Page 67 of The Gallagher Place
He turned his head from side to side, scanning the room, suddenly alarmed.
Marlowe felt a spasm of guilt and pity for the old man.
“I’ll send up Henry,” she muttered.
“Henry,” Enzo whispered, seizing on the one name that brought him comfort above all else. “Henry is a good boy. Such a good boy.”
Marlowe left him to his babbling and headed back downstairs.
In the kitchen, she accepted a plate from Henry and sat down at the table with the kids. She watched Henry’s shoulders rise as he briskly walked up to Enzo’s room.
Marlowe was still replaying her conversation with Mike from the previous day when Kat sat ramrod straight in her chair, palms flat against the table. It was as if Marlowe could see her young ears pricking forward, attuned to something in the living room.
And then Marlowe heard it too: the crunch of car wheels over gravel.
It must have been a visitor. Nate was in Hartford, Stephanie and Constance were wrapping presents in the other room, and Frank and Glory had gone into town not long ago.
Everyone was still, and then Kat was tumbling over her chair, running toward the side door, Marlowe at her heels.
“It’s the detectives,” Kat said, gasping.
Henry pounded down the stairs, his eyes wide. Marlowe saw the tightness in his jaw.
As Marlowe swung open the door, she saw Ben Vance striding up the drive, tall and straight-backed. But it was Ariel behind him that sent a flurry of anticipation up and down her spine.
She had a small, arrogant smile on her face. Not an expression Marlowe had seen on Ariel before. She always had a difficult timereading Ariel, but this one was unmistakable—not merely smug, but confident.
“Good afternoon,” Ben said.
“Hello.” Marlowe held the door, Henry a shadow behind her. “My parents aren’t here.”
“That’s all right.” Ariel’s eyes were fixed on Henry. “We came to talk to you. Both of you.”
It was too cold for a walk, so they stepped into the kitchen.
As the children were shooed away, Marlowe knew they would eavesdrop. Ariel seemed to know it too, but judging by the sly look in her eyes, she wanted them to overhear.
Henry cleared the empty plates and straightened all the chairs as the detectives sat. Marlowe put on a kettle of tea.
Once seated at the table, Ariel and Ben across from Marlowe and Henry, Ariel pulled out a small notebook. She flipped through the pages covered in a tiny illegible scrawl.
“Your brother is still in Hartford?”
“Yes,” Marlowe said.
“We would have liked to talk to all three of you at once.” Ariel shrugged.
“He’s due back in a few days,” Marlowe said.
“We can’t wait that long.” Ariel cocked her head, like a curious bird examining a worm. “It’s a funny thing, this case. Years and years with nothing—no answers. But now, suddenly, it’s coming together.”
“You’ve had a break?” Marlowe asked.
“Not quite a break.” Ariel glanced at her partner, who nodded in agreement. “Like I said, things are just starting to come together.”
Ben leaned forward. “We know this has been rough on your family, but we really just need your help to nail down a few final details.”
Henry nodded, resigned to more questioning.
