Page 112 of I’ll Be Watching You

“It’s happened.”

“Sounds like you know from personal experience,” I said.

“I’ll tell you about it someday,” he said with a smile.

Jack said, “Mom and Quincy return early tomorrow afternoon. Lu and Tess, continue what you’re doing, and especially dig as deep as you can legally dig on Stockman and Maddox.”

I inwardly winced. Jack suspected that Luisa had overstepped . . . though he didn’t know. An educated guess? Probably. I needed to keep my mouth zipped on that.

Tess said, “I’m doing a more complete background on both Willa Blankenship and Mildred Maddox. Mildred is the youngest of three kids, but her parents are divorced and her mother remarried to a man named Leonard Marconi. They are both deceased now, buried in Illinois. They had at least one child, a boy, twelve years younger than Mildred. I don’t know his name and haven’t found him yet—it might take some time. And,” she added, “I’m not sure it’s important.”

“Keep the ball running, but there are other things more important,” Jack said. He turned to me. “You want to explore the illegal gambling circuit?”

“Yep. I have a few contacts in that world, I can feel them out, see what I can learn about Peter Stockman. What he likes to play, where he likes to play, if he owes anyone.”

My cell phone rang. It was a local number, but I didn’t immediately recognize it.

I excused myself and walked out of the den, more because I wanted quiet than because I didn’t want to talk around my family.

“Margo Angelhart,” I answered.

“Margo, I’m in deep shit.”

It took me two seconds, but then I recognized the voice. “Tim?”

“They’re going to kill me. You have to help.”

“Are you at your condo? Stay put, I can be there in twenty minutes.”

“Hell no, I’m not in my condo. Where do you think they’ll look for me? I’m at a short-term rental house in Flagstaff. But I don’t know how long I can stay here.”

“Why should I help you?” I snapped. “I know you weren’t completely honest with us this afternoon, and now you’re calling me for help?” I didn’t know know, but Jack and I had our suspicions that he was holding back. “Maybe I should let you pay for your crimes with your life.”

“No! No, I told you almost everything.”

“Almost?”

“Please, I don’t have anyone else to call.”

“I’m waiting for information that you have that I want.”

Yes, I was playing hardball, and no, I wouldn’t let Tim Miller die if I could help it—even if he deserved it—but I needed him to know that I was serious.

“Peter told me that your dad, Dr. Angelhart, killed Dr. Klein. And I wanted to believe it. I did, for a long time. But . . .”

“But what?” I pushed.

“Someone else did. An outsider. I, um, Peter asked me for a universal key card to access the medical center. A key that wouldn’t raise flags.”

My heart skipped a beat. Hope blossomed. This was it.

“Who was it for?” I said, trying not to sound excited, or desperate.

“I’ll tell you when you and your brother get here. I need protection.”

“Then you should have gone to the FBI like I told you to,” I said.

But I already knew I was going.