“It’s what I always wish.”
“Yeah, well it always sounds like you think I’m up to something.”
“It’s just what parents say.”
“Whatever.” He shrugged his jacket on and opened the front door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mom. ’Night, Mrs. O’Connor.”
“Good night, Uly.”
The front porch shivered as he clumped down the steps. Lucinda walked to the window and watched him jog into the night.
“He’s going through a difficult time,” she said.
“I understand.”
“He really is a good boy.”
“I know.”
She turned to Jo. “He wants to be a musician.”
“He’s very good.”
“Yes.” She brightened a little. “I have tamales. I make them myself. Would that be all right?”
“That sounds delicious, Luci.”
When everything was ready, they sat at the kitchen table and ate. Without Will and Uly there, the house was quiet and felt empty. Lucinda was grateful for the company. Through the preparation of the meal and the eating, they’d talked about small things: church, Uly’s music, Annie O’Connor’s college plans, and sweet little Misty. When the meal was over and they’d taken the plates to the sink, Jo leaned against the counter and said, “Luci, let’s talk about Will. Do you think he killed Buck Reinhardt? I need you to be honest with me.”
“Will…Will has killed men, this I know. He has trained men to kill other men. These were his jobs in the marines. But this man, I think he didn’t kill.”
“Why do you believe that?”
“I thought at first he did. But…”
“Go on.”
“You won’t understand,” Lucinda said.
“I’ll try.”
She looked at the wall above the kitchen table and tried to find the right words. “Whenever Will returned home from a mission, one that involved killing, he was-” She was embarrassed, but struggled on. “He was always eager to make love. I think that for him it was part of how he dealt with the killing. He was very different in those times. Vulnerable. I’m ashamed to say this, but I loved those moments, even when I knew what had come before. He needed me. Do you see?”
“And this time?”
“He was cold. Only cold.”
“I understand, Luci. I’m not sure it would convince a jury, but let’s assume that it’s true. Why would he lie about killing Buck Reinhardt?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you know where he was when Reinhardt was shot?”
Lucinda had a damp dish towel in her hand. She began to fold it carefully.
“It’s important, Luci.”
She opened the door under the sink and hung the dish towel on a rack there. She straightened up and finally looked at Jo O’Connor.
“From almost the start of our marriage, Will would disappear sometimes. Just leave. A day or two. He always had a cover story. Some military operation. He couldn’t say where. Orders. Sometimes this was true, but sometimes when he came back, I knew it wasn’t. I never pushed him about it. Two, maybe three times a year this would happen. When he left the marines, it continued. He had different excuses. Delivering a special order for a customer. A gun show. A reunion with some of his old friends from the service. The last couple of years, he hasn’t even bothered with excuses. He just goes. He knows I won’t say anything. Or Ulysses. It’s one of the things we never discuss.”
“Do you know where he goes?”
Lucinda bent and opened the bottom drawer beside the sink. She dug under the pot holders she kept stored there and brought up a cardboard coaster and a book of matches. Both held the image of an orange flame against a solid black background. Under the flame were the words SLOW BURN BAR. DULUTH’S HOTTEST SPOT. She handed the items to Jo.
“I found the matchbook in the pocket of his coat when I took it to the cleaners last year. The coaster Uly found a few months ago when he vacuumed his father’s car. I told him his father had picked it up when he met one of his old marine buddies. I told him it wasn’t important. But I’ve also seen credit card bills with charges from this place.”
“What do they mean?”
“When we spoke in your office and I told you I wanted to leave Will, you asked me if I thought he was involved with another woman. I said no. That wasn’t exactly the truth. I have always suspected that Will visits prostitutes when he’s gone.” She watched Jo O’Connor’s face for surprise or condemnation. She saw neither, and she went on. “Because of his duty, we were sometimes separated for long periods, and a man is a man. I accepted that. I have never been afraid that he would leave me for some other woman. And I always thought it was better to have a man than to be alone, especially with two boys. There are worse things than a husband who sleeps with prostitutes.”
“You think he may have been with a prostitute the night Buck Reinhardt was shot?”
“I think so, yes.”
“I can understand why he would lie about that. But if he was with someone else, I can’t understand why he would lie about killing Reinhardt.” Jo rubbed her forehead and thought for a moment. “Luci, if he was with another woman, a prostitute, and we find this woman and she verifies that Will wasn’t even in Aurora when Reinhardt was shot, it would go a long way toward getting him released.” She reached out and put a hand gently on Lucinda’s arm. “Would you like to help Will?”
“Yes.”
“Would you let me tell my husband these things? He’s a licensed private investigator. If Will was with someone, Cork might be able to find out who she was and talk to her.”
“Will won’t like it, me interfering this way.”
“This isn’t just for Will. This is about your life, too, Luci. And Uly’s and Misty’s.”
She felt confused and afraid. “I don’t understand why he would lie about murdering Buck Reinhardt.”
“Let’s take it one step at a time. First let’s do our best to prove that he couldn’t have done it. Then we’ll talk to him about the lie, all right?”
The weight of everything felt so heavy. She wanted so much to have the burden lifted, or at least shared. She looked into the face of her friend, into Jo O’Connor’s blue eyes, into their comforting certainty.
“All right,” she agreed.
In the next moment, she found herself in her good friend’s embrace, weeping a torrent of blessed tears.
Cork examined the matchbook and the coaster. “Should be easy enough to find. But if Will’s been keeping company with a lady of the night, she could be difficult to track down and even then it might be impossible to get anything useful from her. I never knew a hooker to give up a john without some leverage being used on her, and I’ve got none.”
“Money?” Jo suggested.
“Are we on the Kingbirds’ nickel?”
“Cork, do what you have to. We’ll worry about sorting out the finances later.”
They sat on the sofa in the living room. Stevie had long ago gone to bed. Trixie had drifted downstairs and settled herself in the middle of the floor, her eyes blinking drowsily as she watched them talk. The windows were open and a night breeze blew through, bringing from the backyard the random and sonorous notes of the wind chimes that hung beside the patio.
“Does Will know?” Cork asked.
“No.”