Eleventh Hour

and remote he became.
    Albia said, shaking her head, her voice incredulous, “To think that Cleo actually ran off with Tod Gambol. Sure, he was something of a hunk, a lot younger than John, but for her to want him more than John, well, it still doesn’t seem possible to me.”
    “I wonder where they are,” Nicola said. “It’s been three years and still no word?”
    “No, not a thing. I’ll never forget how he met her. He was taking one of his very rare vacations, a long weekend really, and she was there at the hotel, some sort of manager, and there was the fire in his room and she came to apologize. And, well, they were married one week later. I was very surprised, as was the rest of the world. They kept it all very private.”
    “They were together for five years,” Nicola said, remembering Cleo Rothman’s voice, her incredible talent for organization and management. The staff had loved her.
    She said, “I remember wondering why John hadn’t married until he was, what? Nearly forty?”
    “That’s right. He and Cleo were married when he had just turned thirty-nine. Didn’t he tell you? Well, he fell in love with a girl in college—this was at Columbia. Her name was Melissa and they were going to get married when they graduated. Our father was against it, of course, because John’s life was planned out for him, and that included three years of law school, and a nice long wait until our father could find him the right sort of wife, you know what I mean, but John didn’t care. He wanted Melissa and he wasn’t going to wait.”
    “What happened?”
    “She died in an auto accident at the end of her senior year. John was distraught, didn’t recover for quite a number of years. Actually, I don’t think he recovered until he met Cleo. But look, Nicola, it’s only been three years, and he wants to marry you. That is a miracle. He is very much in love with you, don’t you think?”
    “So much tragedy,” Nicola said, aware that she wanted to cry, that her throat hurt so badly she didn’t think she could speak another word. She was so hungry she wanted to gnaw her own elbow. She wanted to get out of there, she wanted to go home and curl up in her own bed. And she didn’t want anyone at all to come into her condo and see her naked in the bathroom.
    “I’m so tired, Albia. I believe they’re going to release me soon.”
    Albia rose. “Yes, I’ve taken care of it. If you’d like to dress now, I’ll take you right home.”
    “Thank you. I would like that very much. But, Albia, I want to go to my own place. I’m just not ready to move in with John.”

NINETEEN
    BEAR LAKE, CALIFORNIA
    Dane had volunteered to drive the two hours up to Bear Lake to see what they could find out about Weldon DeLoach from the staff and, they hoped, from his elderly father. “Hey, maybe,” Flynn had said, “old Weldon will be hiding in one of the rest home’s closets.”
    Dane pulled onto the freeway, then turned to Nick. “I forgot to tell you. Flynn got a search warrant and went over to Weldon’s house. Unfortunately they didn’t find anything to either implicate DeLoach or give a clue as to his whereabouts. And just before we left, Delion checked in with Lieutenant Purcell. They haven’t caught up with Stuckey yet, so we have no gun. There wasn’t anything in Milton McGuffey’s apartment either that gives us a clue to the man who called Stuckey. But it’s early days yet.”
    She nodded, stared down a moment at her clasped hands. She had a jagged fingernail and began worrying it. “I wanted to tell you that I was really sorry I couldn’t be with you at the cemetery. I wanted to say good-bye to Father Michael Joseph, too, but they rushed me off so fast I didn’t have a chance to speak to you about it.”
    “I’m sorry you couldn’t come, too. At least the media didn’t catch up with you. But you can bet some enterprising souls are trying their best to put this all together. Something will leak soon from the studios, if it hasn’t already. Then it’s going to be really rough, with you at the epicenter.”
    She looked, quite simply, terrified.
    Dane, impatient, said, “Look, Nick, you know this is an international story. For God’s sake, you’re the eyewitness to my brother’s murder.”
    “Not really. I haven’t been any help at all.”
    “We’ll see. Now, the media thing. It’s going to happen. You really need to reconsider telling me what’s going on with you.”
    “No, I don’t.”