Round Robin: The Dangers of Knowing Too Much, Chapter 16
Title: The Dangers of Knowing Too Much 16/?
Author: yankee306
Pairings: Mary and Marshall, bien sûr
Summary: Chapters 1-15 retold from Squid POV
A/N: Here -- at the very last minue -- is my contribution. It’s a bit on the dry and explain-y side, but I needed to take a breather and catch up with some of what’s gone on in the last 2 days. (That’s right -- everything that's happened so far has taken place in under 48 hours!)
Thanks to
greenstuff for telling me it was okay not to have any freeze-ray guns or long-lost cousins in this chapter.
P.S. Before anybody compares me to TPTB for having Marshall answer his cell phone in his hospital room, some hospitals do allow them. Just sayin’.
sunshine_ryn takes over from here!
Chapter One// Chapter Two// Chapter Three// Chapter Four// Chapter Five// Chapter Six// Chapter Seven// Chapter Eight// Chapter Nine// Chapter Ten// Chapter Eleven// Chapter Twelve// Chapter Thirteen// Chapter Fourteen// Chapter Fifteen
Previously, on The Dangers of Knowing Too Much...
Mary eyed the box. Guess she had to open it now.
And now, Chapter 16 ...
Stop.
Breathe.
Christ, Daddy, haven’t you caused me enough trouble for today? For my whole life? Do I even want to see whatever’s in there?
Before Mary could decide how to answer herself, Squid came trotting out of her bedroom. She couldn’t help smiling at his fuzzy coat and slightly-too-big head and paws.
“Hey, Squid.”
The puppy happily bounced around Mary’s feet, nudging her legs with his nose. She couldn’t resist his imploring eyes and knelt down to rub his head. As soon as she was within reach, Squid jumped up to lick her face. Laughing, she pushed him away and gave him her arm to wrestle with.
“That is a seriously gross habit, you know,” she told Squid.
Mary stood and walked toward the back door.
“C’mon, let’s go outside,” she said, holding the door open.
Squid charged out, sniffing excitedly at everything he passed. A grasshopper caught his attention and he ran after it, yelping in alarm each time it leapt. Mary sat down on the steps and watched the puppy explore his new home.
What an uncomplicated little life he has. Eat, sleep, play. Repeat. Mary sighed. No decisions to make about packages from absent fathers or emotional entanglements with partners.
God, had it really been less than 24 hours since Mary had confessed that her father hadn’t completely vanished from her life 30 years ago? Was it only last night that she’d told Marshall the story of her first marriage and tried to explain why she agreed to marry Raph?
She realized now that she’d been working herself up to these conversations for months-probably ever since she broke up with Raph and Jinx and Brandi cleared out. Her “arrangement” with Marshall, which her conscious mind had attributed to a simple desire for company, had been getting ready to tear down more of the barriers between them. Marshall’s question about why she said “yes” to Raph had given her an opening.
It wasn’t easy to strip away another layer of self-protection, to expose more of her weakness and foolishness, but what she felt most now was . . . relief. It was a relief to entrust her secrets to Marshall and to know that he would keep them safe.
She had never planned to let Marshall in so far. He’d stolen his way in, slowly, surely over four years. Bit by bit she had trusted him with more of herself. He hadn’t ever asked ask her to trust him; he just showed her, time and again, that she could.
Mary thought back to everything she’d told Marshall the previous night. If only the revelations had stopped there. But she screwed up and let him read the one letter he shouldn’t and Marshall had felt betrayed. (Thanks, Daddy.) Before they’d had a chance to work that through, they’d had to run off to another crisis. (Thanks, Brandi.) Now Marshall was lying in the hospital, injured from trying to protect her from-who else?-her ridiculous family. (Thanks, Uncle Aaron.)
And now she was supposed to open some mysterious package from her father? What fresh joy was that going to bring? Part of her wanted to hand the damn package over to Dershowitz and let him run with whatever was in there. Crap. Dershowitz. She had to talk to him soon. If the package related to Aaron somehow, she didn’t want to be forced into lying to him. She wanted time to think about it, maybe talk to Marshall before she decided what to do.
Suddenly, Mary’s woolgathering was interrupted by Squid, who was standing on the edge of the pool, barking furiously at a couple of water striders skating across the surface.
“Good work, Squid! I’ll sleep better knowing you’re guarding the perimeter from the scourge of totally benign insects.”
Then Mary saw Squid reach out a paw toward one of the bugs and wobble a little before regaining his balance. She wondered what would happen if he fell in. Are dogs born knowing how to swim or do they have to learn? She’d have to remember to ask Marshall; he’d know. Suddenly she wanted to hear his voice; why not ask now? She pulled out her phone and hit the speed dial.
“Hey, Mare.”
“Does Squid know how to swim?” Mary asked without preface.
“Do squid know how to swim? Yeah, I’m pretty sure they do,” Marshall answered. The obvious question-“I know you’re not really this dumb so what gives?”-remained tacit.
“No, not squid. Squid, my dog.”
On the other end of the line, Marshall smiled at hearing Mary call Squid hers. He hadn’t been sure she would accept his gift so easily.
“You called me on my deathbed to ask if your dog can swim?”
“You’re not on your deathbed. You’re sitting there twiddling your thumbs, bored out of your skull.”
“You have me there. Dogs of most breeds swim by instinct, German shepherds included.”
“How do I know you didn’t get me a defective one?”
“It cuts me to the quick that you would even ask,” said Marshall, in his best mock injured tone. She could almost see him clutching his chest, a pained expression on his face.
“You’re sure I don’t need to go shopping for a puppy-sized life jacket before leaving him in the back yard by himself?”
“He’ll be fine, Mare.”
“’Kay, good. How are you?”
“Well, breathing is something of a chore and I seem to have more contusions than skin, but I’m ok. Anything new in the investigation?”
“I haven’t heard anything. I’m just about to go see Dershowitz. I’ll come by after.”
“Sounds good.”
There was a long pause.
“Mare, you still there?”
“Listen, I-“ Mary stopped abruptly. “I’ll see you later.”
Mary hung up without saying goodbye. She had wanted to apologize to Marshall for all the crap he’d suffered in the last two days at the hands of her family. Better to have the conversation in person, though, when she could read his expressions and try to find out if she and Marshall were still ok.
I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I’d heard about Leslie, but I never needed an explanation, not once I started to get to know you. I know who you are, Marshall. I love who you are.
...
Most of the blame for the dull throb in Marshall’s head went to the unknown bomber, but portions of it belonged to one or another of the Shannons, or, rather, to Marshall’s attempts to puzzle out what the hell was going on with them. One part was thanks to James Shannon, whom Marshall now knew was not only still out there somewhere but had been sending Mary letters for more than 30 years, including letters about him; another part came from mysterious Uncle Aaron Shannon, who, it seemed, had appeared in Albuquerque only to die; and, not for the first time, he could assign part of his pain to Mary Shannon.
This wasn’t his first Mary-induced headache, but, uncharacteristically, it hadn’t arisen from anger; quite the opposite. Marshall was still reeling from last night, when Mary had opened up to him about the three most important relationships she’d ever had with men: father, husband, fiancé.
Marshall knew it had cost her something to admit how hasty and foolish she’d been in marrying Mark. Learning that history made it easier for him to understand why Mary’s father had wanted to warn her about what he thought he knew about Marshall. And he understood Mary’s secrecy. Keeping the letters to herself was a way of protecting both him and Mary’s father. It was just that the idea that she had ever, for a single instant, thought him capable of assaulting Leslie like that sickened him.
Still, at least Mary knew the whole truth now. All of this-secret letters, ghostly fathers, stray uncles-needed to be brought into the light if they were to-what? Don't get carried away, Marshall reminded himself. You don't know why she told you about the letters and the rest of it. You don't know if it means the same thing to her as it does to you.
For three months, Marshall had been trying not to look too far past the surface of their “arrangement.” Mary needed company; who better than her best friend to provide it? It was temporary, transitional. He shouldn’t get used to it. He shouldn't get used to living the life-a version of it, anyway-that he’d wanted for so long, starting and ending every day with Mary. Don't ask for too much. Raph is gone and you're still here. Let that be enough right now.
...
Mary entered the police station and made her way back to Bobby’s desk.
“Hey, Dershowitz.”
“Mary, so prompt! If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think you had developed some respect for me and my time.”
She gave him a thin smile. “Let’s get this over with, Bobby. I want to get back to the hospital.”
Seeing that Mary wasn’t in the mood to play, Bobby switched into a more matter-of-fact gear. “Fair enough. Let’s go in here,” he said, leading her into a small conference room and closing the door. They sat down across the table from one another.
“First of all, before you ask, I can’t tell you anything about the investigation.”
“Oh, I see. Well, it’s been great to see you Bobby,” sniped Mary.
She rose out of her chair. Bobby rose, too, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace.
“Look, it’s not my call. I promised your chief that we would do this by the book, with no backchannel communications. If you want to know what’s going on, you’re gonna have to find out from him.”
Mary sighed, exasperated. She knew Stan was in a tough spot, though, trying to avoid any appearance of favoritism or cover-up involving her family. She sat back down and Bobby followed suit.
“Fine.”
Bobby pulled out his notepad and asked, “What can you tell me about Aaron Shannon?”
“I swear to you, Bobby, I don’t know anything about him. I didn’t even know I had an uncle, if that’s who he really is. As far as I’ve always known, my father was an only child.”
“How did you and Marshall come to be standing next to him when the bomb went off?”
“Marshall and I were here to bail out Brandi-“
Bobby chortled. “Yeah, I heard that little sis got herself locked up again.”
Mary gave him a look but didn’t stop recounting the morning’s events. “I saw Aaron in the parking lot and I thought at first that he might be my father. From a distance, they look alike, same build, same coloring. We waited until he came inside and then approached him when he got off the elevator.”
“At this point you still thought he might be James Shannon?”
“Once I saw his face, I knew it wasn’t Da-my father, but the family resemblance is strong. They’ve got the same eyes.”
“It’s been how long since you’ve seen your father?”
“The last time I saw him was February 7th, 1978.”
“Yet you’re confident that the man who identified himself as Aaron is related to him.”
“Bobby, I’m not confident of anything. I just know that I felt like I almost recognized him, but not quite. He knew who I was immediately and knew that I was here to get Brandi. “
“What was he doing at the station?”
“I have absolutely no idea why he would be in Albuquerque, never mind in a police station. I mean unless we’re talking totally cosmic coincidence, it must have to do with me and Brandi, but I can’t imagine what.”
“So then you don’t know why anyone would want to kill him?”
“Not a clue. Are you seriously looking into an IRA connection?”
“We have to be thorough, but it seems pretty unlikely that someone tracked him to New Mexico more than 10 years after peace in Ireland. What about a witness connection?”
“Witness?” asked Mary, playing dumb. Even in these circumstances, Mary wouldn’t say anything that might compromise her work.
Bobby sighed. “Marshal Shannon, I’m trying to solve a homicide here. I need whatever information you have.”
Mary met Bobby’s level gaze with her own and said, slowly and earnestly, “Detective Dershowitz, I have no further information about the dead man. I don’t know of any connection he might have to anything or anyone whatsoever in Albuquerque other than my family.”
Bobby continued to look at Mary for a moment before deciding that she was being straight with him-probably. “OK. I’ll share this with Marshal Collins and the F.B.I.”
“Jesus, the F.B.I.? I can’t wait to have them digging around in my life again. Is it O’Conner?”
“I spoke with a Special Agent . . . ,” here Bobby consulted his notes, “Sanderro, based in Albuquerque.”
“I guess I’ll hear about it soon enough if O’Conner’s getting involved. God, would he love having another shot at me.”
“Why does the guy hate you so much, Mary?” Bobby asked, before adding with a smirk, “More than everyone else does, I mean?”
“Keep it up, Dershowitz, and you’ll find out.”
...
On her way to the hospital, Mary stopped at Marshall’s house and picked up his laptop, a stack of DVDs, two pairs of his goofy pajama pants, a book of sudoku puzzles, and the top three books from the perpetual stack on his bedside table.
She left the bag unzipped and carried it out to her car. After she added the package to the bag’s contents, she closed it up, put it in the Probe’s trunk, and headed to the hospital.
When Mary arrived at Marshall’s room, a nurse had just finished recording Marshall’s vital signs.
“Do you need anything else before I go, Marshall? My shift ends in about a half hour.”
“No, thank you, Sandy. Have a good night.”
“You too, Marshall.”
Mary stood aside to let the nurse pass, then raised her eyebrows at Marshall. “Very chummy with the nurses, I see.”
“I find it pays to be on good terms with people who hold your health and comfort in their hands. We don’t all have your gift for scaring people into doing what we want.”
“Pity.”
Mary held up the duffel bag she was carrying. “Laptop, movies, books,” she announced, before putting down the bag and pulling out the top two items. “And,” she continued, “these.” Mary displayed the p.j.’s she’d chosen, one pair covered with red and yellow tugboats and the other with planets and shooting stars.
Marshall beamed. “See? I’m nice to you and you bring me treasures.”
“Wish that were all I brought. There’s also this,” said Mary, handing Marshall the card that had been attached to the package. “Daddy says ‘hi.’”
Marshall read the card and laughed mirthlessly. “He sends his ‘regrets.’ How very thoughtful. And what a delightful double entendre he finds with ‘mess.’ Think he’s ever seen someone who’s taken a direct hit from a bomb blast?”
“Yeah, it’s kind of a jackass move.” Mary shrugged. "I’m sure he meant well.”
“’The road to hell . . . '"
“’is paved with good intentions.’ I know. Anyway, that’s not all.”
Marshall raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”
“The card was attached to a package left at my front door.”
Marshall’s brow furrowed. “What was in it?”
“I haven’t actually opened it yet. Can I-is it okay if I open it here, with you?”
“Of course,” answered Marshall, regarding Mary thoughtfully.
“Thanks,” he added.
“For what?” asked Mary, confused.
“For trusting me.”
Mary met Marshall’s eyes and smiled. Then she removed the package from the duffel bag and set it on the chair next to Marshall’s bed. He regarded it warily.
“That damn well better not be a bomb.”
“Relax. The one thing I’m sure of when it comes to my father is that he isn’t trying to kill me.”
Chapter 17
Author: yankee306
Pairings: Mary and Marshall, bien sûr
Summary: Chapters 1-15 retold from Squid POV
A/N: Here -- at the very last minue -- is my contribution. It’s a bit on the dry and explain-y side, but I needed to take a breather and catch up with some of what’s gone on in the last 2 days. (That’s right -- everything that's happened so far has taken place in under 48 hours!)
Thanks to
greenstuff for telling me it was okay not to have any freeze-ray guns or long-lost cousins in this chapter.
P.S. Before anybody compares me to TPTB for having Marshall answer his cell phone in his hospital room, some hospitals do allow them. Just sayin’.
sunshine_ryn takes over from here!
Chapter One// Chapter Two// Chapter Three// Chapter Four// Chapter Five// Chapter Six// Chapter Seven// Chapter Eight// Chapter Nine// Chapter Ten// Chapter Eleven// Chapter Twelve// Chapter Thirteen// Chapter Fourteen// Chapter Fifteen
Previously, on The Dangers of Knowing Too Much...
Mary eyed the box. Guess she had to open it now.
And now, Chapter 16 ...
Stop.
Breathe.
Christ, Daddy, haven’t you caused me enough trouble for today? For my whole life? Do I even want to see whatever’s in there?
Before Mary could decide how to answer herself, Squid came trotting out of her bedroom. She couldn’t help smiling at his fuzzy coat and slightly-too-big head and paws.
“Hey, Squid.”
The puppy happily bounced around Mary’s feet, nudging her legs with his nose. She couldn’t resist his imploring eyes and knelt down to rub his head. As soon as she was within reach, Squid jumped up to lick her face. Laughing, she pushed him away and gave him her arm to wrestle with.
“That is a seriously gross habit, you know,” she told Squid.
Mary stood and walked toward the back door.
“C’mon, let’s go outside,” she said, holding the door open.
Squid charged out, sniffing excitedly at everything he passed. A grasshopper caught his attention and he ran after it, yelping in alarm each time it leapt. Mary sat down on the steps and watched the puppy explore his new home.
What an uncomplicated little life he has. Eat, sleep, play. Repeat. Mary sighed. No decisions to make about packages from absent fathers or emotional entanglements with partners.
God, had it really been less than 24 hours since Mary had confessed that her father hadn’t completely vanished from her life 30 years ago? Was it only last night that she’d told Marshall the story of her first marriage and tried to explain why she agreed to marry Raph?
She realized now that she’d been working herself up to these conversations for months-probably ever since she broke up with Raph and Jinx and Brandi cleared out. Her “arrangement” with Marshall, which her conscious mind had attributed to a simple desire for company, had been getting ready to tear down more of the barriers between them. Marshall’s question about why she said “yes” to Raph had given her an opening.
It wasn’t easy to strip away another layer of self-protection, to expose more of her weakness and foolishness, but what she felt most now was . . . relief. It was a relief to entrust her secrets to Marshall and to know that he would keep them safe.
She had never planned to let Marshall in so far. He’d stolen his way in, slowly, surely over four years. Bit by bit she had trusted him with more of herself. He hadn’t ever asked ask her to trust him; he just showed her, time and again, that she could.
Mary thought back to everything she’d told Marshall the previous night. If only the revelations had stopped there. But she screwed up and let him read the one letter he shouldn’t and Marshall had felt betrayed. (Thanks, Daddy.) Before they’d had a chance to work that through, they’d had to run off to another crisis. (Thanks, Brandi.) Now Marshall was lying in the hospital, injured from trying to protect her from-who else?-her ridiculous family. (Thanks, Uncle Aaron.)
And now she was supposed to open some mysterious package from her father? What fresh joy was that going to bring? Part of her wanted to hand the damn package over to Dershowitz and let him run with whatever was in there. Crap. Dershowitz. She had to talk to him soon. If the package related to Aaron somehow, she didn’t want to be forced into lying to him. She wanted time to think about it, maybe talk to Marshall before she decided what to do.
Suddenly, Mary’s woolgathering was interrupted by Squid, who was standing on the edge of the pool, barking furiously at a couple of water striders skating across the surface.
“Good work, Squid! I’ll sleep better knowing you’re guarding the perimeter from the scourge of totally benign insects.”
Then Mary saw Squid reach out a paw toward one of the bugs and wobble a little before regaining his balance. She wondered what would happen if he fell in. Are dogs born knowing how to swim or do they have to learn? She’d have to remember to ask Marshall; he’d know. Suddenly she wanted to hear his voice; why not ask now? She pulled out her phone and hit the speed dial.
“Hey, Mare.”
“Does Squid know how to swim?” Mary asked without preface.
“Do squid know how to swim? Yeah, I’m pretty sure they do,” Marshall answered. The obvious question-“I know you’re not really this dumb so what gives?”-remained tacit.
“No, not squid. Squid, my dog.”
On the other end of the line, Marshall smiled at hearing Mary call Squid hers. He hadn’t been sure she would accept his gift so easily.
“You called me on my deathbed to ask if your dog can swim?”
“You’re not on your deathbed. You’re sitting there twiddling your thumbs, bored out of your skull.”
“You have me there. Dogs of most breeds swim by instinct, German shepherds included.”
“How do I know you didn’t get me a defective one?”
“It cuts me to the quick that you would even ask,” said Marshall, in his best mock injured tone. She could almost see him clutching his chest, a pained expression on his face.
“You’re sure I don’t need to go shopping for a puppy-sized life jacket before leaving him in the back yard by himself?”
“He’ll be fine, Mare.”
“’Kay, good. How are you?”
“Well, breathing is something of a chore and I seem to have more contusions than skin, but I’m ok. Anything new in the investigation?”
“I haven’t heard anything. I’m just about to go see Dershowitz. I’ll come by after.”
“Sounds good.”
There was a long pause.
“Mare, you still there?”
“Listen, I-“ Mary stopped abruptly. “I’ll see you later.”
Mary hung up without saying goodbye. She had wanted to apologize to Marshall for all the crap he’d suffered in the last two days at the hands of her family. Better to have the conversation in person, though, when she could read his expressions and try to find out if she and Marshall were still ok.
I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I’d heard about Leslie, but I never needed an explanation, not once I started to get to know you. I know who you are, Marshall. I love who you are.
...
Most of the blame for the dull throb in Marshall’s head went to the unknown bomber, but portions of it belonged to one or another of the Shannons, or, rather, to Marshall’s attempts to puzzle out what the hell was going on with them. One part was thanks to James Shannon, whom Marshall now knew was not only still out there somewhere but had been sending Mary letters for more than 30 years, including letters about him; another part came from mysterious Uncle Aaron Shannon, who, it seemed, had appeared in Albuquerque only to die; and, not for the first time, he could assign part of his pain to Mary Shannon.
This wasn’t his first Mary-induced headache, but, uncharacteristically, it hadn’t arisen from anger; quite the opposite. Marshall was still reeling from last night, when Mary had opened up to him about the three most important relationships she’d ever had with men: father, husband, fiancé.
Marshall knew it had cost her something to admit how hasty and foolish she’d been in marrying Mark. Learning that history made it easier for him to understand why Mary’s father had wanted to warn her about what he thought he knew about Marshall. And he understood Mary’s secrecy. Keeping the letters to herself was a way of protecting both him and Mary’s father. It was just that the idea that she had ever, for a single instant, thought him capable of assaulting Leslie like that sickened him.
Still, at least Mary knew the whole truth now. All of this-secret letters, ghostly fathers, stray uncles-needed to be brought into the light if they were to-what? Don't get carried away, Marshall reminded himself. You don't know why she told you about the letters and the rest of it. You don't know if it means the same thing to her as it does to you.
For three months, Marshall had been trying not to look too far past the surface of their “arrangement.” Mary needed company; who better than her best friend to provide it? It was temporary, transitional. He shouldn’t get used to it. He shouldn't get used to living the life-a version of it, anyway-that he’d wanted for so long, starting and ending every day with Mary. Don't ask for too much. Raph is gone and you're still here. Let that be enough right now.
...
Mary entered the police station and made her way back to Bobby’s desk.
“Hey, Dershowitz.”
“Mary, so prompt! If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think you had developed some respect for me and my time.”
She gave him a thin smile. “Let’s get this over with, Bobby. I want to get back to the hospital.”
Seeing that Mary wasn’t in the mood to play, Bobby switched into a more matter-of-fact gear. “Fair enough. Let’s go in here,” he said, leading her into a small conference room and closing the door. They sat down across the table from one another.
“First of all, before you ask, I can’t tell you anything about the investigation.”
“Oh, I see. Well, it’s been great to see you Bobby,” sniped Mary.
She rose out of her chair. Bobby rose, too, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace.
“Look, it’s not my call. I promised your chief that we would do this by the book, with no backchannel communications. If you want to know what’s going on, you’re gonna have to find out from him.”
Mary sighed, exasperated. She knew Stan was in a tough spot, though, trying to avoid any appearance of favoritism or cover-up involving her family. She sat back down and Bobby followed suit.
“Fine.”
Bobby pulled out his notepad and asked, “What can you tell me about Aaron Shannon?”
“I swear to you, Bobby, I don’t know anything about him. I didn’t even know I had an uncle, if that’s who he really is. As far as I’ve always known, my father was an only child.”
“How did you and Marshall come to be standing next to him when the bomb went off?”
“Marshall and I were here to bail out Brandi-“
Bobby chortled. “Yeah, I heard that little sis got herself locked up again.”
Mary gave him a look but didn’t stop recounting the morning’s events. “I saw Aaron in the parking lot and I thought at first that he might be my father. From a distance, they look alike, same build, same coloring. We waited until he came inside and then approached him when he got off the elevator.”
“At this point you still thought he might be James Shannon?”
“Once I saw his face, I knew it wasn’t Da-my father, but the family resemblance is strong. They’ve got the same eyes.”
“It’s been how long since you’ve seen your father?”
“The last time I saw him was February 7th, 1978.”
“Yet you’re confident that the man who identified himself as Aaron is related to him.”
“Bobby, I’m not confident of anything. I just know that I felt like I almost recognized him, but not quite. He knew who I was immediately and knew that I was here to get Brandi. “
“What was he doing at the station?”
“I have absolutely no idea why he would be in Albuquerque, never mind in a police station. I mean unless we’re talking totally cosmic coincidence, it must have to do with me and Brandi, but I can’t imagine what.”
“So then you don’t know why anyone would want to kill him?”
“Not a clue. Are you seriously looking into an IRA connection?”
“We have to be thorough, but it seems pretty unlikely that someone tracked him to New Mexico more than 10 years after peace in Ireland. What about a witness connection?”
“Witness?” asked Mary, playing dumb. Even in these circumstances, Mary wouldn’t say anything that might compromise her work.
Bobby sighed. “Marshal Shannon, I’m trying to solve a homicide here. I need whatever information you have.”
Mary met Bobby’s level gaze with her own and said, slowly and earnestly, “Detective Dershowitz, I have no further information about the dead man. I don’t know of any connection he might have to anything or anyone whatsoever in Albuquerque other than my family.”
Bobby continued to look at Mary for a moment before deciding that she was being straight with him-probably. “OK. I’ll share this with Marshal Collins and the F.B.I.”
“Jesus, the F.B.I.? I can’t wait to have them digging around in my life again. Is it O’Conner?”
“I spoke with a Special Agent . . . ,” here Bobby consulted his notes, “Sanderro, based in Albuquerque.”
“I guess I’ll hear about it soon enough if O’Conner’s getting involved. God, would he love having another shot at me.”
“Why does the guy hate you so much, Mary?” Bobby asked, before adding with a smirk, “More than everyone else does, I mean?”
“Keep it up, Dershowitz, and you’ll find out.”
...
On her way to the hospital, Mary stopped at Marshall’s house and picked up his laptop, a stack of DVDs, two pairs of his goofy pajama pants, a book of sudoku puzzles, and the top three books from the perpetual stack on his bedside table.
She left the bag unzipped and carried it out to her car. After she added the package to the bag’s contents, she closed it up, put it in the Probe’s trunk, and headed to the hospital.
When Mary arrived at Marshall’s room, a nurse had just finished recording Marshall’s vital signs.
“Do you need anything else before I go, Marshall? My shift ends in about a half hour.”
“No, thank you, Sandy. Have a good night.”
“You too, Marshall.”
Mary stood aside to let the nurse pass, then raised her eyebrows at Marshall. “Very chummy with the nurses, I see.”
“I find it pays to be on good terms with people who hold your health and comfort in their hands. We don’t all have your gift for scaring people into doing what we want.”
“Pity.”
Mary held up the duffel bag she was carrying. “Laptop, movies, books,” she announced, before putting down the bag and pulling out the top two items. “And,” she continued, “these.” Mary displayed the p.j.’s she’d chosen, one pair covered with red and yellow tugboats and the other with planets and shooting stars.
Marshall beamed. “See? I’m nice to you and you bring me treasures.”
“Wish that were all I brought. There’s also this,” said Mary, handing Marshall the card that had been attached to the package. “Daddy says ‘hi.’”
Marshall read the card and laughed mirthlessly. “He sends his ‘regrets.’ How very thoughtful. And what a delightful double entendre he finds with ‘mess.’ Think he’s ever seen someone who’s taken a direct hit from a bomb blast?”
“Yeah, it’s kind of a jackass move.” Mary shrugged. "I’m sure he meant well.”
“’The road to hell . . . '"
“’is paved with good intentions.’ I know. Anyway, that’s not all.”
Marshall raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”
“The card was attached to a package left at my front door.”
Marshall’s brow furrowed. “What was in it?”
“I haven’t actually opened it yet. Can I-is it okay if I open it here, with you?”
“Of course,” answered Marshall, regarding Mary thoughtfully.
“Thanks,” he added.
“For what?” asked Mary, confused.
“For trusting me.”
Mary met Marshall’s eyes and smiled. Then she removed the package from the duffel bag and set it on the chair next to Marshall’s bed. He regarded it warily.
“That damn well better not be a bomb.”
“Relax. The one thing I’m sure of when it comes to my father is that he isn’t trying to kill me.”
Chapter 17