Page 29 of Safeguarding the Witness

His cheerful, chatty comments surprised Spence. Jamison usually acted like a laconic FBI agent unless he was plucking his banjo. Even then, he let his instrument do the talking. “Just tell me what’s up.”

“What’s your problem? Get up on the wrong side of bed?”

“Are you going to help me with forensics or not?”

Jamison cleared his throat. “After many hours reviewing evidence, the cops identified the sniper who appears to be a tall, thin male. He wore a hoodie and a mask, so facial recognition technology wasn’t useful. But the guy driving his truck wasn’t so careful. We have a positive ID on Julio Flores.”

Madison’s lover was supposedly killed in the yacht explosion. But he was here. In Salem. And he was after Mollie.

Chapter Ten

The last time Mollie visited Oliver Cameron’s home had been over six years ago. She was still in college and had gone with her great-aunt to a Chinese-Mexican fusion dinner of stir-fried veggies and fish tacos—a feast prepared by Mrs. Hernandez, the live-in housekeeper. Though the house occupied a vast amount of square footage, the interior felt cozy. Warm in the winter and pleasantly cool on a June morning like this. The style could best be described as country modern with plenty of windows, high ceilings and hardwood floors.

Mrs. Hernandez greeted Mollie at the door with a big hug. Like the house, she hadn’t changed much. Still wore her long gray hair in braids wrapped around her head. As always, she dressed in jeans and a cotton blouse with a lightweight sweater and a lucky moonstone pendant. When she looked into Mollie’s eyes, a tear dribbled down her weathered cheek.

“I miss your auntie,” she said. “I always hoped she and Mr. Oliver would get married.”

“Me, too,” Mollie said.

“What about you?” She swabbed the tear with a hankie. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

Erin popped up beside her. “I think she’s crushing on Spence.”

“Stop,” Mollie said. “I only met him yesterday.”

“And that’s what we call love at first sight.” Erin gave an emphatic fist pump that was immediately copied by her four-year-old daughter, who repeated her mother’s phrase.

Mrs. Hernandez squeezed Mollie’s hand. “I approve. We’ll talk later.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

Mrs. Hernandez herded them to a dining room with a tin ceiling and a contemporary farmhouse table with ten chairs. Bethany sat in the right chair nearest the end. Oliver stood at the head and gestured for them to approach. “Welcome, ladies. I wish we were meeting under more joyful circumstances. It would have given Irma great pleasure to see the three of you together again.”

Erin and Amy gave him a hug and a kiss. Then it was Mollie’s turn. She wrapped her arms around the distinguished white-haired gentleman. His build reminded her of Spence. Long and lean, but Oliver had a comfortable potbelly, showing his appreciation for Mrs. Hernandez’s good cooking. From what she’d seen of shirtless Spence last night, he had defined abs as chiseled as the tin ceiling overhead. Oliver’s striped shirt and button-front cashmere cardigan smelled like cedar. His hug felt safe.

She kissed the prickly stubble on his cheek. “I missed you.”

He peered into her eyes with a deep, probing expression that, again, reminded her of his grandson. “Your great-aunt Irma and I talked about you often and shared good memories of you and Madison chasing each other through the forest. Together you were half of the Four-Leaf Clovers.”

“Faith, hope, love and luck,” Bethany said as she always did, pointing out the significance. To Amy, she added, “That’s what the four leaves stand for.”

“But there’s only three of you,” Amy said.

“There’s four,” Mollie said firmly. “Madison just isn’t here right now.”

Bethany’s full lips pinched together. No doubt she was thinking that they should give the child the facts. But Erin nodded emphatically at Mollie and backed up her vague reference, pointing out to her daughter that she’d seen Madison in photographs.

Mrs. Hernandez gestured to the buffet arrayed on the side table opposite the tall windows. “Help yourselves to coffee, tea, cocoa, lemonade and ice water. There are also bagels and croissants. If you’re hungrier, come into the kitchen and I can whip up a chicken salad sandwich.”

After already eating breakfast and downing two cups of coffee, Mollie was too full to contemplate more food or caffeine. Instead, she opted for a sugar rush from the home-squeezed lemonade. While she filled her glass and added ice cubes, Spence came up behind her. Though she didn’t turn her head and look at him, she sensed his presence.

Leaning so close that his breath tickled her ear, he whispered, “We need to talk. Now.”

“As soon as we’re done here.”

“I have new information.”

She heard the edge in his voice and turned to face him. Whatever he’d heard must be urgent. She’d never seen him so rattled. Not when running from gunmen in Denver or dodging a sniper’s bullets in Oregon. “What is it?” she whispered.