by Shari Lapena
“Better than Dan.” She walks past him and enters the house, and Ted follows her into the living room.
“We should talk,” she says, glancing between him and Catherine.
“What’s wrong?” Catherine asks, alert to trouble.
“The detectives came by Dan’s place yesterday after you left, while I was still there. They asked us a bunch of questions. It was fine, but Dan seemed to fall apart after they left.” She sits down beside Catherine on the sofa and says after a moment, “Do you think he could have done it?”
Ted watches as Catherine averts her eyes and says, “I don’t know.”
Ted swallows, feels slightly sick.
“Me either,” Jenna admits. There’s a long, fraught silence. Finally Jenna says, “I think he’s losing his grip. He seems convinced they’re going to think it was him. Because of Dad selling the business. And—did you know that he’s got no money?”
Catherine looks at her now and nods wearily.
“You knew? I didn’t. He says the police are going to come after him and they’re going to go into it with blinders on and convince themselves that he did it, and they won’t be able to see anything else.”
Ted clears his throat and suggests, “Maybe he should get a lawyer?”
Catherine turns to him and nods. “Maybe. In the meantime, we say nothing.” She turns to Jenna and looks her in the eyes. “Okay?”
Jenna nods. “Okay.”
“You didn’t tell them about what happened at Easter dinner, did you?” Catherine asks.
“Of course not.”
“Good.” She seems to relax a little. Then Catherine says, a furrow in her brow, “Dan isn’t wrong to be worried. Yesterday, as we were leaving his place, Irena told me she thinks the police might not believe it was a robbery at all. They might suspect it was one of us.”
“Why didn’t she say that to all of us?” Jenna asks.
“She probably didn’t want to upset Dan.”
Ted watches Jenna nod. “I imagine Dan has told you the good news?” Jenna asks.
“What good news?” Catherine says.
“He called Walter yesterday, after you left, before the police arrived.”
“What?” Catherine says sharply.
Ted can tell by her tone that Catherine isn’t happy about it.
“Dad didn’t change his will to benefit Audrey. He’d made an appointment, but he hadn’t done it before he was killed. So there’s that.” She adds, with a smirk, “I wonder if Audrey knows yet?”
21
Jenna has offered to visit the florist, mostly to get out of the house. She wants to get away from Catherine. Something about the way Catherine takes charge of everything irritates her, even though Jenna certainly doesn’t want to take on management of the funeral arrangements herself.
As Jenna drives downtown to order the flowers—from the same florist that used to deliver fresh bouquets to her parents’ house on a regular basis—her thoughts turn to what Irena told Catherine. So the detectives already suspect it was one of them. Because of the inheritance, obviously. But is there something more? What did Irena hear, exactly? She decides that after her business at the florist, she will pay Irena a visit and ask her herself.
The bell on the door to the flower shop tinkles when Jenna enters. Inside, she is assaulted by a riot of color and the sweet, pleasant smell of fresh plants. She spends some time choosing a number of arrangements for the front of the church—lilies and roses. She knows Catherine will be pleased. When she’s finished, Jenna leaves the shop and is surprised to spot Audrey across the street, staring at her. She wonders if Audrey is following her, whether she already knows she’s not going to be rich after all.
Jenna gives Audrey a smile and a flippant wave, then turns her back on her.
* * *
• • •
at the station, Reyes and Barr are digging through background information on the Mertons’ adult children. Catherine and her husband, Ted, are quite well-off—but they’ll be in another league entirely with the inheritance.
Details of Dan Merton’s financial situation reveal signs of desperation, however. He has not worked in six months—since his father sold his company. He and his wife, who doesn’t appear to have a job either, must have been living on savings. They have recently been using new credit cards to pay the minimums on other credit cards that are maxed out. His parents’ deaths could not have come at a better time, Reyes thinks cynically.
The youngest, Jenna, seems to live from month to month, relying mostly on the generous allowance provided by her parents, occasionally selling some pieces of her art for modest amounts. There are no signs of any recent problems she might have had with her parents. But she’d lied about when she and her boyfriend had left the house on Easter Sunday. Why?
Who he finds most interesting right now is Irena Dabrowski, the cleaning lady. She cleaned the knife to protect someone. It was rather foolish of her, but she wouldn’t have been thinking clearly. Obviously she thinks the murders were committed by someone close to Fred and Sheila, someone she cares about, most likely one of the kids.
He wants to know why.
* * *
• • •
irena puts down the phone, unhappy. She has been asked to come to the police station to answer a few questions. There’s an unpleasant surge of adrenaline coursing through her body.
She notices Jenna’s car drive up as she locks her bungalow behind her.
“Irena!” Jenna calls, getting out of her car and approaching her. “Do you have a minute?”
“I’m on my way out,” Irena says, as Jenna reaches her and gives her a brief hug.
“Where?”
“One of those detectives just called me; they want to ask me some questions.”
“What are you going to tell them?” Jenna asks bluntly.
“Nothing,” Irena replies. “I have nothing to tell them. Why would I?”
“Good.” Jenna studies her. “I was over at Catherine’s this morning,” she says. “She said you told her that the police might suspect one of the family. What did they say, exactly?”
Irena shifts her eyes away. She doesn’t want to talk about this right now. “It’s just—they made a big deal about the money.”
“Of course they’re going to make a big deal about the money,” Jenna reassures her. “But that doesn’t mean anything. It was probably a robbery.”
“I heard them say that Fred and Sheila might have known their killer.” Irena feels dizzy, saying this to Jenna.
Jenna looks at her intently. “Why do they think that?”
“They think Sheila must have opened the door to whoever it was, and it was late at night.”
“So? That was Mom for you, she’d open the door anytime, to anyone, you know that.”
Irena nods. “But it was so violent.” She stops there. She doesn’t want to describe it, doesn’t want to relive it. “They thought it might be—personal—somebody they knew.”
Jenna seems to consider this information.
Irena says, “I have to go.”
“Come back to Catherine’s as soon as you’re done and tell us what they say,” Jenna says.
“All right.”
“Irena?” Jenna says as Irena turns away. She turns back. “Catherine and I are worried about Dan.”
22
Dan is in the garage tinkering. Despite his education and his executive ambitions, he actually likes getting his hands dirty, fixing things. He likes to keep busy, his mind occupied. Right now, he has the ride-on mower up on a hoist and he’s checking the blades. He loves the comforting smell of the garage, the oil on the cement floor near his head, even the old grass stuck to the mower blades, but it’s not enough to keep his mind off everything that’s happened.
He can’t stop thinking about the detectives who were in
his house late yesterday afternoon with their questions and their insinuations. He knows what they’re thinking. What worries him most, right now, is the opinion they formed of him. How did he come across to them? Did he look as agitated as he felt? Did he look as if he had a guilty conscience?
Lisa is the only one he can talk to about this, the only one he can trust completely. He’s afraid to ask Jenna; he’s afraid of what she might say.
“I know this is difficult,” Lisa said quietly to him in bed the night before, “but they’re not going to think it was you.”
“What if they do?” he whispered. He could feel panic twisting in his guts.
She looked at him, her brown eyes wide. The lights were off but a faint glow from the moon filtered into the room. “Dan, you went out again that night, after we came back from your parents’. Where did you go?”
He swallowed and said, “I just went for a drive. Like I always do.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember. Just around. I needed to clear my head. You know I like to drive when I have a lot on my mind.”
“When did you get back?”
“I didn’t check the time. Why would I? It was late, you were asleep.” He knew he sounded defensive. She must have been asleep, he told himself, if she didn’t know.
“The police are going to question us. We have to get our story straight.”
She was offering—was she offering?—to lie for him. “What?”
“I mean—I think you should tell them you were home all night, with me. And I’ll back you up.”
He nodded, grateful. “Okay.” This was something that had been bothering him. She’d solved this problem for him, and he hadn’t even had to ask. A small relief.
She touched his face with both hands. “You need to relax. You didn’t kill them. No matter what you felt about your father, I know you’re a good man.” She looked deeply into his eyes. “You could never do something like that.” She gave him a little smile and kissed him briefly on the lips. “Everything’s going to be all right. And when this is all over, you’ll get your inheritance, and we can put all of this behind us.”
Now Dan stares up into the darkness of the mower blades. He tries to think about the money. The freedom he will have. He tries to imagine a bright future.
* * *
• • •
audrey fumes in her car in the parking lot in front of the police station, her hands clenching the steering wheel. She thinks of that smile on Jenna’s face outside the flower shop. They must know by now that Fred didn’t change his will. She’d like to kick something, but it’s hard to do that when you’re sitting in the driver’s seat. She thinks about getting out and kicking her own tires, but she doesn’t want to draw attention to herself. Her breathing is fast and shallow and she’s fighting tears—she still can’t believe it. To have something she’d counted on snatched away like that—just because Walter was away that week. She’s absolutely enraged.
But no, that’s not right. She hasn’t had wealth beyond her wildest dreams snatched away from her because Walter was away. It’s because Fred was murdered, in cold blood, before he could see Walter, and there’s fuck all she can do about it now. She’s pretty sure she knows why. She just wants to know who.
The promised money is gone. It’s going to go to those bloody kids. She can taste the bitterness in her mouth. She’s always wanted to be rich. That’s what growing up in poverty does to you. Fred managed it, she didn’t. This was her last chance.
Audrey wants to know who murdered Fred and Sheila. She wants to know who, exactly, has screwed her out of millions of dollars.
She’s been sidelined by the family, shut out. They aren’t going to tell her what’s going on. As soon as she arrived at Dan’s house yesterday, they’d all clammed up.
The police seem mostly concerned about this truck. She hopes the detectives don’t waste a lot of time on that. Of course valuables were taken—the murderer would disguise it as a robbery. They’re not going to make it obvious. But thieves don’t slit a person’s throat and stab them countless times. Whoever killed her brother clearly hated him.
She sits outside the police station now, watching to see if any of the family are going in for questioning. Surely they would be formally interviewed? Surely the day after the bodies were discovered is not too soon. She keeps her keen eyes trained on the police station, wondering if she’d missed anything already.
After a while, she sees a familiar woman walking up the front steps of the station. Irena has arrived.
* * *
• • •
detective reyes watches Irena Dabrowski settle in to her chair. They’re in one of the interview rooms, bare but for a table and chairs. Barr is beside him, and she offers Irena water, which she declines.
Irena’s face is lined; her brown hair, pulled back in a short ponytail, is graying. Her hands are strong and rough-looking, devoid of rings, nails short and unpainted. A cleaner’s hands.
Reyes sits, taking his time. He says to her, “Thank you for coming in. You’re here voluntarily, of course. You can leave at any time.”
She nods mutely, pulling her hands into her lap below the table where he can’t see them.
“Now, you were the live-in nanny at the Mertons’ house many years ago.”
“Yes, I told you that.”
“How many years were you the live-in nanny?”
She appears to think. “I started soon after Catherine was born, so about thirty-two years ago. Dan came along two years later. And Jenna another four years after that. I lived in the house until Jenna started school, so altogether, probably about twelve years.”
“So you know them all pretty well,” Reyes says mildly.
“Yes, I told you—they’re like my own family.”
“And are you still close to them?”
“Yes, of course. But I don’t see them as much as I once did.”
Reyes asks, “Would you say you were closer to the children or to the parents?”
She looks as if the question has made her uncomfortable. “The children, I suppose,” she answers.
Reyes waits for her to say more. Silence is a great tool. He watches her think.
“Fred and Sheila were my employers—they kept me at arm’s length, in a way.” She smiles a little. “Children don’t do that. And they were all good, affectionate children.”
“Were there any problems in the family?” Reyes asks.
“Problems?” she repeats.
And right away, he knows there were problems, and he wants to know what they were. “Yes, problems.”
She shakes her head. “Not really. I mean, nothing out of the ordinary.”
“We know that Fred Merton had a falling out with his son, Dan,” Reyes says. “What can you tell us about that?”
“It wasn’t a falling out, really. Fred got an exceptionally good offer for his company that he felt he couldn’t refuse, so he sold it. He was all about making the right business decision.” She presses her thin lips together. “I know Dan was very disappointed.”
“How did the girls get along with their parents?” Reyes asks.
“Very well,” Irena says.
“Did anything unusual happen at that Easter dinner?”
She shakes her head. “No, not at all.”
“Why did everyone leave so quickly?”
“I’m sorry?”
Reyes knows that she’s trying to buy time. “Catherine and her husband and Dan and his wife and you all left within a couple of minutes of each other.”
She shrugs. “It was time to go, that’s all.”
“And you didn’t stay to clean up? Wouldn’t that be expected?”
She bristles. “She’d given it to me as a holiday. They invited me to Easter dinner. She didn’t expect me to stay and clean up.�
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Reyes sits back in his chair and gives her a long, level gaze. “You seem very protective of the Merton kids,” he suggests. She doesn’t reply. “Maybe we should go over it again—what happened when you found the bodies.” He listens as Irena describes her discovery of the bodies the previous morning. When she’s finished, Reyes says, “I think you’ve left something out.”
“I’m sorry?” she says again.
He watches her face flush slightly. He says, “The bit about how you picked up the murder weapon off the floor, cleaned it at the kitchen sink, and put it back in the knife block.”
23
Irena has gone quite still, and he knows he has hit the mark.
“I didn’t,” she says, but it’s a weak attempt.
He leans forward then, closing in on her, his arms on the table. “We know you did. The forensic evidence shows it. The blood had dried around the knife on the floor for at least twenty-four hours. Your footprints led right past the body to the sink. The knife was scrubbed clean and put back in the knife block. But we know it was the murder weapon.” She sits unmoving, like an animal aware of a predator, her hands in her lap. “The question I have is, why did you do that?”
She becomes flustered. “I don’t know why. I was in shock. I saw the carving knife on the floor. I recognized it. It’s been in the family for decades. I just picked it up and washed it and put it back. It was habit, I guess.”
Reyes smiles at her. “And we’re supposed to believe that?”
“I can’t help what you believe,” she says.
“I’ll tell you what I believe,” Reyes says slowly. “I believe you arrived there, found Sheila dead and Fred awash in blood, saw the carving knife on the floor, picked it up, put on the pair of rubber gloves we found under the sink, and scrubbed the knife thoroughly in case the killer had left prints on it. Because you wanted to protect the person who did it. Which makes us think that you believe that the killer is one of the children.”