“Omigod, omigod, omigod!” Crystal yelled.
“We’ve got a dog!” April squealed. “We’ve got a dog!”
Riley laughed as she remembered how calm and collected April had seemed when they’d talked just the night before. Now all that adult maturity had suddenly vanished, and April was acting like a little girl again. It was wonderful to see.
Jilly lifted Darby out of the carrier. It didn’t take the little dog very long to begin enjoying all the attention.
As the girls continued fussing noisily over the dog, Blaine asked Riley, “How did things go? Is everything really all settled?”
“Yes,” Riley told him, smiling. “It’s really over. Jilly is legally mine.”
Everybody else was too excited about the dog to talk about the adoption at the moment.
“What’s her name?” April said, holding up the dog.
“Darby,” Jilly told April.
“Where did you get her?” Crystal asked.
Riley chuckled and said, “Well, that’s quite a story. Give us a few minutes to settle in before we tell it.”
“What breed is she?” April asked.
“Part Chihuahua, I think,” Jilly said.
Gabriela took the dog out of April’s hands and examined it carefully.
“Yes, some Chihuahua, and she’s got some other kinds of dog in her,” the stout woman said. “What is the word in English for a mix of dogs?”
“A mutt,” Blaine said.
Gabriela nodded sagely and said, “Yes, you’ve got a real mutt here—auténtico, the real thing. A mutt is the best kind of dog. This one still has a little growing to do, but she will stay pretty small. ¡Bienvenidos! Darby. ¡Nuestra casa es tuya también! This is your home too!”
She handed the puppy to Jilly and said, “She’ll need some water now, and food after everything calms down. I have some leftover chicken we can give her later, but we’ll have to buy some real dog food soon.”
Following Gabriela’s instructions on how to set up a place for Darby, the girls hurried upstairs to Jilly’s room to make a bed and put down old newspapers in case she had to go to the bathroom during the night.
Meanwhile, Gabriela put food on the table—a delicious Guatemalan dish called pollo encebollado, chicken in onion sauce. Soon everybody sat down to eat.
Himself a chef and restaurant owner, Blaine praised the meal and asked Gabriela all kinds of questions about it. Then the conversation turned to all that had happened in Phoenix. Jilly insisted on telling the whole story herself. Blaine, Crystal, April, and Gabriela all sat with their mouths agape as they heard about the wild scene in the courtroom, and then the still wilder adventure at the airport.
And of course, everybody was delighted to hear about the new dog that had come into their lives.
We’re a family now, Riley thought. And it’s great to be home.
It was also going to be great to get back to work tomorrow.
After dessert, Blaine and Crystal went home, and April and Jilly went to the kitchen to feed Darby. Riley poured herself a drink and sat down in the living room.
She felt herself relaxing more and more. It really had been a crazy day, but now it was over.
Her phone rang, and she saw that the call was from Atlanta.
Riley felt a jolt. Could this be Morgan again? Who else would be calling from Atlanta?
She picked up the phone and heard a man’s voice. “Agent Paige? My name is Jared Ruhl, and I’m a police officer here in Atlanta. I got your number from the Quantico switchboard.”
“What can I do for you, Officer Ruhl?” Riley said.
In a tentative voice, Ruhl said, “Well, I’m not just sure, but … I guess you know that we arrested a woman for the murder of Andrew Farrell last night. It was his wife, Morgan. In fact, weren’t you the person who called in about it?”
Riley was feeling edgy now.
“I was,” she said.
“I also heard that Morgan Farrell called you right after the killing, before she called anybody else.”
“That’s right.”
A silence fell. Riley sensed that Ruhl was struggling with what he wanted to say.
Finally he said, “Agent Paige, what do you know about Morgan Farrell?”
Riley squinted with concern. She said, “Officer Ruhl, I’m not sure it’s proper for me to comment. I really don’t know anything about what happened, and it’s not an FBI case.”
“I understand that. I’m sorry, I guess I shouldn’t have called …”
His voice trailed off.
Then he added, “But Agent Paige, I don’t think Morgan Farrell did it. Murdered her husband, I mean. I’m kind of new to this job, and I know I’ve got a lot to learn … but I just don’t think she’s the type who could do that.”
Riley was startled at those words.
She certainly didn’t remember Morgan Farrell as being the “type” who might commit murder. But she had to be careful what she said to Ruhl. She wasn’t at all sure she ought to be having this conversation at all.
She asked Ruhl, “Has she confessed?”
“They tell me she has. And everybody believes her confession. My partner, the police chief, the DA—absolutely everybody. Except me. And I can’t help but wonder, do you …?”
He didn’t finish his question, but Riley knew what it was.
He wanted to know whether Riley believed Morgan to be capable of murder.
Slowly and cautiously, she said, “Officer Ruhl, I appreciate your concern. But it’s really not appropriate for me to speculate on any of this. I assume that it’s a local case, and unless the FBI is called in to help in the investigation, well … frankly, it’s none of my business.”
“Of course, my apologies,” said Ruhl politely. “I should have known better. Anyway, thanks for taking my call. I won’t bother you again.”
He ended the call, and Riley sat staring at the telephone, sipping from her drink.
The girls clattered past her, closely followed by the little dog. They were all on the way to the family room to play, and Darby was looking quite happy now.
Riley watched them go by, with a deep feeling of satisfaction. But then memories of Morgan Farrell began to intrude on her mind.
She and her partner, Bill Jeffreys, had gone to the Farrells’ mansion to interview Morgan’s husband regarding the death of his own son.
She remembered how Morgan had seemed almost too weak to stand, clinging to the banister of the huge staircase for support while her husband presided over her as if she were some sort of trophy.
She remembered the look of vacant terror in the woman’s eyes.
She also remembered what Andrew Farrell had said about her as soon as she was out of earshot …
“A rather famous model when I married her—perhaps you’ve seen her on magazine covers.”
And regarding how much younger Morgan had been than himself, he’d added …
“A stepmother should never be older than her husband’s oldest children. I’ve made sure of that with all my wives.”
Riley now felt the same chill she’d felt back then.
Morgan had obviously been nothing more than a costly trinket for Andrew Farrell to show off in public—not a human being at all.
Finally