"Miss Hill." His voice was so very gentle it made Mia's throat thicken. "You know from the newspaper that your mother's house burned down last night."

Margaret looked up, her cheeks streaked. Her gaze locked onto Solliday's face. "It says… It says the police think she was murdered."

"She was, ma'am," Solliday said and Margaret began to cry again.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I just can't… My God. Oh, Mom."

Mia touched her hand. "Did she mention anyone or anything that worried her?"

Margaret visibly controlled herself. "Mom was a social worker. She took children from crackhead mothers and abusive fathers every week for twenty-five years."

"Did she worry about all those mothers and fathers?" Solliday asked.

"Not really. She worried sometimes about going into their houses. Once she was shot and she almost died. I was so happy she was retiring. I thought for once she could finally sleep at night."

"She wasn't sleeping? You said she didn't worry about the parents," Mia said.

"She didn't." Margaret's smile was hard and bitter. "She was so terrified she'd miss something. Miss a detail, and a child would get hurt. She used to wake up screaming. It got worse after she got shot. We'd thought we'd lost her then. I was only fifteen."

"What happened to the shooter?"

"He got jail time. He only shot Mom. He killed his wife."

"Is he still in jail?"

"I think so. They were supposed to tell us if he got out."

Mia noted it. "Miss Hill, did anyone else have a personal issue with your mother?"

Margaret nodded. Slowly. "My ex-husband wanted to kill her."

Solliday's brows lifted. "Why?"

"Because my mother finally convinced me to leave him. Two months ago I filed for divorce. Mom should have said 'I told you so." But she never did."

"Why did you leave him?" Mia asked and Margaret rolled up her sleeves. Solliday didn't quite manage to control his flinch. Small round scars were scattered up and down her arms. Cigarette burns. Mia pursed her lips briefly. "Okay. That answers that."

"Where is your ex-husband now, Miss Hill?" Solliday asked tightly. He was very angry, Mia could tell. But still in control. That was good.

"In Milwaukee."

Mia pulled Margaret's sleeves back down. "Your mother knew about the abuse?"

"I managed to hide it from her for a while. But she found out."

"So what did your ex-husband do when he found out you were gone?"

"Doug tried to push his way into Mom's house, but she threatened to call the cops and he left, cursing her. I was hiding in the back room the whole time. Looks like I ended up running from Doug just like I ran from Mom."

Solliday's brows crunched. "How do you mean?"

"Mom and I had a hard relationship. I think I married Doug just to punish her. High and mighty social worker, can't control her own kid. You can't possibly understand."

Mia thought about her own sister. I need to tell Kelsey what happened at Bobby's grave. "Yes, I can. We'll need your husband's full name and address."

Her jaw tight, Margaret wrote. "His last name is Davis. I hate that SOB."

"I can understand that, too," Mia said. She could feel Solliday's eyes watching her, looking deeper than she wanted him to see. It sent a prickling shiver down her spine. Steadfastly she focused on Margaret. "Miss Hill, does your ex-husband like animals?"

"No. He hates dogs. When I left, I took Milo to Mom's and… Oh, no. Is Milo alive?"

"He didn't appear to be in the house at the time of the fire," Solliday said.

Relief and confusion battled in her eyes. "Mom never let him out without his leash."

"We'll call you if we find him," she said. "Your brother is coming up tonight."

Margaret closed her eyes. "Oh, wonderful."

"You don't get along with your brother?" Solliday asked.

"My brother is a good man, but no, we don't get along. He warned me that one day I'd cause more trouble for Mom than she'd be able to clean up. I guess he was right. He usually is." She stood up unsteadily. "When can I see my mother?"

"You can't," Mia said gently. "I'm sorry."

Tortured emotion twisted the woman's face before she nodded and walked away.

"Well," Mia said. "Doug may be a spouse-abusing prick, but I don't think he did this."

"Me, either. But the sooner we rule him out, the sooner Margaret Hill can let go of some of her guilt." He checked his watch. "You can call Milwaukee PD while I drive."

Mia frowned. "Where are we going?"

"Back to the university. We still have to talk to Caitlin's friends. I called the housemother at the sorority house. She's going to have all the girls there at five thirty."

"When did you do that?"

"When you were asleep." He waved her quiet when she opened her mouth. "Don't say you're sorry. You were up all night. You tackled that guy yesterday and you should still be on disability. I think even you need to sleep, Mia."

There'd been a wry admiration under his criticism. "Thanks. I think."

Tuesday, November 28, 4:30 P.M.

"Hello," he drawled. "May I speak with Emily Richter, please?"

Her sigh was longsuffering. "This is she. With whom am I speaking?"

"My name is Tom Johnson. I'm calling from the Chicago Bulletin."

"How do you reporters keep getting my phone number?" she demanded.

"You're listed in the phone book, ma'am," he said politely. Damn idiot woman.

"Well." She sniffed. "I talked to one of your reporters already. A woman. Her name was… Carmichael. You should talk to her if you want details about the fire."

"Well, ma'am, I'm not covering the fire itself. I'm with a different department. I'd like to feature your neighbors in a small piece. Let the community know they have a need. Give folks a way to help out, this being the holiday season and all.

My deadline's in just a few hours. If you could help me out, I"d sure appreciate it."

"Well, what do you want from me?" she snapped.

I'd love to shut you up, you old bag, he thought, then injected a lazy smile into his voice. "I've been trying to reach the Doughertys, but nobody knows where they are. I'd like to talk to them, find out what they need the most, things like that."

"They just got back this morning." She sniffed. "From Florida. They were here, talking to the police. I went out after the police were gone, to offer my help, of course."

Of course. "Did they mention where they were staying by any chance?"

"I didn't ask. But they had a parking permit from the Beacon Inn."

Thank God for gossiping old busybodies, he thought with a grin. "Thank you, ma'am. Happy holidays." He hung up, satisfied.

Mrs. Dougherty, you and I have a date. A hot one. He chuckled. A hot date. Sometimes I slay myself. He dragged the mammoth phone book from below the phone and found the hotel's number, dug in his pocket for more change and dialed.

A perky voice answered. "Beacon Inn, this is Tania. How can I help you?"

He deepened his voice. "Yes. I'd like the room number for Joe Dougherty, please."

"I'm sorry, sir. We don't give out the room numbers of guests. I can connect you."

The back of his neck heated in anger. "Actually, I'm having flowers delivered to him and his wife. I just need the room number to tell the florist."

"Just tell the florist our hotel name and location. We'll deliver them for you."

Her smug tone clawed at him. We'll deliver them for you. She wasn't going to tell him, the high-and-mighty bitch. He gritted his teeth against the impotent rage. "Thank you, Tania. You've been so helpful." He hung up and narrowed his eyes at the phone.

Flowers it would have to be. And Tania would wish she really had been helpful.