A strangled gulp caught my attention. Tim had gone wild-eyed and pale, his hand in a fist at his mouth.
“What if I lose her? She’s everything, Pepper. I mean, someday something will happen, I know, but not now. Not for decades. We have kids, plans.”
I led him to a chair a few feet away and the nurse brought him a cup of water. “It’s okay,” I said, though it wasn’t, and sat next to him, my hand on his arm. “Is Miriam staying with you, or at her own place? Is there someone I can call? Your parents . . .”
“My mother’s been ill. My dad can’t leave her. My sister’s flying up from L.A. this weekend to help with the kids.” He swallowed back tears. “The team’s been great, giving me time off, sending takeout. A couple of the players came up to visit, though the docs wouldn’t let them in to see her. You can bet if they were Seahawks instead of Sounders, the doors would have flown open.” He smiled, but without any humor.
I stayed a few more minutes, until Tim had collected himself. “Call me anytime, for any reason. You need anything . . .”
Only then did I notice he was still clutching the photograph album Maddie had pointed to just before we left her room. “Could I borrow that album? I’ll bring it back my next visit, I promise.”
He handed it over without a word, then turned and strode back to his wife.
I’D MISSED lunch, so I hopped off the bus not far from the scene of last week’s crash and headed for Ripe. The aroma of tomato-basil soup nearly knocked me off my feet. Lunch rush was long over, so Laurel sat with me for a quick chat.
“I think Cody is going to work out fine,” I said between bites, “but man, tough spot for a kid. He’s pretty angry.”
“They—Bruce—pushed him too hard. On everything, soccer most of all. He was a decent high school player, but not college level.”
One more reason to resent the Hallorans? For an ambitious couple like the Ellingsons, in a bad stretch largely of their own making, the model family next door must have been a constant reminder of their troubles.
Except that no couple, no family is perfect. Part of being an adult is recognizing that. Too often, I failed to remember that about Maddie.
“Tell me about your interview with Detective Tracy.”
“He read me the riot act, understandably. As for charges, he can’t say that knowing about the lipstick tube three years ago would have solved the crime, especially now, when it’s clear that Maddie did not shoot Pat.”
“Laurel, what if they weren’t having an affair? What if— what if Maddie went to your house to see Pat about something else?” Was that what she’d been talking about Wednesday, when I thought she was trying to tell me why she went to the old grocery the day she was shot?
“Like what? What would have been important enough for him to skip a soccer tournament? He never skipped a game.”
“What if she was consulting him about the development project?”
“That’s crazy. He wasn’t a real estate lawyer.”
“No, but he was deeply committed to making sure that project was something the community could live with. What if he was helping her figure out a way to derail Jake Byrd? He did have a lot of experience dealing with financial transactions.” I found the list of Maddie’s purchases in my tote and laid it on the table, tapping it with a finger. “She started buying up properties in that block not long after Pat died. Eventually, she bought the corner lot, using an LLC with a name almost identical to Byrd’s business name. Her secretary says this is the only time Maddie ever did that. Why? And where did she get the idea?”
“What has gotten into you, Pepper? Suggesting my husband used his knowledge of the law to help Maddie Petrosian perpetrate a fraud.”
“Not a fraud. It was all perfectly legal, and perfectly reasonable. Look. Isn’t that the kind of methodical planning and creative thinking Pat was known for? Wouldn’t you rather believe he was helping her stop Jake Byrd from ruining the neighborhood than believe he was having an affair?”
“But why not tell me?”
The pain in her voice cut my heart. “Maybe Maddie asked him to keep it secret until she could put the plan in place. If it got out, it might not have worked.” I hoped we could ask her soon.
“Jake Byrd and Deanna Ellingson,” she said. “You don’t think they killed him?”
I sat back. “I don’t know. Byrd has some kind of alibi—Tracy won’t say what.”
After a long moment, she raised her eyes to mine. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. You’re trying to help my family and that means more to me than I can ever say. I don’t know what to think anymore.”
“Call Seetha for a massage. Bake cookies for the neighbors. Binge-watch Buffy.”
That got a smile. We’ve all got a vampire or two to slay.
I WALKED back to the Market on First, past the Art Museum and the old Lusty Lady building, once home to an infamous adult film and peepshow club. Known for marquee witticisms, when it closed, the final message read “Thanx for the Mammaries.” The pink sign now lives on in the Museum of History and Industry.
Had Pat really worked with Maddie to forge a plan to save the block? Who else would know, who could tell me? Jess, her secretary, didn’t seem privy to that kind of detail. Maybe Tim. And what was the point of the Bird’s Nest deception? Had it been entirely to convince old, ill Emby—Mehmet Barut—to go ahead with the sale despite his prejudices?
No matter. It had worked. The genius of the plan
