“Sara is very supportive,” Morgan said, checking his watch. “I’ve got a client coming in five minutes. Is there anything else, gentlemen?”

“You know Karly Vickers,” Mendez said.

“I’ve spoken with her. She was supposed to start work here Tuesday as a receptionist and file clerk. We were closed Monday. Don Quinn’s mother passed away.”

Morgan rose to his feet, signaling the meeting was over. “If I had any idea about any of this—Lisa’s murder, Karly Vickers—I would certainly tell you.”

“If anything comes to mind,” Mendez said, handing him a business card, “please call.”

“What do you think?” Mendez asked as they returned to the car.

“I think he couldn’t get us out of there fast enough,” Vince said. “I think you need to have a chat with Mrs. Morgan.”

Chapter 29

29

Mr. Alvarez, who had played minor-league baseball, had chosen baseball for their gym unit. Mr. Alvarez liked a theme. During the baseball playoffs, they would play baseball. During the football playoffs, they would learn about football, and so on.

Tommy, who was the ultimate baseball fan, didn’t like playing baseball for gym, because they didn’t really play. Mr. Alvarez took time with each batter to help improve each one’s skills—a tall and tedious order for most of the girls, except for Wendy, who could catch and throw because her dad taught her. For Tommy, it was boring. They mostly just sat around.

He sat on the bench next to Wendy, watching Mr. Alvarez encourage the hapless and scrawny Kim Karloff to try to hold the bat upright. She looked like she was going to fall over from the weight of it.

“This is so lame,” he said.

Wendy didn’t comment. She had been very quiet all morning. Tommy reached over and poked her to make sure she was still alive. The words “quiet” and “Wendy” didn’t go together.

“What’s the matter with you?” Tommy asked.

“My dad came home last night.”

“You’re usually excited when your dad comes home.”

“He got home really late,” she said, “but I heard him. So I got out of bed, but when I got to the stairs, he and Mom were having a fight.”

“Oh,” was all Tommy could think to say. His mom was always trying to pick a fight with his dad.

“She was yelling at him for not coming home the night we found the dead lady. And he said he just couldn’t. And she said, ‘And where the hell were you?’ She said she tried to call him at his hotel, and they said he wasn’t even registered there. Then he said, ‘You know that was a mistake. I called you back.’ And then she said that the mistake was his and he should have covered his tracks better.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”