times. He’d smiled when she said that.
“You can trust me with everything,” he’d said. “I’ll always be here for you.”
Was she an idiot? She felt as though she hadn’t really known the man she married. Had he been living his life on a slippery slope?
She got up for a moment, went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. It was easy to doubt everything now, to be afraid to trust her judgment ever again. But Cindy refused to. There was definitely a part of his world he was hiding, but she didn’t know why. Maybe he needed some time away with his friends and didn’t know how to ask for it? She had to be careful before thinking the worst. She had to be tough with herself now. It was time to gather facts. She had to see where the silver thread really lead her. This was no time for playing head games.
Cindy would have to go over every paper of his, see how he lived, what he was up to, what he had to hide. And who would have wanted him dead . She couldn’t wait until Ann got out of the hospital. Too much was happening too fast. But first, she had to see Heather in person. And she had to do it today.
Chapter 11
Cindy, in Clint’s small car, headed to Philadelphia. She was determined to meet Heather face to face. She needed to know whatever Heather could tell her.
Before she left, Cindy had dialed Heather’s number, just to see if she was there. A light voice had answered.
“Hi, who’s there?”
Cindy had hung up. She was there, she was home. That was all Cindy needed to know.
The drive was quick and easy. The car almost flew on its own. When she got down to Philadelphia, she checked the map and followed the streets that curved around until she found Heather’s block .
Heather lived in a three story brownstone on a residential, tree lined street. Cindy pulled up and parked right across from her house. She’d planned to get out of the car as soon as she got there, go to the door, ring the bell and introduce herself . But suddenly she thought better of it. Cindy had no idea how Heather would react. She could close the door in Cindy’s face. If Cindy refused to leave, she could call the police. Cindy couldn’t risk that. She
It was just about lunch time. Cindy decided to wait in the car, across the street, and keep her eye on the brownstone until Heather came out. Cindy was prepared to sit there and wait all day, or even all night long if need be. When Heather came out, Cindy would follow her in the car, see where she went. At the perfect moment, when Heather was alone, Cindy would get out, go over to her, and show her the photo.
After about half an hour of watching the house, Cindy began to wonder what would happen if Heather came out surrounded by friends? They might all be going to lunch. And, when Cindy did confront Heather, what if she couldn’t get her to talk? It was also possible that she would lie. Cindy was convinced she was sharp enough, though, to pick up on that.
Cindy turned on the radio. The station was playing oldies. She flipped to another station, news. Restless, Cindy turned it off . Just at that moment, the door to Heather’s brownstone opened and out she came, with a little boy in a stroller. She carefully pushed the stroller down the front stairs, one step at a time. It was shocking to see her in person, like this. Just as in the photo, she was tall and beautiful. Dressed in jeans and a polo shirt, she seemed happy and carefree, going about her normal day.
Cindy wanted to jump out of the car and race up to her, but she knew she couldn’t yet. Instead, she followed her in the car, slowly down the block, watching her every move. Heather went to the corner, crossed and then walked another few blocks. Cindy trailed along. Oblivious to the fact that a car was following her, Heather chatted lightly with her son.
When she got to the third corner, Heather turned to the right and headed for a children’s playground. Except for a few mothers and children, scattered here and there, the place was mostly empty.
Cindy parked across from the playground and watched.
Heather went in through the open gates, unstrapped her son from the stroller. He squirmed out right away, and ran to the swings. She went running after him, laughing and then picking him up to put him in a swing.
Cindy felt a mixture of sorrow and pain. This was the life she should have been living.
She got out of the car slowly and walked into the playground. Then she sat down on the bench opposite the swings and watched Heather swing her son.
Even though it was late Spring, a cool breeze blew up. Heather was beautiful and playful. Cindy’s heart clenched into a knot. Had Clint loved her? Were they still seeing each other when he died? Were they emailing? Had he ever gotten over her?
Cindy got up then, went over to the swings and stood next to Heather and her son.
“Hi,” Cindy said lightly.
Heather looked right at her. “Hi,” she smiled, “Do I know you?”
Cindy couldn’t find the words to answer. She decided to go straight to the point, reached into her pocket and pulled the photo out.
“Someone sent this to me in the mail,” Cindy said, showing her the photo.
“Oh my God,” Heather said, staring at it. “A picture of me?”
“And your son.”
“I never saw this photo,” she looked at it more closely, puzzled. “I didn’t even know it was taken. Who sent it to you? Who are you?”
“To be more exact, they sent it to my husband,” said Cindy.
Heather became ill at ease. “What has this got to do with me?” she said.
Cindy felt badly. She liked her, and was sorry to have to put her through this.
“Someone killed my husband,” Cindy said bluntly.
Heather gasped. “That’s horrible.”
The little child in the swing began calling out for more. Heather had stopped swinging him. She was standing there, transfixed.
“Clint Blaine was my husband,” said Cindy.
“Clint Blaine’s dead?” Heather breathed. For a moment it looked as if she would buckle. It was hard for her to stand up . “Oh my God. I hadn’t heard.”
Cindy believed her. “Let’s go sit on the bench and talk.”
“Swing me higher, swing me higher,” the little boy kept calling.
Heather ignored him.
“Someone send Clint this picture a week before our wedding” Cindy said.
“Can you tell me why?”
“I have no idea,” said Heather, “I don’t know who even took it. I haven’t seen Clint for at least three years.”
“You’re friends on Facebook,” Cindy said.
“I have eleven hundred friends,” Heather was talking fast. “I friended him a long time ago, just for the heck of it. I haven’t kept up with his life. When did the two of you get married?”
“A little over a month ago,” said Cindy.
“I never heard anything so awful,” she said.
Her boy called out again: “Mommy! Mommy!”
“He’s a beautiful child,” Cindy said. She looked at him closely now, for the first time. He had huge blue eyes, just like Clint, and a mischievous smile.
“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Cindy said slowly. “And it’s the reason I have this photo.”
Heather began trembling, as if a cold frost had blown in.
“I don’t even know you,” she said in a thin voice.
“You can check me out on Facebook,” said Cindy. “You’ll see I was Clint’s wife. What reason would I have to lie? Was something going on between the two of you?”
