He dipped his chin in concession. “And the girl?”
“An unexpected bonus,” Carlotta said with a smile. “What’s your assessment of Melanie’s medical condition?”
He was reviewing her medical records. “According to this file, the doctor she sees is treating her for Alzheimer’s, although it’s not immediately clear what tests she’s undergone. There are different forms of dementia, but I’m not remotely qualified to make a diagnosis.”
“Do you think she’s well enough to travel?”
“In my opinion, yes. Her vital signs are strong, and her motor skills are good. You might ask her caretaker if she has anxiety around crowds or in confined spaces. But physically, she seems healthy.”
She smiled. “How can I thank you?”
“Not necessary. I’m happy to help. How did you find this, uh, friend of yours?”
“I came into possession of a post office box address, and followed it from there.”
“Hm. Jack said the address on the piece of paper in the mouth of Agent Johns was a P.O. box business.”
She nodded. “I ran into Jack there. He accused me of taking the piece of paper out of the agent’s mouth and putting it back, but I didn’t—I already had the address. I don’t know how the agent got it, but I have a theory about why it was in his mouth when he died.”
“Lay it on me.”
“If you had an address written on a sticky note that could lead to the whereabouts of a fugitive, and someone you didn’t want to have it confronted you, what would you do with the note?”
Coop looked over at her. “I’d eat it.”
“So would I.”
Coop pulled his hand over his mouth. “Now I understand the subterfuge. Who else knows about this house?”
“Hannah was with me when I staked out the post office box and followed Birch here. Counting you that makes two.”
“Not even Peter?”
She shook her head and tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Especially not Peter.
Chapter 18
“WE HAVE TO DO SOMETHING.” Peter’s voice reverberated low and agitated.
Carlotta stood in the dark around the corner from his dressing room, listening to his phone conversation. She couldn’t tell who he was talking to, but he sounded desperate.
“I’m trying to stay calm, but we’re running out of time.”
The sheer panic in his words stirred the tiny hairs on the nape of her neck. She had awoken to find his side of the bed empty, and followed the glow of his phone.
“If you don’t pull the trigger tomorrow,” he warned, “I’ll do it myself.”
Sensing the end of the conversation, she crept back to her side of the bed and feigned sleep when Peter came back to the main room. He went to the kitchenette and poured something in a glass, then stood by the window looking at the lights of the city, his shoulders bowed as if the weight of the world were on them. She lay there tingling in the dark, trying to remember her optimism when she’d thought Vegas could be a place for them to start over. Instead, they each seemed to have found more problems to distract them from each other.
The last time she’d seen Peter this out of sorts, he’d confessed to his wife Angela’s murder. Only she had believed him innocent despite the evidence to the contrary.
She wanted to think the best of him again, and she truly believed Peter would never hurt her physically, but she was worried this time whatever he was involved with was bound up in her family somehow.
Every path she took seemed to lead back to Randolph.
She must have fallen asleep because the next time she opened her eyes, daylight streamed into the room and Peter’s side of the bed was cold. He’d left her a note saying he would try to be back to the hotel this evening in time for them to have dinner together. He signed it with “I love you. Always, Peter.”
Bittersweetness welled up in her chest. Was it possible she and Peter liked the idea of being a couple more than actually being a couple?
She retrieved her phone and unlocked the screen, hating that she’d gotten into the habit of putting safeguards on her device. As soon as she got back to Atlanta, she was buying a new phone with her own service plan.
Priscilla would probably need some sort of phone, too. Not something fancy enough to stream porn and other objectionable material—like discount shopping ads—but a model that would allow her to contact Carlotta anytime, anyplace.
And just like that, she realized she’d already made room for the little girl in her heart. Once they got home, Coop would help her find a doctor for Valerie, and they’d sort things out.
The big question mark was if Randolph would be there…or alive.