“Yeah, right, I thought so,” Logue said. “I have two words for you, Olivia. Fuck. Off.”
He hung up.
Olivia? The intern? What the hell?
She asked Danny’s lawyer to help locate him, and not only did he stonewall, but he accused her of being Judge Conroy’s former intern. Why would Logue know about that intern or assume she was the person calling to inquire about Danny? That only made sense if there was a link between Danny’s disappearance and Judge Conroy’s chambers.
Madison had better double down and do what it took to get information from the judge. Judge Conroy was the key to this puzzle.
19
Around six, Madison heard a noise at the back door. She’d been cooking dinner in the fabulous kitchen, with its stainless-steel range, pot filler, separate prep sink in the marble island, and expensive cookware. She put the spoon down, listening nervously to the sound of a key in the lock. Lucy sidled past her, heading for the back door, and she relaxed. That was no intruder. The judge was home.
The alarm started to beep. Madison rushed to enter the code, putting on a smile for the judge.
“Welcome home, Judge. Let me get that bag. Here, I’ll trade you.”
Picking up the cat and thrusting her into the judge’s arms, she stepped outside to grab the suitcase. The rain had stopped, but an evil mist lingered near the ground, its chill getting in her bones. As she turned away, a motion in her peripheral vision caught her eye. There was a man in the alley. The gate slid closed, obscuring him from view, but she’d seen enough to know him. Wallace.
She grabbed the suitcase and rushed inside, locking the door behind her.
“Judge, there’s a man in the alley. I think it’s him.”
Judge Conroy was stroking the cat and murmuring endearments. She peeked out through a crack in the blinds.
“Where? I don’t see anyone.”
“Well, now the gate’s closed. But he was there, watching.”
Setting Lucy down, the judge took off her coat, then touched Madison’s arm with a reassuring smile.
“It was just a neighbor, putting out the trash. I can tell you’re still on edge from last night. Don’t worry, that was nothing. A misunderstanding between friends.”
So that’s how it was going to be. Wallace was out there, and the judge knew it. She would’ve seen him, possibly spoken to him. She was presumably covering for him. And lying to Madison about it, which didn’t bode well for this endeavor. The whole point of the dinner was to ply her with food and wine and get her talking. It had always been a long shot to think a few well-timed questions would unearth her secrets. With Wallace lurking outside, it began to seem downright dangerous.
“It smells divine in here. What are you cooking?” the judge said.
She’d been sautéing shallots for fettucine with a lemon cream sauce, a dish she’d perfected. She picked up the wooden spoon and gave them a stir.
“Just making us some dinner. I figured you’d be too tired to cook after your travel day.”
“Hah, my idea of cooking is opening DoorDash. You’ll spoil me, Madison.”
Judge Conroy looked around appreciatively. The house gleamed, fragrant with lemon furniture polish. The fireplace was lit. The sound system played jazz at the perfect volume. A bottle of chardonnay sat chilling in an ice bucket on the island. She’d laid her trap well. Who knows, it still might work. She had to try, for Danny.
“Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.”
“I’ll go change, then. Right after I open that wine. God, I need a drink.”
She looked it, her face white and strained, deep purple shadows under her eyes. Madison squelched a rush of empathy. The judge was her quarry. Not her friend.
“Here. Let me.”
She plucked the wine from the cooler, opened it with a flourish and poured two glasses. They clinked.
“Was your trip okay? You seem stressed.”
“Oh, yes, fine. Hey, those joggers are adorable on you. You should keep them.”
Madison wore sweatpants and a T-shirt from the judge’s closet. They were the simplest things she’d found and yet the height of luxury, the sweatpants of pale blue cashmere, the T-shirt from a high-end brand. Keeping them would put her in the judge’s debt.
“You’re too generous. I can’t accept.”
“No, I insist. And that reminds me.”
Taking out her wallet, she counted a thousand dollars cash onto the island like a blackjack dealer throwing cards. Then looked at it, frowned, and added five hundred more. Madison remembered that plastic bag of cash, hidden in the judge’s bathroom. Was this dirty money? It was certainly an exorbitant amount for twenty-four hours of pet-sitting. She recognized a bribe when she saw one.