Baltimore 03 - Did You Miss Me?

had time to tow Beckett’s truck back to his cabin and set the man free before driving home.
    He was looking forward to seeing how Beckett would react to having lost his ticket to ‘half of five million’ . . . especially since Ford had seen his face.
    He was especially looking forward to how Daphne would react to seeing Beckett’s face after all these years. It had been twenty-seven years since Daphne had seen Beckett’s ugly mug. Twenty-seven years since her mother moved her far, far away from their hometown. In a matter of hours, she’d be running back here as fast as she could.
    Daphne, you’re home . We missed you .

Chapter Fifteen
    Wednesday, December 4, 12.50 A.M.
    T he screaming woke Daphne up. She lay in her own bed, staring up at the dark ceiling, trembling. Listening. To nothing. The house was quiet. She knew the screaming had only been in her own mind. It always was.
    The last time she’d looked at the clock it had been midnight, so she’d slept less than an hour. She hadn’t expected to sleep at all, so waking up was a surprise in itself. She hadn’t slept at all the night before, the jury verdict heavy on her mind.
    I should be too exhausted to dream . But it didn’t work like that. The more exhausted she was, the more intense the nightmare. Lying beside her, Tasha lifted her head, and Daphne could have sworn the dog was listening, too. To nothing.
    She got out of bed and peeked around her bedroom door. Agent Coppola had dragged a chair out of the spare bedroom and was sitting comfortably, keeping watch in the upstairs hall. When she saw Daphne, she came over.
    ‘Everything okay?’ she whispered.
    Daphne nodded. ‘Did you hear anything?’
    ‘Just now? No. Did you? Are you okay?’
    Yes, she’d heard something fierce and terrifying – but in her own mind. It was the nightmare. It happened occasionally, usually when she was stressed. I think today counts as one of those stressful days .
    ‘No, I heard nothing,’ she lied. ‘And yes, I’m all right.’
    ‘Usually when people say that, they’re not. Your eyes say “nightmare”. Bad one?’
    Busted . ‘Yes, but I’m all right.’
    Coppola smiled. ‘Second verse, same as the first. Will you sleep now?’
    Daphne wagged her head. ‘Doubtful.’
    Coppola pulled a deck of cards from her pocket. ‘We could play a game?’
    Daphne opened the door wider. ‘Please.’
    Coppola came in and sat on the edge of the bed and dealt two piles of cards. ‘Your mother had a nightmare too. She called out for “Michael”.’
    ‘My father.’ He broke Mama’s heart . And mine .
    ‘ What’s the story on him?’
    ‘He left one night and we never saw him again. I should go to her.’
    ‘No need. Maggie’s in there with her. Your mother played her music box and it seemed to help quiet her down.’
    ‘“Edelweiss”. My father used to play it for us on his guitar.’
    ‘I’m sorry about your dad.’
    ‘Long time ago.’ He’d left them twenty-seven years ago. Because of me . Because he couldn’t stomach the sight of me . Because everyone knew what I did .
    His voice lingered in her memory, another by-product of the nightmare. Where is she, baby? Where is Kelly? You have to know . You have to tell . His hands, on her shoulders, shaking her. Snap out it, Daphne . You have to snap out of it .
    And then her mother. Stop it, Michael . You’re making it worse . And then . . . the sound of their fighting with each other. Over me .
    I should have told . I could have told . Why didn’t I tell? Familiar panic rose in her throat and she tried to shake it off. Can’t do this . Can’t let myself get so wound up . Got enough problems in the here and now, I don’t need to be adding problems from the past to my plate . Especially since the time for helping her cousin Kelly was long, long gone.
    She sat on the bed, closed her fingers around the cards. ‘What are we playing?’
    ‘Rummy 500.’ Coppola eyed Daphne’s white-knuckled grip on the cards, on her foot that bobbed almost convulsively. ‘What can I do to help you, Daphne?’ she asked so gently that Daphne felt churlish for wanting to reply none of your business .
    ‘Nothing. It has to work through my system on its own.’ It was like withdrawal from a drug. She got the shakes, violent trembles. Yesterday she’d warded off a panic attack by breathing in the scent of Joseph’s aftershave on her hands. But now when she lifted her hands to her face all she could smell was her