Deception

“If that’s a subtle way to ask if Elise and I were close, the answer is far from it. Still, I’m devastated by what happened. Did she suffer?”

“No,” said Milo. “How often did the two of you see each other?”

“Seldom verging on never,” said Sandra Stuehr. “Even after I moved to California—two and a half years ago. Not for lack of trying on my part, one of the first things I did was drive down to L.A. to have lunch with Elise. It was pleasant but not intimate and afterward we both lied about staying in touch. Elise didn’t even invite me to her home. I’ve never seen it.”

I said, “So you’ve never been close.”

“Elise always resented me and I got tired of trying to earn her approval. Despite that, I’m crushed by her death. Do you have any idea who could do such a terrible thing?”

Milo shook his head. “That’s why we’re here.”

“Well, I wish I could tell you something profound, Lieutenant, but the harsh truth is, my sister and I have been virtual strangers since birth.”

“Why’d she resent you?” I said.

Instead of answering, she said, “I always felt it, a wall—there might as well have been a physical barrier. When we were teenagers it blossomed to outright hostility and we ended up barely tolerating each other. Being the baby, I grew up thinking it was my fault, something I’d done to alienate her. Eventually, I came to realize it was because of what I was.” Pause. “The favored child.” Eyelash flutter, a flicker of frown. “Which, in our family, meant the ignored child.”

I said, “Parental attention wasn’t much of a prize.”

She waved a hand. “Like I said, guys, reminiscence is for losers.”

“Your parents—”

“We had one functional parent, Father. Mother was a non-entity, a shadow, just a total dishrag. She came from a poor family, never finished high school. That allowed Father to convince her he’d bestowed a great gift by deigning to wed her. I always suspected they married because he got her pregnant with Elise.”

“His family was prominent?”

“Not in the sense of being rich, but they were highly educated. His father was a physics professor at Hopkins, his mother taught violin. I’m sure Mother was initially impressed.” Dagger-point laugh. “She died when I was three and Elise was five and I’m not even sure the memories I have of her are accurate. All of them revolve around drudgery—down on her knees scrubbing something, as if she was the maid. I suppose she was, we never had help.”

I said, “After she died is when the problems began.”

Her mouth hardened. “What are you getting at?”

“Paternal attention not being welcome.”

Her mug faltered. She held it with both hands until it steadied, ran a finger under her bangs. “I’ve worked hard at resolving, so I can talk about it. But I don’t see how it relates to what happened to Elise.”

“Anything that helps us understand Elise is useful.”

More hair-curling. She picked up a cowry shell, massaged it, laid it down. “He was a monster. He damaged Elise and that prevented the two of us from becoming real sisters. The pathetic thing is Elise and I had so much in common. We liked the same music, enjoyed the same subjects in school, both of us became teachers. Though I never need to work. We could’ve had a fantastic relationship if that bastard hadn’t fucked things up.”

Her mug went down hard on an end table. Coffee sloshed, wood thrummed. She stared at the stain. “He abused her but not me. I’m sure she blamed me. I refuse to feel guilty. Maybe if she’d talked about it, we could’ve worked it out, I don’t know.”

Milo said, “Physical abuse or—”

“Oh, it was sexual, all right,” said Sandra Stuehr. “It was nothing but sexual, those good old, dependable late-night visits to Elise’s bedroom. You could set your watch by it. Eleven twenty p.m. and his slippers were making those vile, scraping sounds on the carpet. Like a slithering snake, I still hear it from time to time.”

“You shared a room?”

Rapid head shake. “Elise and I had adjacent bedrooms but I could hear his footsteps, hear the bed bump— feel it, my headboard was right next to the wall. Then everything would grow quiet and I’d hear Elise whimpering. I could hear her. I was too scared to do anything but stay in my bed, what if he paid me a visit and started bumping my bed? But he never did. I was relieved. When I wasn’t wondering if it was because Elise was the slim, pretty one and I was the chubby little Pillsbury dough-girl.”

Her lips folded inward. She got up, took her mug to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, popped a can of Fresca and sat back down.

“Sure be nice to put some vodka in this, but I don’t drink anymore. Not that I had a problem, nothing like that, I was always moderate. But since I moved here, I decided to get healthy. Yoga, meditation, walking on the beach, I quit smoking. Put on fifteen pounds, but I can breathe again.”

I said, “Your father was a middle school principal. Did you see any sign he abused his students?”

“I’m sure he did. All those little girls running around, easy for the taking? He ran Chancellor for nearly forty years, why miss out on a great opportunity? But what goes around comes around, as I’m sure you’ve found out.”

“Something happened to him?”

“You don’t know,” she said. “Nine years ago, someone put a bullet in his head.”

Milo said, “Who?”

“Unsolved,” she said, grinning. “The cops said it was a street robbery, but I’ve always wondered if it was some father or brother getting even. Or even a girl who’d grown up and gotten in touch with her rage.”

“Someone like your sister.”

“Did Elise do it? Maybe. I have no knowledge of her being in Baltimore when it happened, but who knows?”

“Was he still working when it happened?”

“First year of retirement. They found his body on the sidewalk, two blocks from his house. His pants pockets were turned inside out, his wallet was gone, and he was lying facedown with a hole in the back of his head. There was certainly no shortage of muggings in the neighborhood, that part of West Baltimore had changed since he was a boy, he was the last white man standing. Not that it stopped him from taking his nightly walks. Denial, I guess. Or plain old arrogance.”

“How did Elise react to his murder?”

“Neither of us talked about it and we had his body cremated. I’d like to think part of her was happy. If she allowed herself to get in touch with her feelings.”

“Part of her?”

“There was probably sadness. Even I occasionally feel that, crazy as it is. He did make me breakfast every morning for fifteen years. Combed my hair until I was eleven. Everyone said he was a wonderful, nurturing man.”

Milo said, “You and Elise never talked at all about his murder.”

“Not a word. In his will, he asked to be buried next to Mother. I had one of Frank’s busboys toss the ashes into the Chesapeake Bay. Out in back of the Cooker, where the garbage cans are. Can I warm up that coffee for you?”

As we drank, she excused herself, returned with a yellowed newspaper clipping in a plastic sleeve.

Former Principal Murdered.

Milo said, “Could we make a copy?”

“You think it’s relevant to Elise’s murder? I don’t see how it could be.”

“I’m sure you’re right, Ms. Stuehr, but two murders in one family is worth looking at.”

“The Freeman curse?” she said. “You know, last night, when you called and told me what happened to Elise, I actually started thinking about that. Wondering if our family is doomed and I’m next. This morning, I woke up, decided that was stupid superstition, it was time to have a lovely day—you know, don’t even bother copying, keep it. I don’t know why I held on to it in the first place.”

I said, “What you’ve told us about your father might help explain why Elise made some high-risk