What Happened to the Bennetts(17)

“There won’t be, as I said.”

“It’s hard to believe. Can I check online?” I heard myself, asking permission like Ethan. I logged on to Google and searched my name and carjacking, which was a disturbing sensation. I got no results. “Nothing.”

“Correct.”

“Let’s try Allison Bennett and—” I hesitated, not wanting to say murder. I typed it in anyway, and there were more than a few entries, which horrified me. I skimmed them, realizing that each one represented a grieving family, the ripple effects of violence. But none of the entries was Allison. “So there’s no mention? It never happened officially?”

“Correct,” Dom repeated.

I didn’t know whether to be happy or heartbroken. I rested my hand on the laptop, its metallic surface smooth under my fingertips. “Okay. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Dom smiled. “I’ll get going. Call me if you need anything, or come up anytime and knock. Anything you need, just say so.”

“I will, thanks,” I said, preoccupied. I was itching to go online and learn everything I could about John Milo, Junior Veria, Big George Veria, and the double homicide in Jennersville.

“I’ll see myself out. Catch you later.” Dom headed for the front door and left, and I sat down. A moment later, I realized I had forgotten to ask him the most important thing.

I hustled after him.





Chapter Nine



“Dom?” I caught him when he was at the bottom of the stairs, and he looked up, then I remembered the cameras in the trees. I descended the stairs, scanning the branches, but didn’t see anything. The morning was sunny and clear, and a cool breeze blew off the bay. Seagulls called overhead, a constant backdrop I would have loved on vacation, but not now.

When I reached the driveway, I asked, “How many trees have cameras?”

“Four, in front of the house.”

I blinked. “That many?”

“Yes. They’re cheaper than personnel. Safer. It’s our go-to.”

“I don’t see them.”

“Good.” Dom smiled.

“Where’s the camera on the porch? You said there was one at the front door.”

“In the ceiling fixture.”

I looked up at the fixture, wrought iron with yellow glass, like an old-time lantern. “Is there one on the back door, too?”

“Yes, and several out back.”

“Can they hear us, too?”

“No. No audio.”

“The house isn’t bugged, is it?”

“No,” Dom answered, his tone official again. “The intent is to protect you, not spy on you. Now, was there something you needed?”

“I wanted to ask you about arrangements for my daughter’s . . . funeral.” I still couldn’t believe I was saying the words. “Do you know when her body will be, uh, available?”

“It will be released in about seven days. It takes longer when there’s an autopsy.”

I winced inwardly, but stayed on track. “Uh, Lucinda and I were talking last night. How do we make arrangements for the funeral? And where do we have it? Do we pick out a casket down here, or what?”

“You can choose online or I can get you some brochures.” Dom hesitated. “But Jason, you can’t go to the funeral. For security reasons.”

“What?” I didn’t understand. “I’m talking about Allison’s funeral.”

“I know, I’m sorry. You can’t go.”

My mouth dropped open. “But it’s my daughter, our daughter. Of course we go to the funeral. We’re holding the funeral.”

“No, it’s not procedure.”

“Look, I get that we don’t invite her friends or our friends. But we go. We go. We’re her family.”

“You have to follow procedure—”

“And not go to my own daughter’s funeral?” Suddenly I wasn’t sure Dom and I were going to be pals. Our Tate’s moment was gone. “You can’t tell me there’s a procedure for my daughter’s funeral.”

“There is, and if you think about it, you’ll realize why.” Dom pursed his lips. “The only link Milo and Big George have to you is your daughter. So let’s say they put out feelers. They start calling area funeral homes.” Dom paused, his eyes flinty in the dappled sunshine. “They know you’ll want to go.”

“What if their feelers don’t go this far?”

“Delaware’s not that far.”

“So why didn’t we go farther? Delaware was your choice, not ours. I’d fly anywhere to bury my daughter. I’d do anything, go anywhere, to lay her to rest as a family . . . with . . . love.” My voice broke so I stopped talking.

“How would you fly? Under what name? We haven’t begun to clear your new identity.” Dom’s gaze softened, and I could see he felt for me, so I couldn’t even be mad at him.

“Can’t you make a temporary one?”

“No.”

“Why not? Teenagers can get a fake driver’s license. Why can’t the FBI?”

“That’s not procedure.”

“Then fly us on military transport. When I went to Gitmo, we flew military transport.”