“She was where he said she was?”

“Twenty miles south. The address McKay wrote to was a post office. The town’s sheriff was able to pinpoint the exact location of the clinic. And she was using the name Mary Whitson. The locals were very unhappy. Seems Marie spoke Spanish and had amassed a following in just a few days.”

“She was an experienced nurse,” Decker said. “Can’t take that away. Did she offer resistance?”

“Nope.” Marge patted Decker on the back. “Think you can smile? We’re almost there.”

“Almost, but not quite.” Decker paused. “Well, I’ll tell you one thing. I ain’t about to give her kitten back. Poor little thing almost starved to death.”

“Keep the kitten, Pete.” Marge chuckled. “In the meantime, how about if I start the paperwork. And you can take the afternoon off and tend to your wife and kid and kitten.”

“It’s a good offer, Rabbi,” Hollander said. “If I were you, I’d take it.” He bit into a bagel loaded with cream cheese, then held it aloft. “I bought this in your honor. I wanted to practice being ethnic for your party on Sunday.”

“Practice makes perfect.” Decker walked to the middle of the floor and announced, “Regarding my baby’s party on Sunday…everyone’s invited.”

Again a round of rowdy cheers.

Decker said, “Food, champagne, and beer on the house, but you’ve got to stay and listen to a half-dozen rabbis sermonize about the wonders of God and my kid.”

The room filled with boos and hisses.

Decker laughed. Marge slipped his jacket over his shoulders. “Go home.”

“I want to talk to Marie,” Decker said.

“We probably won’t get her in until tomorrow, Pete. Go home.”

Decker didn’t move. “We found out Leek’s motivation for helping Tandy. He thought she had him on some ridiculous murder charge. But why did Marie help Tandy? What was her motivation? It can’t just be guilt about the affair with Tandy’s father?”

Marge turned him to the door. “Why don’t we ask her once we have her in custody?” She gave him a gentle shove. “Go home!”

Walking through the door to his house, Decker heard the TV blaring at head-splitting volume. To his utter shock, he saw a medium-sized sturdy man staring at the tube. His hair was thick and dark, his ruddy complexion spotlighted by a sunbeam. The man wore jeans and a white shirt, sleeves rolled up to expose thick tanned forearms.

Dad!

Lyle Decker was posed two inches from the box—hence the overdrive decibel level: Dad was hard of hearing. Grinning, Decker jogged to his father and turned him around. They exchange hugs.

“What are you doing here?” Decker asked.

“What?”

Decker muted the volume and raised his voice. “What a great surprise! What are you doing out here?”