The Dollmaker(The Forgotten Files #2)(19)

“Maybe I’m kidding myself.”

“You are.”

She shook her head. “But I’m willing to risk that I’m not.”

“Like I said, I am a realist, Tessa. I know when to cut my losses.”

He wasn’t ready to talk. Fair enough. What had she expected? That he’d greet her with open arms? There was always a challenge with Dakota.

But Tessa would embrace this damned second chance no matter what he said. “I’ll see you in the autopsy suite tomorrow, Agent Sharp.”

With measured movements, he turned and left without another word.

She dragged a shaking hand through her hair, glancing around to see who had witnessed the kiss. This was a hangout for cops, and several people were staring. No one said a word, but news would spread. Fine. Let ’em talk. She wasn’t going anywhere.




Sharp had been braced for Tessa’s one-two punch of divorce, but reconciliation had been an unexpected left hook.

There’d been no drama. No gushing words. But that was Tessa. She was always reasonable. Calm. Even when she’d told him she was leaving him, she’d been in control. He’d been the one who’d been pissed. Instead of listening to her plans to leave the country, and her desire to return to him after a sabbatical, he’d slammed the door to their house and left.

And now she was back. For a yearlong fellowship. And when it was over? And when she figured out he’d meant what he’d said and she realized he’d not changed, what would she do? She’d leave. Again.

Those thoughts chased Sharp twenty miles north on I-95 toward the high school Terrance Dillon had attended. He parked in the visitor lot and made his way to the office and the long counter that portioned students off from administration. Showing his badge, he asked to speak to the principal.

A short, fit man in his midfifties came out immediately and introduced himself as Principal Woodrow Tucker. “This must be about Terrance.”

“Yes, it is. There somewhere we can talk?”

“Of course. My office.”

Sharp followed the principal to his office and took a seat in a gray chair. “Have you ever met the boy’s father?”

“No. But one of my teachers met him years ago when she was teaching elementary school. Mr. Dillon wasn’t in prison then, and he came to one of Terrance’s class concerts. He was inebriated and by intermission was asked to leave school property. He wasn’t happy with the administration, but he did finally leave. We’ve never seen him again on our campus.”

“Terrance ever talk about his father with you or any of his teachers?”

“Not to me, but if he did talk, it would have been to his coach.” He reached for the phone on his desk. “This is Coach Wagner’s planning break. He should be able to join us.” A quick call and the principal arranged for the coach to come straight to the office.

While they waited, Sharp couldn’t help but remember his days in this school. He’d been an average student, but his interest had not been in the books, which he’d considered a necessary evil until he could enlist in the marines. It wasn’t until his midtwenties that he’d started taking online college classes. It had taken him nearly a decade of taking classes part-time before he could cobble together enough credits for a degree.

A knock sounded at the door, and he rose to see a sturdy man with a short haircut at the threshold. He wore a golf shirt in the school’s trademark burgundy along with khakis and athletic shoes.

Sharp shook his hand and introductions were made. “Did anyone carry a grudge toward Terrance?”

“The kid had no enemies. Easygoing. One of the kids I pictured with a real future, despite the fact his father wasn’t worth much.”

“What do you know about Jimmy Dillon?”

“That Terrance wanted to please him. The kid loved his father and wrote to him while he was in prison. He was excited that Mr. Dillon was about to get out of prison. The kid thought they could be more like father and son.”

“You sound skeptical,” Sharp said.

“The man made promises in his letters that he’d come to the kid’s games, but he never showed as far as I know. Hard to see a good kid spurned by his father.”

“Would Mr. Dillon have killed his own son?”

“I don’t know. But I know the guy’s been in prison and wouldn’t be surprised if he introduced the kid to someone who did kill him.”

“Any names?”

“None. Sorry.”

“What about Terrance’s friends?”

“He hung out with Ronnie and Garcia,” the coach said.

“Either of them here?”

The principal entered the names into the computer. “I can pull them from class if that will help.”

“It would. Thanks,” Sharp said.

The principal made calls to the boys’ classrooms, and minutes later they appeared. Both looked worried, nervous.

Sharp rose as the principal introduced him. “I’m here to ask you about Terrance.”

The boy on the left—tall, lean, and well muscled, with pale skin and red hair—spoke first. “We still can’t believe it.”

“And your name?” Sharp asked.

“I’m Ronnie. Ronnie Tolley.”

“Okay, Ronnie. Did Terrance hang out with anyone who might have wanted to hurt him?”