Sally was gone. That was all that was real to him. Gone, not found dead. Gone. But where?
He heard children’s voices. Surely that couldn’t be right. He heard David say, “Deirdre, come here and sit on my lap. You’ve got to keep very quiet, okay? Mr. Quinlan isn’t feeling well, and we don’t want to make him feel worse.”
He heard a little girl whisper, but he couldn’t make it out. Deirdre meant sorrow. He slept.
He awoke to see a young woman with a pale complexion and very dark red hair looking at him. She had the sweetest face he’d ever seen. “Who are you?”
“I’m Jane, David’s wife. You just lie still, Mr. Quinlan.” He felt her cool palm on his forehead. “I’ve got some nice hot chicken soup for you. Doctor Grafft said to keep it light until tomorrow. You just open your mouth and I’ll feed you. That’s right.”
He ate the entire bowl and began to feel human. “Thank you,” he said, and slowly, her hand under his elbow, he sat up.
“Your head ache?”
”It’s just a dull thud now. What time is it? Rather, what day is it?”
“You were hurt early this afternoon. It’s eight o’clock in the evening now. I hope the girls didn’t disturb you.”
“No, not at all. Thank you for taking me in.”
“Let me get David. He’s tucking the girls into bed. He should be just about through with the bedtime story.”
Quinlan sat there, his head back against the cushions of the sofa, a nice comfortable sofa. The headache was gone now. He could get out of here soon. He could find Sally. He realized he was scared to his socks. What had happened to her?
Her father had come for her just as he’d promised he would. No, that was ridiculous. Amory St. John was long dead.
“You want some brandy in hot tea?”
“Nan, my pecker doesn’t need optimism.” Quinlan opened his eyes and smiled at David Mountebank. “Your wife fed me. Great soup. I appreciate you taking me in, David.”
“I couldn’t leave you with Thelma Nettro, now, could I? I wouldn’t leave my worst enemy there. That old lady gives me the willies. It’s the weirdest thing. She always has that diary of hers with her and that fountain pen in her hand. The tip of her tongue is practically tattooed from the pen tip.”
“Tell me about Sally.”
“Every man I could round up is talking to everybody in The Cove and looking for her. I’ve got an APB out on her-”
“No APB,” James said, sitting up straight now, his face paling. “No, David, cancel it now. It’s critical.”
“I won’t buy any more of this national security shit, Quinlan. Tell me why or I won’t do it.”
“You’re not being cooperative, David.”
“Tell me and let me help you.”
“She’s Sally St. John Brainerd.”
David just stared at him. “She’s Amory St. John’s daughter? The daughter who’s nuts and who ran away from that sanitarium? The woman whose husband is frantic about her safety? I knew she looked familiar. Damn, I’m slipping fast. I should have made the connection. Ah, that’s the reason for the black wig. Then she just forgot to put it on, didn’t she?”
“Yeah, that and I told her to relax, that you would never connect her to Susan Brainerd, at least I prayed you wouldn’t.”
“I wish I could say I would have, but hell, I probably never would have unless I saw her in person and then saw her again on TV. What were you doing with her, Quin-lan?”
Quinlan sighed. “She doesn’t know I’m FBI. She bought that story about me being a PI and looking for those old folks who disappeared around here three years ago. I came here because I had this feeling she would run here, to her aunt. I was just going to take her back.”
“But why is the FBI involved in a homicide?”
“It’s not just a homicide at all. That’s only part of it. We’re in it for other reasons.”
“I know. You’re not going to tell me the rest of it.”
“I’d prefer not to just yet. As I was saying, I was going to take her back, but then-“