“But you don’t think I should put my findings and theories in a book?”
“I didn’t say that. The committee has to be careful. I know you understand that. You have a bestseller, Mark. No one begrudges you that. Some psychologists would
“Would have paid my mortgage for the next two years,” Mark interrupted. “And would have paid for my
He pulled open the front door. He could see the twins playing catch at the side of Richard’s car.
“I’m sorry. I mean that sincerely.” Hulenberger stuck out his hand to shake. “I’m just the messenger here, you know. No hard feelings, I hope.”
Mark shook his hand. This time it was cold and damp. He watched him walk down the gravel drive to his car. He deposited the laptop in the passenger seat, glanced briefly back at Mark, then climbed behind the wheel.
One of the twins fumbled the tennis ball and went running down the driveway after it. “Be careful!” Mark shouted to them. “Get out of the way, boys. He’s going to back out!”
He didn’t watch Hulenberger drive away. Mark turned and walked into the house, feeling heavy, a headache forming just behind his forehead. He sighed.
He found Roz in the kitchen, stirring a pot of tomato sauce. She had a gray long-sleeved T-shirt, torn at the neck, pulled down over the baggy denim cutoff shorts she wore nearly every day. She turned when he entered and read his expression. “Bad news?”
“You were listening?”
“No. The twins told me something bad was happening. That guy looked like the kind who’d bring bad news.”
Mark opened the refrigerator and pulled out an already opened bottle of Chablis. “Yeah, well. Bad news is right. I’m not getting the grant.”
She stopped stirring. “Because?”
“Because I’m too controversial.” He found a wineglass in the cabinet and poured it full. “Mainly, I think, because I’m too successful.”
“Yes. That’s your problem. You’re too successful and too rich.”
“I wish.” He took a long sip. “Guess I’m going to have to fill up my patient list. Put aside the next book for a while.”
The tennis ball bounced hard against the kitchen window. The thud made them both jump.
Roz smiled. “The twins are having fun.”
Mark took another drink. The wine wasn’t helping his headache. “Think they’re doing okay?”
“Yes. I think they’re happy. I know you don’t approve, but they love their little house back there. I’m surprised they’ve adjusted so well. Aren’t you?”
“I guess. I’d like to see a little more interaction between them and Ira and Elena. Of course, twins often keep to themselves.” He refilled his glass. The Chablis tasted a little sour. Or was that just his mood?
He thought about Hulenberger. The guy wasn’t actually smug, but he was totally unlikable.
“Can I change the subject?” Roz broke into his thoughts. “I’ve been thinking I need a night off. You know?”
“A night off? You have a date?”
“Is that
Mark grinned. “Axl and I get along fine. I stuff him full of Oreos and tortilla chips and he’s a good boy.”
“That’s what makes you a good psychologist.”
“Lea gets home tomorrow night. Maybe she and I will have a special playdate with Axl.”
“Sounds like a plan. Go tell our four boarders it’s dinnertime, okay?”
Carrying his wineglass, Mark walked to the stairs and shouted up to Ira and Elena. “Dinner. Come down. Now. Okay?”
He opened the front door and shouted to the twins. “Dinner!” But they had disappeared, probably to their house in back. The tennis ball lay in the driveway in front of Hulenberger’s car.
Huh?
The wineglass nearly slipped from his hand. Something was wrong. Hulenberger’s Audi was still in the drive.
Mark stepped out onto the stoop and squinted into the evening light. Yes. Hulenberger sat behind the wheel. Not moving. And his head. . it was tilted back, way back.
Wrong. All wrong.
Something was terribly wrong.
“Richard? Hey! Richard?” he shouted.
Hulenberger didn’t move.
“Richard! Hey-what’s wrong? Are you okay?” He shouted louder with his hands cupped around his mouth.
No. The man didn’t move.
Mark started to jog toward the car. But he stopped halfway. Hulenberger’s head. . it wasn’t right.
He spun away, his mind whirling. From the wine. From the headache. So hard to think clearly.
“Richard? Can you answer me?”
A tightness gripped Mark’s chest. A wave of cold washed over his body, a cold he’d never felt before.
He lurched to the car. What was splattered over the windshield? “Richard? Richard?” Breathing hard, he gazed into the open window. Grabbed the bottom of the window with both hands. Leaned toward the wheel.
And screamed. A long, shrill scream of horror from somewhere deep in his throat.
“No! Fucking no! Oh my God! Oh, shit. Oh my God!”
Dark blood splattered the windshield, as if someone had heaved a can of paint over the glass. And Hulenberger. . Hulenberger. . The blood had run down his shirt, his suit. .
His head tilted back. His throat. . it had been torn open. Ripped open?
“Oh my God. Oh my God. Fucking no!”
Fighting the tide of nausea, the drumming of his heart that made the blood pulse at his temples, Mark pushed himself back, away from the car. He turned to the house. He saw the twins standing at the top of the driveway.
“Get back! Go back! Don’t come down here! Go back!” He waved them away with both hands. They turned and ran.
Had they seen anything?
His hands felt wet. He raised them to his face. They were covered in blood. Hulenberger’s blood. He shook them hard as if trying to toss the blood away. Then he staggered into the house. Through the living room, to the kitchen where Roz was tilting the tomato sauce pan over a big bowl of spaghetti.
“Roz! Call the police.” So breathless she didn’t hear him.
He grabbed her shoulder, startling her. Her eyes locked on his hands. “Mark? Oh my God! Is that blood?”
“Roz-call the police! Hurry! Call the police! Call the police!”
30
“It’s a ten-eighty-four, Vince. We’re on the scene.”
“I gotta learn those numbers, Chaz. I never know what Vince is talking about.”
“Forgetaboutit, Andy. No one knows what Vince is talking about.”
Pavano peered out the window as his partner, Chaz Pinto, eased the car up the gravel driveway. “Where are
