Threads of Suspicion(73)

“I suppose it’s the price of fame, having to prepare for trouble. But it’s sad that it’s necessary.”

David shrugged. “You’ve got a system at your own home because you’re a cop and someone might show up who doesn’t like you,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, two retired military dogs, both of them vigilant about uninvited guests,” Evie agreed with a little chuckle.

“It’s the same basic rule of thumb for Maggie. Try to keep her home life private, and use common sense for the rest.” He glanced out the window. “I want to look around upstairs, then walk the backyard. Come on up if you like.” Evie followed him.

David paused at the first bedroom, still empty. “There are five bedrooms, one of which Maggie will use as a studio. She likes writing her lyrics at home—probably here as it gets good morning light.”

He moved on to the master bedroom. Furniture in place, the bed made up, lamps on bedside tables, two upholstered chairs and a round table by the window. The suite didn’t have much character without Maggie’s personal things yet, but the bedroom looked comfortable and feminine.

David turned on lights in the walk-in closet. “There are safe rooms in the house on each floor. They were put in when the house was originally built.” He found the mechanism, and the back closet wall slid nearly silently to the left. “If an alarm sounds for an intruder coming in a window or door, Maggie has agreed to move to a safe room while security resolves the problem. That was our compromise for her not living in a fully gated community.”

The small room beyond the sliding wall could handle three or four people, Evie gathered. A shelf held stacks of pillows, blankets, board games, water bottles, and what looked like a box of chocolate bars. Beside a small refrigerator was a discreetly placed commode. Evie decided she wouldn’t want to be in that room for more than an hour—basically like an elevator in size. “I’ve never seen one before.”

“Nothing elaborate, but once the door closes and seals, she’s safe. No one can get in, and she can’t come out—not until security or the police open it. It’s twelve hours before you can open the door from the inside. It’s heat-resistant and has its own air supply. You’ll be bored but okay, even with a tornado ripping through the area.”

“That entryway wall with the bench—behind it is another safe room?” Evie asked.

David smiled. “Yes. You’ve got a good eye for spaces. It’s entered through the mudroom off the hallway, with the same design as this one. The police and her security are notified when one of the safe room doors seals.”

“Let’s hope these rooms are never needed.”

“I doubt they ever will be. But I sleep better knowing the house has them. We call them the bad-weather plan for tornado sirens. Any other reasons remain unspoken.”

David finished his walk through the second floor, and then they headed downstairs.

“Maggie lives a very public life as a performer,” Evie mentioned. “Keeping her personal life private . . . all this matters. She is blessed to have you arranging things for her, David.”

“Thanks for noticing.” He sat down on the bench to put on his shoes. “Maggie jokes about the security, but she counts on it working.”

“It’s only going to get more intense, the more her fame grows.”

He nodded. “There’s room for security on-site, but hopefully that’s still a few years away.” David took out keys to lock up the house. “I appreciate you coming with me, Evie.”

“She’s found a beautiful place to call home. I hope she’s happy here for years to come and that one day it’s a family home, with your wedding photos on that fireplace mantel and your shoes permanently under the entryway bench.”

David’s chuckle held a bit of sadness, yet he said, “I do like the image of that. Give me about ten minutes to walk the backyard and I’ll be ready to go.”



Evie finally gave up looking for a television show to watch. I should have stopped and bought a book. She would have called Rob, linked up with him for dinner, but he was in New Jersey for a wedding his parents had talked him into attending. The plane trip there and back was one she was glad to have missed.

She picked up her collection of facts and theories on Jenna, read through them again, but found nothing to spark another line of inquiry. They now had several hundred names across the five missing women, even before they considered fans related directly to Maggie. Odds were good they had the name of Jenna’s killer. Time and patience and a steady push would identify him.