If it had been the bat, then my theory about it being Becky and an accident had about as much solidity to them as a soap bubble. It seemed like this case had a lot in common with trying to catch soap bubbles before they popped.
My mom jotted notes in a notebook the same way she did when she spoke with a new client. “A bat suggests premeditation. Since Ms. Benjamin hadn’t checked in yet, it’s not like he went up to her room for some reason and someone accidentally hit him with a bat she had lying around.”
Becky’s swing at me still ate at the back of my mind, but my mom was right. Whoever brought that bat up to the room had to have intended to use it. Not only that, but Becky didn’t work nights, so she shouldn’t have been there, and as far as we knew, Becky had no motive. I didn’t want to point a finger at her without a bit more to go on. Based on the fact that she attended a PTSD support group, she’d already had something terrible happen to her. She didn’t need me adding false accusations to it. Plus, I’d have the perfect opportunity to try to find out if she might have had a reason to want Vilsack dead when I went with her on Thursday night.
Mark and my mom had moved on to discussing dinner plans, a topic switch that I suspect only police, medical examiners, and criminal attorneys could make without feeling squeamish.
I’d told Mark about the PTSD support group, but I hadn’t told him who I was going with, and I hadn’t mentioned it to my mom yet at all. Neither of them would want me to go with Becky if they knew I suspected she might be the killer. They’d either want me to drive alone or let one of them go with me. Both of those options took away any chance of her opening up the way she might if we were alone. I didn’t know much about support groups, but they were probably supposed to be closed to anyone who wasn’t a member of the group anyway.
Still, I’d always been a better-safe-than-sorry kind of girl, and my run-ins with killers only made me more so.
What I needed was someone to tail me there and back. I’d still have the space and privacy to talk to Becky, but I’d have help in the chute if I needed it. The problem was the police were already short-handed. They weren’t going to be able to spare someone.
My mom and Mark were now at the door, and Mark was saying he’d meet us back at my place with fish-and-chips dinners from A Salt & Battery. It wasn’t my mom’s kind of food, but from the sounds of it, she was willing to try it because Mark suggested it. I wasn’t sure whether to take that as a compliment that she felt I’d chosen my boyfriend well or an insult since I doubt she’d have done it for me.
I hung back, pretending like I was examining a stuck zipper on my jacket. My mom knew how to run a tail. I’d heard the stories of how she and my dad vetted every private investigator they hired, including ride-alongs on staged tails. But I didn’t want to tell her where I was going. Even if I couched it as I’m trying to build rapport with a suspect so I can pull useful information from her, my mom would see the truth behind it—that Becky offered to take me because I needed it.
I’d rather have Mark do it.
I pulled the zipper into place. I couldn’t suggest riding with him because my mom would consider that rude, but maybe I could bargain for enough time to make my request. “I’ll meet you at the car, Mom. I want to talk to Mark for a minute alone.”
She’d be suspicious, but I’d think of something to tell her before I reached the car.
The look Mark gave me as she left said he thought talk was a euphemism for kiss. Which I didn’t object to—we hadn’t had as much time together as usual the past few days, and I missed him. For a second, I forgot the real reason I’d asked to stay behind.
Finally, I put a hand on his chest and pulled back slightly. “I need you to tail a car for me on Thursday night?”
Mark took a full step back and frowned. “You need me to what?”
“Tail a car?” I hadn’t meant to add the question mark at the end, but I could imagine what he was thinking.
“Nikki, I don’t know how to tail a car.” The lines along his forehead turned into caverns. “Do you know how to tail a car?”
I shook my head.
“And you thought I would, why?” He drew the last word out, with a hint of teasing.
“Nicole,” my mom said from the doorway.
I jerked back from Mark like I was sixteen and she’d caught me necking with a boyfriend on the couch. Which I’d never actually done because I didn’t have my first boyfriend until well into my twenties. But still.
The emphasis she put on my full name made me think she’d been listening for at least part of the exchange and heard Mark call me Nikki.
She planted her hands on her hips in the way that intimidated judges and made me tell her everything she wanted to know from the time I said my first word. “You brought me into this case, so I hope you have a good reason for asking a doctor to tail a car rather than me.”
I had a good reason, but not one I wanted to share with her.
I couldn’t see a way out of this without blatantly lying to my mother, and I wanted to do that even less. “I’m going to a PTSD support group with Becky, the cleaning woman from The Sunburnt Arms. There’s a chance she could be the one who attacked Bruce Vilsack, so I don’t want to drive there with her without a safety net in place.”
The look on Mark’s face made me almost expect him to break out my middle name instead of my mom.
“What makes you think she killed Vilsack?” Mark asked at the same time as my mom said, “Were you going to tell me?”
Ostriches’ idea of sticking their head in the sand didn’t seem so bad right about now. Mark’s question seemed easier to answer, so I explained what I’d been thinking.
Mark visibly relaxed when I finished. “That’s a stretch, but I’m glad you’re trying to be safe.”
He moved his gaze slightly in my mom’s direction and lifted his eyebrows as if to ask Do you want me to stay?
I shook my head.
He slipped around us and headed for the door. “I’ll get the food and meet you two back at the house.”
My mom still had one hand planted on her hip in an I’m-waiting stance.
My body felt weak, like I’d skipped one too many meals. This was exactly what I’d hoped to avoid. “I’ve been…with everything I’ve gone through…”
My mom waved her hand through the air like she was batting away a fly. “Not that. Anyone who doesn’t need support after multiple attempts on their life is probably a psychopath. Contrary to popular myth, even lawyers have emotions. Why didn’t you tell me you suspected Becky and needed a tail?”
Maybe I should have known that what would bother my mom was exclusion from the case, but I was starting to think I didn’t really know her at all. “I only made the possible connection between Becky and the crime while we were talking to Mark. I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about me wanting to attend a support group.”
My mom scrunched her nose up. “I’d rather you simply stuck with your therapist, but you can’t do your job if your mind isn’t clear.”
I was almost a hundred percent certain I hadn’t told my mom about my therapist, here or in DC. “How did you even know I was in counseling?”
“You left your sleeping pills out on your bedside table. The doctor’s name on the bottle changed from the ones back home.” Her voice sounded annoyed, as if I should have been able to figure that out on my own.
I might have if I’d been certain she’d been snooping around in my bedroom. Prior to this, I’d only suspected. I decided to let that one slide. My mom probably couldn’t help it. Investigating was in her DNA.
