to thoughtful consideration, and finally open-mouthed shock. “If that kid gets hurt, they’ll come after us, sure as the world.”

“Not if they never find her.”

“If they never…you can’t…” As Cleg spoke, his voice raised in pitch, ending in a ten-year-old boy’s whine.

“Just listen to you.” Margo fought to keep from bashing in the face she’d grown to hate. “At this point we have no choice. Now hustle.”