But how hilarious was this? He finally found a woman he wanted to bring home but she happened to be a wanted felon with a child in tow, the obsession of every news team, special report, and political blog on the Eastern Seaboard. In fact, because Richard Wahlman had some big-shot assignment in Congress and had even been named as a possible vice president contender, her story had gone nationwide and global. That giggling little girl in his bathtub was Wahlman’s child. Evie had kidnapped her. Countless state, federal, and regional law enforcement professionals were searching for her.
Hey, every woman has some kind of baggage, right?
Clancy leaned his forehead against the painted pine door of the guest room and tried to make peace with the reality of what he’d taken on. Evelyn McGuinness would go to prison if convicted. That was the bottom line. And by deciding to help her, Clancy had changed the course of his life as well.
He opened the door and did a quick job of straightening up. His last houseguest had been Duncan, almost exactly one year before, and in the fifty-one weeks since, the space had been used as a haphazard storage bin. Clancy opened the window a crack, enough to let in some fresh air without flooding the windowsill with rain, and began taking everything off the bed and piling it against the wall. There were books, law enforcement journals, winter coats and hats, and even a supersized container of Milk-Bones. Then he looked at the bed. Shit! No wonder he couldn’t find the sheets—they were still where Duncan left them a year ago! Clancy ripped the bed apart and headed toward the laundry room off the kitchen. At least the linens would be freshly washed.
Next he removed the trophies from the mantel and tackled the gigantic mess still dumped in the middle of his living room floor, randomly throwing the jumble into the boxes and depositing them in his bedroom closet. So much for his organization plan. He went on to conduct a search-and-destroy cleanup of the dining room, kitchen, and even his bedroom. He was grateful for the burst of activity, because if he’d had a moment to stand still and second-guess himself, then he’d be in a heap of trouble.
As he headed toward the refrigerator for pancake ingredients, his cell phone rang. It was Chip.
“Flynn here.”
“Chief, what is your ETA at the station? Will you be here for roll call?” Clancy realized he’d neglected to check in with Chip as he usually did. It had been more than two hours since his last contact with his second-in-command. That was a piss-poor example of leadership.
“Sorry, Chip. The time got away from me. Is there anything I need to be aware of?”
“Not really, but”—Chip hesitated—“there’s been some scuttlebutt about the fugitive and the abducted juvenile, but we’re getting conflicting reports.”
Clancy’s heart flew into his throat. “What do you mean?”
“Well, someone on the morning Nantucket ferry called to say she saw the suspect come on board and get dragged out by an undercover police officer. But her husband said she always overdramatized things, that it was just a typical vacation marital disagreement. He said the lady’s husband came on board to tell her to stop with all the drama and come back to the hotel.”
“You don’t say?” Clancy set the milk carton on the kitchen counter, then went to find a couple eggs, his pulse going crazy. “Did the woman make an official statement?”
“No, Chief. She said she didn’t want to get involved.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. Witnesses were an interesting bunch. Two people at the same place at the same time could see two completely different events. Sometimes, a witness with valuable information had to be subpoenaed to ensure justice was done. In this case, Clancy was glad the woman was skittish.
“How did you follow up on this, Chip?”
“I called Old John, the conductor working that run, and he said he had no idea what the people could be talking about. He said there was no record of a woman and child fare from Bayberry. He said he’d fax over the manifest.”