conclusion. Pointing to the senior portrait, he shook his head. “A picture’s supposed to be worth a thousand words,” he said sadly. “But it makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”
Joanna nodded. “It certainly does,” she said.
Back in the O’Brien’s living room, David and Katherine sat in front of a massive stone fireplace. David’s wheelchair was parked on one side. Katherine’s overstuffed brocade-covered chair was opposite his. Both Katherine and David held fist-sized cocktail glasses in their hands. As soon as Joanna walked into the room, Katherine’s eyes sought hers. That silent, pleading look spoke volumes. Please don’t tell my husband about the pills, it said. Her voice, however, belied the desperate message in her eyes.
“Won’t you reconsider and join us?” Katherine asked. She gestured graciously toward a silver serving tray stocked with several crystal glasses, a matching ice bucket, and a selection of liquor bottles. The tray, placed well within reach, sat on an elegantly carved ebony coffee table. “Or, if you wish,” Katherine Continued, “Mrs. Vorevkin could bring in a fresh pitcher of lea.”
David O’Brien frowned as though finding his wife’s offer of hospitality somehow offensive. Polishing off the liquid in his own glass, he leaned over, slamming the crystal glass down on the tray hard enough to jangle the bottles standing there. Allen tossing in a couple of ice cubes, he refilled his glass with a generous serving from a half-empty bottle of Chivas Regal.
“No, thank you . . .” Joanna began.
“Stop it, Katherine,” O’Brien ordered. “That isn’t necessary. No sense treating these two cops like they’re honored guests or long-lost relatives. They’re here for business, not pleasure.”
Katherine blanched at the rebuke. Wanting to make her feel better, Joanna ignored David O’Brien’s rudeness and turned instead to his wife. “Your husband is right, Mrs. O’Brien,” Joanna said smoothly. “Detective Carpenter and I are here on business. It’s very kind of you, but it isn’t necessary to treat us as guests. And, now that we’re finished, we need to be going.”
Katherine had been ordered to stifle, and she did so. She nodded mutely in response, holding her mouth in a thin, straight line while her eyes welled with tears. David O’Brien, however, seemed oblivious to the fact that his actions had caused his wife any discomfort. Still fuming, he turned his attention on Joanna.
“Well, Sheriff Brady,” he continued brusquely, “what have you decided? Are you going to call in the FBI or not?”
“Not,” Joanna replied. “I realize, Mr. O’Brien, that you’re under the impression that some serious harm has come to your daughter. However, nothing we found in her room gives any indication of foul play. According to what your wife could tell us about your daughter’s things, the clothing Bree packed when she left home is consistent with someone going away for a few days—of someone going away with every intention of returning. Your daughter told you she’d be back on Sunday afternoon, correct?”
“Yes, but ...”
“How old is she, Mr. O’Brien?”
“She turned eighteen in March.”
“Not a juvenile, then. She’s of an age where the law allows her to come and go as she pleases, regardless of her parents’ wishes. Until she misses her Sunday afternoon estimated time of arrival or until you receive some kind of threat or ransom demand, there’s really nothing more we can do.”
“Can or will?” David O’Brien asked.
“We’ve already done something,” Joanna countered reason-ably. “Probably more than we should have under the circumstances. Even though Brianna doesn’t officially qualify as a missing person, my department has nonetheless alerted authorities both here and in New Mexico to be on the lookout for her.”
“But not the FBI.”
“No.”
“And you have no intention of notifying them?”
David O’Brien was clearly a
Joanna nodded. “It certainly does,” she said.
Back in the O’Brien’s living room, David and Katherine sat in front of a massive stone fireplace. David’s wheelchair was parked on one side. Katherine’s overstuffed brocade-covered chair was opposite his. Both Katherine and David held fist-sized cocktail glasses in their hands. As soon as Joanna walked into the room, Katherine’s eyes sought hers. That silent, pleading look spoke volumes. Please don’t tell my husband about the pills, it said. Her voice, however, belied the desperate message in her eyes.
“Won’t you reconsider and join us?” Katherine asked. She gestured graciously toward a silver serving tray stocked with several crystal glasses, a matching ice bucket, and a selection of liquor bottles. The tray, placed well within reach, sat on an elegantly carved ebony coffee table. “Or, if you wish,” Katherine Continued, “Mrs. Vorevkin could bring in a fresh pitcher of lea.”
David O’Brien frowned as though finding his wife’s offer of hospitality somehow offensive. Polishing off the liquid in his own glass, he leaned over, slamming the crystal glass down on the tray hard enough to jangle the bottles standing there. Allen tossing in a couple of ice cubes, he refilled his glass with a generous serving from a half-empty bottle of Chivas Regal.
“No, thank you . . .” Joanna began.
“Stop it, Katherine,” O’Brien ordered. “That isn’t necessary. No sense treating these two cops like they’re honored guests or long-lost relatives. They’re here for business, not pleasure.”
Katherine blanched at the rebuke. Wanting to make her feel better, Joanna ignored David O’Brien’s rudeness and turned instead to his wife. “Your husband is right, Mrs. O’Brien,” Joanna said smoothly. “Detective Carpenter and I are here on business. It’s very kind of you, but it isn’t necessary to treat us as guests. And, now that we’re finished, we need to be going.”
Katherine had been ordered to stifle, and she did so. She nodded mutely in response, holding her mouth in a thin, straight line while her eyes welled with tears. David O’Brien, however, seemed oblivious to the fact that his actions had caused his wife any discomfort. Still fuming, he turned his attention on Joanna.
“Well, Sheriff Brady,” he continued brusquely, “what have you decided? Are you going to call in the FBI or not?”
“Not,” Joanna replied. “I realize, Mr. O’Brien, that you’re under the impression that some serious harm has come to your daughter. However, nothing we found in her room gives any indication of foul play. According to what your wife could tell us about your daughter’s things, the clothing Bree packed when she left home is consistent with someone going away for a few days—of someone going away with every intention of returning. Your daughter told you she’d be back on Sunday afternoon, correct?”
“Yes, but ...”
“How old is she, Mr. O’Brien?”
“She turned eighteen in March.”
“Not a juvenile, then. She’s of an age where the law allows her to come and go as she pleases, regardless of her parents’ wishes. Until she misses her Sunday afternoon estimated time of arrival or until you receive some kind of threat or ransom demand, there’s really nothing more we can do.”
“Can or will?” David O’Brien asked.
“We’ve already done something,” Joanna countered reason-ably. “Probably more than we should have under the circumstances. Even though Brianna doesn’t officially qualify as a missing person, my department has nonetheless alerted authorities both here and in New Mexico to be on the lookout for her.”
“But not the FBI.”
“No.”
“And you have no intention of notifying them?”
David O’Brien was clearly a
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