Maggie rang the bell and Jackie’s face appeared in the sidelight after a long moment of waiting. She looked pale, washed-out, her eyes prominent and her freckles bright by contrast.
Maggie waved through the window. “Can we talk?”
Jackie watched her with an obvious caution, more of that strange expression from outside the flower shop a few days before. Then she nodded and the locks disengaged with a click, door swinging inward.
Jackie had a rumpled look about her, like she hadn’t showered yet; she was dressed in baggy sweats that made her arms look thin and pale. The house was shadowed, like the blinds weren’t open all the way. The air was cold, and it stirred against Maggie’s face as she entered, like she was the first thing to pass through it all day.
Wrong. The word hit her right between the eyes. Something wasn’t just off, it waswrong.
“Are you okay?” she asked, deciding not to beat around the bush.
Jackie left the door standing wide and held onto the knob, leaning against its edge with her shoulder. “Fine.” Her voice was too thin.
Maggie surveyed what she could see from here: the living room and the squishy blue sofas, recliner with the footrest kicked out, magazine open over the arm, kitchen cold and empty. “Is Collier here?”
“No.”
Maggie finally pinned her gaze to her friend, pushing her shades up into her hair. “Where is he?”
Jackie glanced away. “At Dartmoor, I guess. He left early this morning.”
“Did he? Or did he even come home last night?”
Jackie’s eyes snapped back, expression sharpening. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Maggie kept her voice gentle. “No one’s seen him around the clubhouse since early yesterday morning. Ghost has been looking for him.”
Jackie shrugged. “What do you want me to tell you? I’m his wife, not his warden. He was here last night.”
Maggie paced deeper into the house, heels echoing against the laminate floor of the entryway. “Jackie, hon, don’t take this the wrong way–”
“What?”
“ – but you’re gonna have to get a helluva lot smoother if you’re going to fool me.”
Jackie glared at her. “I changed my mind. No, we can’t talk right now.”
Maggie didn’t budge. “Collier’s missing. Ghost is looking for Collier. And you’re standing here lying. Do you think I don’t know all that?”
Silence.
“I have no idea what’s going on between the boys. But you know, don’t you? Because you’re nervous as a cat right now. You’re hiding something. How do you think that’s going to work out for you?”
Jackie took a trembling breath and then clamped her lips together.
“What happens, do you think, when whatever all this is blows up, and you’ve been keeping secrets? How does that go over with the rest of us?”
Another breath, and Jackie said, “I’m his old lady. I don’t have to tell anyone shit about him.”
Inwardly, Maggie approved. Damn straight – it was nobody’s business what a husband told his wife under veil of night, in the bed they shared together. But outwardly, she was a woman who didn’t tolerate anyone giving her own husband grief. “I don’t know what Collier’s up to,” she said, softly, “but this is your one and only chance to come clean. For the club.”
“Don’t gimme that ‘for the club’ bullshit,” Jackie sneered. “You standing here right now – that’s about Ghost, and you know it. Nothing you do is for the club; it’s for your family.” Her chin kicked up. “Collier’s my only family. I’ll go to hell before I betray him.”
Maggie gave her one last silent opportunity, then nodded. “Okay.” And saw herself out.
The door slammed behind her, locks clicking back into place.
As she passed Littlejohn in the driveway, she said, “Call Ghost if Collier shows up.”
