Somehow, I’ve landed in the crosshairs of this homicide investigation. It’s all linked, but how?
They say you can’t prove a negative—I know I never ordered any Ambien, but I don’t know how to prove it.
“And I need photos, Daddy,” Cole says. “Of Aunt Caitlin, Grandma, and Grandpa.”
“Tell you what, if you and Mom pick out some photos and send the files to CVS, I’ll grab them on the way home from work.”
“You won’t forget? Because you guys forget things. Mommy forgot Blue Day.”
“I got this one, buddy,” Mark says. “I promise.”
Convinced, anxiety assuaged, Cole leans back and sings along to the radio.
I stare out the window, trying to piece together what I know so far. Someone who was at the pool on Memorial Day made that account. But they also knew me back at Overton, or at least knew about the whole Sexy Lexi thing.
And that shirt? I still don’t have any answers for how that shirt arrived in my house. My stomach churns as I think of all the people who have keys to our house—Heather next door and Leah across the street both have spare sets, as I do of theirs. Daisy could have a key; we didn’t change the locks after we moved in. Susan, the babysitter, has a key.
“What did you end up getting my mom?” Mark pulls the car into a spot near the restaurant.
“Umm, a scented candle and some hand lotion?” Thank god Whole Foods sells overpriced knickknacks, and I was able to find a gift for Joan at the same time I grabbed lunch.
“Great, thanks for doing that, Allie.” He gives my arm a squeeze and I smile in return.
“Can I put in the quarters?” Cole leans forward and holds out his hand. I watch them as they stand on the sidewalk and feed the meter, a father and son so perfect that they could be in a bank commercial. This is all I have ever wanted. Love, stability, a happy home.
But I have this horrible sense that a force has been unleashed that will destroy it all. Mark raps on the window and motions for me to join him. I grab the gift bag for Joan and take the kind of deep, cleansing breath my yoga instructor is always encouraging the class to take.
When we are almost to the door of the restaurant, I pull Mark back.
“We need to talk. The police questioned me today.”
His eyes widen. “Did you call that Zucker guy, like I told you?”
I shake my head.
“Allie. I thought we agreed.”
I bite my lip, tears welling in my eyes. “They think I killed Rob Avery.”
“That’s insane,” Mark whispers and pulls me close. I lean my head against his chest and listen to the soothing thump-thump of his heart. “We’ll figure this out, I promise. Look, let’s call him now.”
“Go in,” I say. “I’ll call him, and meet you inside.
“You sure? Maybe I should stay?”
From the corner of my eye, I can see Cole trying to climb into one of the jumbo planters overflowing with autumn flowers right outside the restaurant.
“No. Take Cole in. I can make the call.” He starts to turn, and I grab his sleeve. “And Mark? Please don’t say anything to anyone. Especially not Caitlin, okay?”
“Of course not.”
Through the glass window, I watch Mark and Cole disappear into the back of the restaurant. I walk around the corner to where it is more private and dial. No one answers at the law firm.
“My name is Allie Ross,” I say after the beep. “And I’d like to meet with Mr. Zucker. I’m involved in a murder investigation.” The words sound surreal coming from my mouth. I swallow hard and then add, “I think I’m a suspect.”
19
The table erupts in laughter, and I look up to see my brother-in-law, Charles, staring at me.
“Little spacey tonight, Allie?”
“Just tired is all.” I take a deep gulp of red wine, not my usual choice, but Mark’s dad practically insisted.
“Have the steak frites. You look like you could use a little red meat.”
A darker undercurrent lurks beneath the glib charm of Caitlin’s husband. His meanness pops to the surface like a throbbing forehead vein when he drinks. Once, at a Thanksgiving dinner a few years ago, I caught him eviscerating Caitlin in the kitchen because she had forgotten to turn the second oven on and there would be no rolls. She was crying as he berated her. When I rushed in, they both plastered smiles on their faces, making me feel like I was the crazy one.
At the end of the table, Joan clears her throat. “Allie, darling, I was just telling Mark that St. Edmund’s has a wonderful new children’s director. Auditions for the Christmas pageant are this week.”
“That seems a little early.” The waitress places a basket of bread in the middle of the table, and I lunge for it. I haven’t eaten in hours, and I need something to absorb the alcohol.
“It’s never too early to start getting ready for Christmas,” Joan says. She’s the type who enrobes every piece of shrubbery on her property in tasteful white fairy lights the day after Thanksgiving. “I think Cole would make a wonderful Joseph. What do you think, Cole?” Joan nudges him, and he looks up from the iPad in his grip. “Do you want to be in the pageant?”
“Yeah, I want to be in the pageant.” Cole cranes his neck down the table toward me. “Can I, Mommy?”
“Maybe.” I glance to Mark for help. He usually intervenes when church comes up. He’s studying a spot on his butter knife. Next
