He said, “Okay. Let me make some phone calls, then we’ll get this show on the road.”
Thirty minutes later James tapped the griffin-head knocker of the St. John home.
Noelle St. John answered the door herself. She was wearing a silk dress in a pale blue. Her hair, blonder than Sally’s, was twisted up in a neat chignon. She looked elegant, tense, and very pale. She hesitated a moment, then held out her arms to her daughter. Sally didn’t move. Noelle St. John looked as if she was ready to burst into tears. She lowered her arms to her sides.
She said quickly, her words running together as if she couldn’t get them out fast enough, “Oh, Sally, you’ve come. I’ve been so worried. When your grandparents called me I didn’t know what to do. Come in, love, come in. We’ll get this all straightened out.” Then she saw Quinlan in the shadows.
“You.”
“Yes, ma’am. May I come in as well?”
“No, you may not. Sally, what’s going on here?”
“Sorry-no me, then no Sally.”
She looked from Sally to Quinlan, shaking her head. She looked confused.
“Noelle, it’s all right. Let us in.”
She was shaking her head, back and forth. “But he’s FBI, Sally. I don’t want him here. He was here before with another man, and they searched the house looking for you. Why would you want him with you? It doesn’t make sense. The last person you want around you is a cop. He’s lied to you. He’s manipulating you. He’s just making you more confused.”
“No, Noelle, I’m not confused at all about this.”
“But Sally, when your grandparents called me, they told me he was right behind you and you claimed you knew he would be. You said he was smart. But they said you wanted to escape and go into hiding. You said the same thing to me. Why are you with him? Why do you want to be with him?”
“He caught me. I’m an amateur and he’s not. And trust me, you want him with me, too.” Sally took a small step forward and lightly laid her fingertips on her mother’s arm.
“That’s me, ma’am, real smart. Special Agent James Quinlan. I’m pleased you remember me.”
“I wish I didn’t remember, sir,” Noelle said. She looked back over her shoulder. James smiled, knowing now that there was someone else in the living room. Scott Brainerd? Dr. Beadermeyer? Or both of them? He sure as hell hoped both of them were. “Both of us or neither of us,” he said. “It’s chilly out here. Make up your mind, ma’am.”
“All right, but I don’t know why you’re with her. You’ve no right, none at all. Sally’s my daughter, she’s ill, the FBI can’t hold her since she’s mentally unstable, nor can the police. She’s my responsibility, I’m her guardian, and I say she’s going back to the sanitarium. It’s the only way she can be protected.”
“All that?” James said, looking amazed. Noelle looked at him as if she’d like to smack his face. “She doesn’t look unstable to me. I’ll bet she could withstand being beaten with rubber hoses, even having her fingernails yanked out. There’s not an unstable cell in Sally’s brain.”
“She’s been very ill for the past six months,” Noelle said, as she stood back.
They walked past her into the foyer. There were fresh flowers on the beautiful antique table with the large gilded mirror hanging over it. There had always been fresh flowers in that hideous oriental vase, Sally thought, usually white and yellow chrysanthemums.
“Come along into your father’s study, Sally. Let’s get this over with. Then I’ll make certain you’re safe again.”
“Safe again?” Sally whispered. “Is she nuts?”
Quinlan hugged her quickly against him, and when she looked up at him, he winked at her. “Don’t worry.”
“Well, well, what a surprise,” he said when he saw Dr. Beadermeyer standing by the fireplace. He’d studied the man’s photo so many times he felt as if he’d interviewed him, even though they’d never met in the flesh before. Was he the bastard who’d struck him on the head at The Cove? He’d find out soon enough.