I was still holding the two-by-four.
The driver, a tall dark-haired man in a leather jacket, black pants, and well-shined shoes, came around the front of the Chrysler and leaned against the passenger door. He was wearing sunglasses he didn’t bother to take off.
“Can I help you?”
He looked up at the second-floor window that I’d covered over with a sheet of plywood. “Somebody throw a ball through your window, Mr. Garber?”
“Don’t leave your car there. I’m backing out.”
“I won’t be long. I’m just here to pick up something.” He folded his arms across his chest. He glanced at the two-by-four in my hand, then disregarded it.
“Pick up what?” I asked. Crossing his arms had brought his sleeves up on his arms, revealing an expensive watch.
“A package your wife was supposed to deliver for her friend. Belinda Morton.”
“My wife is dead.”
He nodded. “As it turns out, she died the day she was supposed to make this delivery.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
But I was thinking about the envelope, the one Belinda had given to Sheila.
He rubbed his chin with his right hand, like he was mulling over how to deal with me. When he did it, his sleeve pulled back some, revealing a tattoo. An ornate chain design encircled his wrist.
“Looking at my Rolex?” he said.
“A fake?”
He nodded, impressed. “You got a good eye.”
“Not really. But that’s your specialty, right?”
He eyed me curiously but said nothing.
“You’re Sommer,” I said. “At least, that’s one name you go by. You’re in the knockoff business.”
That got his attention. I could see his eyes blink behind the shades. “Mr. Twain told you about me.” It wasn’t a question. I got the sense this was his way of letting me know he’d been watching me, or Twain, or both.
“Why’d my wife call you the day she died?” I asked.
He took his weight off the car, flexed his hands. I tightened my grip on the two-by-four.
“She left a message to say she couldn’t make it,” he said. “Why do you think that was?”
“I don’t know.”
“My theory is, she changed her mind. Or had it changed for her. Maybe you had something to do with that.”
“You’ve got that wrong.”
Sommer smiled. “Look, Mr. Garber, let’s not bullshit each other. I know how it is. You’ve had money troubles lately. Your wife suddenly has a nice chunk of change in her possession. You think, Hey, that could take care of a few of our problems. How’m I doing?”
“Not very well.”
Something had caught his eye. “Your neighbor lady always watch everything that goes on out here?”
“Neighborhood Watch,” I said.
Sommer’s gaze had switched from Joan Mueller’s house to mine.
“Seems that everyone’s watching us,” he said. “That must be your little girl, peeking through the curtain.”
Trying to keep my voice as even as possible and gripping the length of wood tightly, I answered, “You threaten her and I’ll beat you to death.”
He held out his hands, as if bewildered by my tone. “Mr. Garber, you’ve totally misinterpreted my intentions. Have I threatened you? Have I threatened your daughter? I’m just a businessman, eager to complete a transaction. And here you are, threatening harm to me.”
I took a moment to think about how I wanted to handle this. “This money, this package, you say Belinda gave it to my wife to deliver to you.”
Sommer’s head went up and down a fraction of an inch.
“Why don’t you check in with her later today,” I suggested. “Maybe she’ll have some news for you.”
Sommer considered that. “All right then.” He pointed to the two-by-four. “But if she doesn’t, I’ll be seeing you again.”
He turned and got back into his car. He sped off so quickly I didn’t have a chance to take note of the plate number. Seconds later, the Chrysler turned the corner at the end of the street and was gone.
“I didn’t call 911,” Kelly reported cheerfully when I came in. “It looked like you guys were just having a nice chat.”
THIRTY-ONE
Emily Slocum located her father in the bathroom, shaving.
“Dad, there’s someone at the door,” she said, her voice flat and emotionless.
“What? It’s not even eight o’clock yet. Who is it?”
“Some lady,” Emily said.
“What lady?”
“She’s got a badge.”
Emily went into her parents’ bedroom to watch television while Darren Slocum grabbed a towel and wiped the shaving cream off his face. As he was buttoning up his shirt, he looked at her. This was pretty much all Emily had done these last few days. Sat and stared at the TV, not really seeing anything, her eyes glazed over, like she was in some kind of trance.
He did up the last couple of buttons as he walked to the front door. Rona Wedmore was standing on the tiles just inside the door.
“Jeez, Rona, did you tell Emily it was you?” He took her hand and shook it.
Detective Wedmore said, “I did. I guess she forgot.”
“I just put some coffee on. You want some?”
Wedmore said yes and followed him into the kitchen. “How are you doing?”
“Not so great,” he said, getting down a couple of mugs. “I’m really worried about Emily. She’s not crying all the time or anything like that, but it’d almost be better if she did. It’s like she’s keeping it all bottled up. She just kind of stares.”
“You should take her to the doctor. He might suggest she see someone.”
“Yeah, maybe. I’m going to let her stay home from school all this week. Ann’s sister’s been coming over a lot, spelling me off. We’ve had the visitation-thanks for coming, by the way-and today we’re going to have a small, family-only service.”
Wedmore said, “I need to ask you a few more questions about Ann’s accident, Darren.”
“Okay,” he said. “Cream, sugar?”
“Black,” she said, taking the mug from him. “Have you thought any more about why Ann was down by the harbor so late at night, alone?”
Slocum shrugged. “I don’t know. Sometimes, if she can’t sleep-if she couldn’t sleep-she’d take a walk at night, or go for a drive. She might have thought looking out over the Sound, down by the harbor there, would be relaxing.”
“But you said she was going out to meet her friend, Belinda Morton.”
“That’s right. They never hooked up.”
“So why did she go down to the harbor first?”
“Like I said, maybe she just needed to clear her head.”
Slocum poured cream into his coffee, watching the liquid go from black to light brown.
“You think it’s possible,” Wedmore asked, “that she was going to meet someone else before she was going
