His anger went immediately to her lover, who had insinuated himself into her life, their marriage, and even their bed. She’d been vulnerable and weak, and he’d taken advantage of her. He logged out of her email and into Facebook as Chloe, because he knew her password was Emily1000. He hadn’t had the heart to deactivate her account and he’d been hoping it would help him find out who her lover was, someday.
Chloe’s Facebook page popped onto the screen, and he scanned the sad RIP postings, which he had read when he was in Afghanistan. He double-checked to see if any had been posted by someone named Mac or a guy who had Mac in his first or last name, but there weren’t any. He clicked over to her Facebook Friends and scanned them, too. There were two Mac names, one MacGonigle and another MacTeer, but they were women. Still, he wasn’t giving up that easy.
He logged out, went back to Chloe’s email account, opened the last email from Mac702, and hit REPLY, then wrote to him:
This is Chloe’s husband, Mike. I’m back. I don’t know who you are, but I’m going to find out and I’m coming after you. If you’re married, I’m telling your wife. I’m bringing the war home. To you.
Mike hit SEND, then got up, a man on a mission.
Chapter Forty-one
Mike parked his Grand Cherokee at the end of his old street, cut the ignition, and eyed his house, which had been bought by a couple with a baby girl. There was a white minivan where Chloe’s VW had been, and he pictured the family sleeping in his bedroom, with their child in a crib like Emily’s, then he shooed those thoughts away. He was here because one of the neighbors might have seen a strange man or unusual car at the house, which could give him a lead on Mac702.
He tucked his left sleeve into his jacket pocket, pocketed the keys, got out of the car, and walked down the street, toward Neil and Malika Gustin’s house, a stone colonial with a slate roof. Neil’s maroon Lexus was in the driveway, and the sidewalk had been shoveled, which was no surprise. Neil was always the first to shovel, and Chloe used to tease him.
Neil’s making you look bad again. Get your butt out there! Use the Backsaver!
Mike knocked on the door, which was opened after a moment by Neil, who broke into a wide grin when he recognized him.
“Mike, come in, we heard you were home.” Neil was tall, thin, and African-American, and he had on jeans and a Penn sweatshirt because he was on the faculty. “So good to see you.”
“Good to see you, too.” Mike came inside, shaking off the cold, and Neil shut the door behind them. The family room was snug and warm, and his sons Jason and Luke flopped on the plaid couch, watching cartoons in their pajamas. Mike was surprised at how much they’d grown. “Hi guys, how are you doing?”
“Boys, say hello to Dr. Scanlon.” Neil gestured to Mike. “You remember, he used to live across the street, then he went into the Army. You should thank him for his service to this country.”
“Thank you, Dr. Scanlon,” the boys said in unison. Luke, who was younger, piped up, “I play Call of Duty. I’m on level four.”
“Way to go!” Mike smiled, and Neil put a hand on Mike’s back.
“I’m so sorry about Chloe. It still seems so hard to believe.”
“Thanks. I feel the same way.”
“It’s good you’re home safe. Malika will be sorry she missed you. She’s running errands with the baby.” Neil’s eyes were a soft brown, and he had more crow’s feet than last year. “I heard you got a medal. Congratulations!”
“Thanks.” Mike guessed Neil had heard about his arm, too, but he kept his sleeve in his pocket anyway.
“You want some coffee or something? I’m supposed to be fixing the sump pump and I need a break.”
“No, thanks, I won’t bother you. I was just wondering if you saw any strange cars or anything around the house, the month before Chloe died. Like any strange men, or anything like that, helping her around the house.”
Neal frowned. “I don’t think so, but I’m in town all day. Malika would know, and I’ll ask her.”
“Great. It could’ve been on the weekend, too.”
“No. I didn’t notice anything or anyone new.” Neil ran a palm over his hair, which he kept short and natural, with new silver strands at his temples. “Why do you ask?”
“Some cash that went missing.” Mike was improvising. “I figure maybe it was a workman or someone helping her around the house. Did Malika mention anything like that, like some new guy helping her with the house?”
“No, not that I know of, or remember.” Neil shook his head. “I’ll ask Malika when she gets home. Maybe Douglas or Susan saw something?”
“I’m about to ask them. Well, I’d better go, thanks a lot. Have her call me, my number’s the same. Thanks again, Neil. Stay well.”
“You, too. Stop in anytime, especially if you can fix a sump pump.”
“Sorry, I’m only a surgeon,” Mike shot back, until he remembered he wasn’t anymore. He left the house and hustled across the street to Douglas and Susan Steingard, who’d come out to shovel. Susan was sweeping off her Toyota 4Runner and she turned with a big smile when she recognized Mike.
“Mike, what a surprise!” Susan rested the broom against the car and gave him a warm hug. She was a small woman in a puffy blue parka, with a knit cap pulled down to her round blue eyes. Freckles dotted her nose, red at the tip from the cold. “I was just thinking of you the other day, because I heard you came home. Thank God! How are you?”
“I’m fine, thanks. How have you guys been?”
“Terrific. The girls keep me busier than when I was a lawyer. They’re in fifth grade now.” Susan gestured at their daughters, who were playing in the snow in the front yard. “They’re making an iPad. They’re lobbying.”
Mike laughed as Douglas made his way down the driveway in an orange parka and Sorrel boots, holding a windshield scraper. His red ski cap made a crooked cone on his head, and his glasses were steamed up at the bottom rim, nearest his cheeks.
“Mike, good to have you home!” Douglas grinned. “All hail the conquering hero.”
“Hardly, sir.” Mike always liked Douglas, a tax lawyer at a big firm in Philly. “How are you?”
“Same old, same old.” Douglas was on the short side and wiry. “I entered my first Iron Man and finished by nightfall.”
“Of the same day, even,” Susan added with a sly smile.
“Congratulations.” Mike cut to the chase. “Here’s what I came to ask. Some cash went missing from the house before Chloe died, and I’m thinking maybe a workman took it or someone helping her out. Do you remember seeing any workmen or new guys around during that time? Like a car in the driveway, one you hadn’t seen before?”
Susan frowned, in thought. “No, not really, I don’t.”
“It would have been around Thanksgiving or the holidays.”
“No, I don’t remember anybody unusual. Your brother-in-law was there, but nobody new or strange.” Susan’s fair skin flushed. “I wish I had seen her more often around that time, but the holidays get so busy. That’s why it was so shocking when she…” Her voice trailed off, and her pretty face fell. “I always wish I had been around that day, but I was shopping.”
Douglas put an arm around Susan, looking at Mike. “I’m so sorry for your loss, too.”
“Thanks, maybe I’ll go see the Kulls, on the off-chance that they saw something.”
“They’re not home. They went to Jackson Hole. I think they’re coming back next week.”
“Oh, too bad.”
“Oh, wait a minute.” Susan brightened. “I don’t remember anybody strange, but the new kid used to help her out, from time to time.”
“What new kid?”
“From down the street.” Susan pointed down the street. “A new family moved in next to the Kulls while you were away. Chloe did mention him, now that I think about it. His name is Pat. The parents are nice, but he’s kind of entitled.”
“What’s his last name?”
“MacFarland.”
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Mike felt it like an electric shock. Mac could be short for MacFarland. “You said he’s a kid. How old is he?”
“I’d say he’s in his mid-twenties. That’s a kid to me.”
“Me, too,” Mike said idly, but he eyed the house down the street, his anger rising. It was possible that Pat MacFarland was Mac702, because Susan hadn’t seen a strange car in the driveway and Pat wouldn’t have driven over.
Mike’s heart beat harder, like a fist pounding on a door.
Chapter Forty-two
Mike knocked on the MacFarlands’ door, trying to stay calm. He felt a cramped twisting in the arm that wasn’t there anymore, his characteristic phantom pain. In the next moment, the door was opened by a heavyset, middle-aged man in a flannel shirt that wasn’t tucked in, over baggy jeans.
“Can I help you?” the man asked, frowning behind his bifocals.
“Yes, hello. My name is Mike Scanlon, and I used to live two doors down, with my wife Chloe and our new baby.”
“Oh, right, I’m John MacFarland.” John’s eyes flickered with recognition, a cloudy gray. “I recall the name. You were in Afghanistan, right?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you for your service. How can I help you?”
“I thought I’d come by to talk to your son. He was helpful to my late wife while I was away, and I wanted to say thanks.”
“Right, come in. My condolences.” John stepped aside, and Mike entered the well-appointed entrance hall. “Hang on a sec, I’ll get Pat. I think he’s awake.” He went to the base of the stair and hollered up, “Pat, can you come down? Someone’s here to see you.”
“What does Pat do for a living?” Mike tried to keep his tone casual, though his heart hammered away.
“He’s in between jobs.” John frowned. “He graduated a few years ago, but he got laid off. He’s a graphic designer, websites, all that. Fortunately, he can freelance.”
Mike remembered one of the emails from Mac702 had flattered Chloe and her paintings. “And he lives here?”
“Yes, for the time being. My wife loves having him home. She’s up in the shower, or I’d have her meet you.” They both looked up to the stairwell as a huge mastiff bounded down, its wide pink tongue lolling out of its mouth. John shook his head, indulgently. “Here’s Gigi, Pat’s dog. Gigi stands for gentle giant, so don’t worry.”
“Good to know.” Mike edged backwards as the mastiff hit the rug with a thump, and John moved to grab its collar, but missed, chuckling.
“Gang way. She jumps up.”
“Hi, Gigi.” Mike caught the mastiff as she jumped on his chest with her front paws, drooling and panting. He moved his stump away, wincing. “Whoa, she’s a horse.”
“Weighs 150 pounds. No, Gigi, down.” John tugged the dog to the rug, where she plopped on her butt and her hind legs flopped apart. “She needs obedience, that’s for sure.”
Mike felt a start when he spotted Pat, coming downstairs. He was handsome, about six foot two, with thick dark hair, brown eyes, and a relaxed smile. He had on a black T-shirt with loose-fitting blue athletic pants, and when he reached the foot of the stairwell, he gulped a spoonful of cereal from a bowl he was carrying.
John turned to his son. “Pat, you remember that woman down the block, in 637? You used to help her out when we first moved here.”
“No, not really.” Pat shrugged.
“Sure you do. You were over there.”
“What was her name again?” Pat took another spoonful of cereal.
“Chloe Voulette,” Mike interjected, wondering if Pat was lying. If he was, it would’ve been because of the email.
“Chloe, you say?” Pat crunched away, and John shook his head in disapproval.
“Pat, why don’t you put the cereal down and talk to the man? This is her husband.”
“Dad, what? I’m eating.”
Mike simmered, his jealousy glaring. Pat had good looks, a young and able body, and his entire life rolling out in front of him, like a red carpet. “Pat, our house was two doors down, and I heard you helped her with heavy lifting and things like that. This would be around Christmas of last year. Remember now? Is it coming back to you?”
“Not really, but why?” Pat set down the bowl on a side table, sucking cereal out of his teeth.
“She had dark blonde hair, she was really pretty? A new mom, with a baby girl?” Mike felt madder by the minute, losing control of his temper. “You have to remember her. You remember her.”
John looked over at Mike, blinking. “Well, to be fair to Pat, it was a while ago, and you know how kids are—”
“He’s no kid,” Mike shot back. “Men his age are fighting and dying this very minute.” He turned to Pat. “I have one question for you. Is your email address Mac702?”
“What’s your problem, bro?” Pat snorted, tossing his bangs from his forehead.
“I’m not your bro. My bros aren’t here. My bros are in Afghanistan.” Mike angered at the thought of troops dying so this kid could slack. “Why don’t you man up? I’d like to know what you did for my wife. I’d like to know exactly what kind of help you gave her last year.”
John raised a hand, frowning. “Now, wait just a minute, you said you wanted to thank him.”
Pat scoffed. “I offered to help her move some boxes.”
“You telling me you didn’t do more?” Mike shouted, beyond reason. “You didn’t take advantage of her? You didn’t comfort her in her hour of need?”
“What the hell—” Pat started to say, but Mike exploded, punching Pat in the face.
All hell broke loose. Pat staggered backwards. John rushed to help him. Gigi lunged at Mike, knocked him to the floor, and planted her paws on his chest, barking frantically. Mike shouted and raised his arm, but Gigi clamped down on his right shoulder, then shook him back and forth.
“No, no!” Mike felt the mastiff’s teeth, and his stump seared from being jostled. Tears of rage sprung to his eyes. “You preyed on my wife, you bastard! You preyed on my wife! I’ll kill you!”
“Mom, help!” Pat hollered. “Dad, get Gigi!”
“Gigi, drop it, drop it!” John yanked the mastiff backwards, and Gigi opened her jaw, releasing Mike.
“Why couldn’t you leave her alone? Why?” Mike scrambled to his feet and crazily threw another punch, but didn’t connect. “She didn’t love you, she loved me!”
“Get out!” Pat seized Mike by his jacket, and a tall, dark-haired woman appeared at the top of the stairwell, her eyes widening in fear.
“John, Pat!” she screamed, terrified, in a robe. “Oh no! Help! Help!”
“Karen, stay upstairs!” John yelled. “Don’t come down!”
“Mom, call 911!” Pat hollered, but Mike punched wildly and caught him under the chin.
“She was my wife, my wife!”
Pat shook off the punch, grabbed him by the stump, flung open the door, and whipsawed him onto the porch. “Get the hell out!” he yelled, slamming the door closed with a bang!
Mike stumbled off the porch, holding his stump and staggering down the steps. Blood dripped onto the snow from his nose. He raised his hand to catch the flow, but pain from the bite arced to his shoulder. His adrenaline ebbed away, leaving him aching all over.
He hustled down the sidewalk, crunching over ice and salt crystals. He kept his head down, passing his old house without looking over. He had made such a fool of himself. He couldn’t defend his home, his marriage, or his wife.
He had almost reached his car when he heard the blare of approaching police sirens.
Chapter Forty-three
The sirens shook Mike to the bone, a reminder of Helmand Province, but he remained acutely aware that he was standing across from his old house, sniffling his own blood, having just had his ass kicked by the stud who probably impregnated his wife. The police cruiser tore around the corner, its tires spraying clotted snow. He leaned against his car and pinched the bridge of his nose to stop the bleeding, hoping the Gustins and Stei
ngards weren’t watching.
The police cruiser lurched to a stop behind his Grand Cherokee, and its sirens silenced abruptly, leaving an echo vibrating in the air. The cruiser doors flew open, and two cops sprang out and hustled toward him, one tall and the other short, in uniforms with thick insulated jackets.
“Mr. Scanlon?” The tall cop motioned to Mike. His nametag read Officer Joseph Torno, and his jacket bore the embroidered patch of the Wilberg Police. “Place your hands against the vehicle, sir.”
“I’m Mike Scanlon. Sorry you guys were called. This is hardly a police matter.” Mike placed his hand against his car, and Officer Torno patted him down.
“Other hand, too, Mr. Scanlon.” Officer Torno reached for the empty sleeve. “What the hell?”
“I have one arm.”
“Sorry.” Officer Torno took his arm and turned him around. He looked young, and his eyes were a bright blue under the patent bill of his cap. “I suppose I can’t cuff you.”
“There’s always a silver lining.” Mike forced a smile.
“You’ll have to come with me, Mr. Scanlon.” Officer Torno led him to the cruiser. “Is this your vehicle?”
“Yes,” Mike answered, as the short cop came around his right side.
“You have the right to remain silent,” he began. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in court. If you don’t have a lawyer, one will be appointed for you…”
“Miranda warnings?” Mike groaned, as the short cop continued. “Am I being arrested, Officer Torno?”
“Yes, sir, for assault. You’ll be booked after we take you to the hospital. You need to see a doctor.”
“Are you kidding?” Mike felt disgusted with himself. “I don’t need a doctor, I am a doctor, and it’s just a nosebleed. I’m fine, and so is he. I hardly got in a punch.”
“You mind telling me what happened, Mr. Scanlon?” Officer Torno opened the cruiser’s back door, while the short cop guided Mike into the backseat, palmed Mike’s head, and buckled him into the safety harness.
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