The Secret Desires of a Soccer Mom

by Robyn Harding

  “I don’t get it? You’ve been very professional.”

  His face was getting redder and redder. “He thinks I may have personal feelings for you that are interfering with my objectivity.”

  “Oh my God…” To think that just a few months ago, I had felt completely invisible to the opposite sex. And now, it appeared, they couldn’t get enough of me.

  “It would be completely unethical for me to get involved with you,” Troy was saying. “And I know you’re married. I’m in a relationship, too… a good relationship that I don’t want to ruin.”

  “So Conroy’s wrong then,” I said, only a tiny bit disappointed. “So there’s no problem pursuing the case.”

  “Well, to be totally honest, here… I do enjoy your company. I’m afraid I may have given more credence to some of your theories than deserved, just so I could spend time with you.”

  This was both flattering and insulting. I didn’t know how to react. I decided to go with insulted. “How can you say my theories don’t have credence? A woman ends up dead in her own attached garage and you think the fact that she told me she was having an affair isn’t relevant?”

  “Normally, it would be but…”

  “But because you enjoy my company, it’s not? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” I flopped back in my seat and took an angry drink of my latte.

  My petulance seemed to fluster the detective. “Look, I probably shouldn’t have told you all this… I mean, I definitely shouldn’t have… I just wanted you to know what I’m up against if I try to process DNA that was obtained illegally.”

  “What about the note?” I snapped. “How can you ignore that note?”

  “We’re not ignoring it, but even the note maintains it was an accident. Usually, when we get an anonymous letter about a crime it incriminates someone.”

  I suddenly felt incredibly frustrated, almost despondent. Tears were beginning to pool in my eyes as I leaned across the table and reached for Troy’s hand. Maybe I was being manipulative, but if he did kind of enjoy my company, I was going to use it. “Troy, please…” I said. “I know Karen’s death was more than an accident. Don’t ask me how, but deep inside, I know it. I won’t be able to get any peace until her murder is solved.”

  “I’d like to help you, Paige, but Conroy…” He trailed off. “I don’t know what I can do.”

  I gave his hand a squeeze. “Analyze Mr. Rueda’s DNA for me, Troy. If we can prove he’s the father, Conroy will come around.”

  Chapter 25

  Now, there was nothing left to do but hope that Troy would take Javier’s DNA to the lab and then wait for the results to come back. Whatever they were, I had to pray that Conroy would see fit to keep the case open. I didn’t know where this newfound conviction had come from, but I just knew someone was there when Karen died. I could feel it in the pit of my stomach. It could have been Javier, as the letter purported; or Doug, as I was beginning to suspect; or even Jackie Baldwin. Alibis-shmalibis! On the other hand, it could have been someone else entirely. Karen could have been involved with another man, using Javier as a decoy. God, she could have been sleeping with one of the neighborhood husbands! Yikes! Not that I feared it was Paul; there was just no way. For one, I trusted my spouse. And for two, Paul barely had the time and energy for me, let alone an extra girlfriend. Besides, he had always thought Karen was a little on the skinny side… or at least that’s what he said.

  Instead of torturing myself with endless speculation, I decided to focus on Christmas preparations. Thanksgiving had passed with an overcooked Grade C turkey, canned cranberry sauce, and Stove Top Stuffing. It wasn’t like me to neglect a major holiday, but I had been so preoccupied with other matters that I’d practically forgotten about it until it was too late. But Christmas would be different. I would be ready.

  Paul’s parents would be coming from Boulder to spend the holidays with us. His mother was what you would kindly call meticulous (or unkindly: fussy, nit-picking, and high maintenance). This year, I would blow her away with my festive decorations, abundance of baking and perfect, thoughtful gifts for everyone. Chloe, for one, was already full of fabulous ideas for her Christmas present.

  “Mom…” She skipped into the kitchen where I was chopping carrots for dinner. In her hand she clutched a glossy, full color flier from an electronics store. “I know what I want for Christmas!”

  I smiled at my daughter. She looked so exuberantly child-like that it warmed my heart. “What do you want Santa to bring you, honey?”

  She held out a page and pointed to a device in the top left corner. “This!”

  “What is it?” I leaned in for a closer look.

  “It’s a karaoke machine! It comes with an ultimate starter pack and mic!” “Chloe…” I hated to put an end to her gleeful excitement and prompt the return of her pre-teen angst, but… “It’s two-thousand dollars.”

  “I know it’s a lot mom, but it’ll be such great practice for becoming a singer. And if you get me this for Christmas, you don’t have to get me anything for my birthday in February.”

  “Sweetie…”

  “Please mom. It’s my dream.”

  Oh God. This was going to hurt us both. “We can’t afford a two-thousand dollar-karaoke machine. I’m sorry. Is there a cheaper one in the flier?”

  She snatched it away. “Thanks a lot!” she wailed. “I bet Tina bought Jessica a fifty-thousand-dollar karaoke machine when she was my age!”

  “Umm…?”

  “Jessica Simpson! Her mom Tina always believed in her and supported her dream to be a star.”

  The difference being that Jessica Simpson could actually sing. Poor Chloe didn’t realize it, but she was completely tone deaf. I’d suffered through enough renditions of ‘Sk8ter Boi’ to know she was not going to become a musical star.

  I put down the knife I was holding and spoke calmly to my eldest child. “Of course I want to be supportive of you, Chloe. That’s why I asked if there was a cheaper model available.”

  “Just forget it,” she sulked. “I don’t want some junkie one.”

  “Well, that’s your choice, then,” I said, resuming my chopping. “There’s plenty of time before Christmas for you to think of another gift.”

  “Can I get my belly button pierced?”

  The knife clattered noisily on the cutting board. “You’re ten!”

  “Eleven in February.”

  “Oh… okay, then.”

  “Really?”

  “No, not really!” I growled. “I can’t believe you’d even ask if you’re allowed to mutilate yourself for Christmas.”

  “It’s not mutilating! It’s cool!”

  “When you’re paying your own rent, you can pierce a bone through your nose if you want to, but while you’re living under my roof, I draw the line at earrings.”

  “Fine,” she snapped, turning on her heel to huff out of the room. “When I become a famous singer in a couple of years, I’m going to become legally emaciated! Then I can do whatever I want!”

  It was wrong to laugh at her mess-up… possibly even emotionally scarring, but it was just so darned funny. “Really?” I said, my lips twitching with mirth. “Well, when you’re legally very thin, I guess you can pierce whatever you want to.”

  “What?” She was confused for a second, and then, “You are the meanest mom in the world!” I heard her feet thudding loudly on the stairs and then the door to her bedroom slamming.

  I highly doubted that I was the meanest mom in the world. While it was obviously not very nice to mock my daughter’s improper word choice, I had heard of mothers who locked their kids in closets for days on end. Obviously, they were far meaner than I. Besides, I would show Chloe that I wasn’t such an ogre. This would be the best Christmas ever. I would find her a gift that would make her forget she ever wanted a two-thousand-dollar karaoke machine or a pierced navel. It would be something original, thoughtful, and relatively inexpensive, like… hmm… tickets to a Christina Aguilera conc
ert and a backstage pass! Or a day at the skateboard park with Avril Lavigne! She’d be so thrilled. Although… other than winning some radio contest, I wasn’t exactly sure how to make it a reality.

  The very next day I embarked on my best-Christmas-ever mission. As I drove to the Aberdeen Mall I knew my motivation was not pure. I didn’t particularly care how great this Christmas turned out to be; I just wanted to show up my mother-in-law. And if I was being really honest with myself, this whole operation was just an attempt to distract myself from Javier’s paternity test results. In the four days since my meeting with Detective Portman, I had been tempted to call him approximately eighteen times. Somehow, I had refrained. I was afraid that Troy might misinterpret my persistence as flirtation, and I didn’t want to jeopardize his effectiveness on the case. I seemed to have an incredible power over the opposite sex lately: I had to wield it very carefully.

  Parking the car as close as I could to the main entrance, I made my way through the massive automatic doors and into the shopping center. In the real world it was only November twentieth: in the Aberdeen Mall it was Christmas Eve. The length of the hallway was festooned with gold and silver garlands, miniature Christmas trees, giant candy canes, and enormous wreaths adorned with colorful glass balls. Surprisingly, this did nothing to get me into the festive spirit. In fact, it just seemed to place more pressure on me to get ready for my in-laws’ arrival. At least this newfound panicky feeling left less time to dwell on Karen’s murder.

  I wandered mindlessly through the largely vacant halls, unsure of where to begin. The males in my life would be easy to shop for. Spencer had been talking incessantly of a Bionicle called Krekka; Paul had been hinting about a new golf bag for months; and Ted, my father-in-law, had a standing Christmas order in for Godiva chocolates and a subscription to the New Yorker. The females, however, presented more of a challenge. Of course, there was the Chloe issue to overcome, but more challenging still, was Pauline. (Yes, my mother-in-law’s name was Pauline, and yes, she named her son after herself. That says it all, really.) Just for once, I wanted to get her a gift that she couldn’t find fault with, no matter how hard she tried. Although… if that failed, I could buy her any old crap and tell her Paul picked it out himself. Anything selected by her loving son was, of course, absolutely perfect.

  Pausing to get my bearings in the sprawling complex, I found myself standing in front of the Victoria’s Secret store. There, on a rack near the front, hung my red water bra—well, its larger cousin. A feeling of guilt washed over me at the sight of it. It was silly—I had bought the ensemble to resexualize my marriage, but I couldn’t deny that I had worn the sexy underwear to meet Javier on several occasions. Why? Why had it been so important to delude him into thinking I had perky, voluptuous breasts? What had I been playing at? Would I really have crossed that line? Yes, I had been angry and disappointed with my husband then—I still was, sporadically—but would I really have done something so reckless? If I had learned one thing from this whole mess with Karen, it was that adultery was a bad idea.

  And that’s when I saw him. He was at the cashier’s counter, just pocketing his wallet after paying for his purchases. Grabbing the small, pink plastic bag full of lingerie, he turned toward me. Shit! It was too late to duck, and it would be too obvious if I turned and ran. On his face, I saw my own chagrin reflected, briefly, but he quickly replaced it with a friendly, if somewhat forced smile.

  “Hi, Paige.”

  “Doug… hi.”

  “Just getting a little early Christmas shopping done,” he said, indicating the bag almost sheepishly.

  “Yeah, me too…”

  There was a slight pause. “It’s for my sister.”

  “Your sister?”

  “Well, I’m actually shopping on behalf of my brother-in-law,” he explained. “My sister loves this lingerie and they don’t have Victoria’s Secret in Canada.”

  “Really?” I tried hard to keep the skepticism from my voice.

  “Yeah… so I told him I’d uh… pick it up for him.” He chuckled, self-consciously. “I feel a bit weird buying a bra and panties for my own sister.”

  “It’s a bit weird, all right.” I made myself laugh along with him.

  “How are the kids?” he asked, after a moment.

  “They’re good… How are you doing?”

  “I’m all right,” he said. “It’s still hard… Some days are better than others. Christmas will be tough.”

  “It will,” I agreed. In that moment, I felt really connected to Doug. Any suspicions I had about him were replaced by genuine, heartfelt sympathy. But since he was here, I may as well do a little digging. “I hear you’re thinking of moving?”

  He was caught off-guard. “Moving?”

  “Jackie Baldwin mentioned you were interested in buying a condo.” I felt the need to explain my encounter with his lady friend. “My mom is thinking about getting a place out here and asked me to check into the condo market.”

  Doug looked a little pale. “Oh, well… it’s just a thought at this stage. Jackie and I go to the same gym and she mentioned these new developments just south of here. The house feels kind of big and empty these days. I may want to downsize at some point.”

  “Well, I’m sure Jackie can help you out. She’s really good to her clients, isn’t she?” He was looking at me like he thought I was strange again. Or was that the look of someone who’d just been found out? I continued, “She really seems to go that extra mile, y’know?”

  “Yeah, she’s great.” He looked at his watch. “I’d better get going. I’ve got to get back to the office.”

  “Well… nice seeing you. Have a great day.”

  I could no longer concentrate on shopping, that much was certain. Giving Doug a sufficient head start, I headed for the exit. Buying lingerie for his sister? Yeah, right! What kind of creepy brother bought lingerie for his sister? What kind of creepy brother-in-law would ask him to do it? What—did he just call Doug up and say “Would you mind popping to the mall and picking out a really sexy bra and panties for your sister to wear? Something really skimpy and transparent would be great.” I doubted it. And even if there were no Victoria’s Secret stores in Canada, they surely had the catalogue. The brother-in-law could have ordered his wife’s Christmas lingerie. They lived in Vancouver, for heaven’s sake, not in some igloo on the arctic tundra!

  The encounter with Doug plagued me the whole way home. He had to have been buying a gift for Jackie Baldwin. He had noticeably paled when I confronted him about moving. He’d been awkward and shaky when I mentioned her name. There were just too many signs. Sure, everyone had brushed it off when I told them about the wine and shoulder-rubbing I’d witnessed, but this was different. This was something tangible! Tangibly sexual! Their relationship couldn’t be discounted any longer.

  When I pulled into the driveway I was still feeling agitated. I needed to unload this burden to someone, but to whom? Paul would tell me to mind my own business. Jane would tell me I was watching too many cop shows. Trudy would get all uncomfortable and flustered at the mere mention of lingerie. My eyes traveled to Carly’s silent house. We had been closest to Karen. Surely she would share my disapproval of Doug and Jackie’s relationship?

  Moments later, I was loudly banging the brass knocker on Carly’s front door, in case she was in the basement wearing headphones again. She opened it a few seconds later, looking winded and disheveled.

  “Sorry,” I began, taking in her appearance, “am I interrupting something?”

  “I was just doing a Pilates video,” she explained, gesturing to her baggie track pants and too large T-shirt. “I want to fit into that little black dress by Christmas,” she added, hopefully.

  Good luck. Christmas was only six weeks away. “Would you mind if I came in for a sec? I really need to talk.”

  “Sure. Are you okay?”

  “Not really.” I followed her inside and sat next to her on the ivory leather sofa. “I’m really upset, Carly. May
be it’s none of my business and maybe I’m just paranoid but…”

  “But what?” She sounded alarmed.

  “I just ran into Doug at the mall.”

  “Okay…?”

  “At Victoria’s Secret.”

  “Oh…”

  I quickly detailed the ensuing conversation where Doug pretended to be buying sexy underwear for his Canadian sister. “Am I wrong to be bothered by this?”

  “No,” she said, “it does sound a little far-fetched.”

  “A little far-fetched? He’s obviously buying sexy underwear for Jackie Baldwin! It’s way too soon! It’s not healthy!”

  “If it bothers you so much, maybe you should talk to him?”

  “I can’t talk to him!” I said, shocked. “Doug doesn’t like me.”

  “Of course he does.”

  “No, he doesn’t. He thinks I’m aggressive and weird and a big boozer. Besides, what would I say?”

  “Well…,” Carly said, shifting slightly in her seat, “just tell him that you think he needs to take more time to heal before he jumps into another relationship. Tell him that you don’t mean to interfere, but that you care about him and think he should wait for the right woman to replace Karen.”

  It sounded completely legitimate but… “I can’t.” Then a marvelous idea struck me. “You’re close to Doug. Why don’t you talk to him?”

  “I’m not going to talk to him. Paige… this is your issue. I don’t really have a problem with Doug seeing Jackie Baldwin. He’s doing what he needs to do to heal.”

  “Fine,” I said, petulantly. “If everyone just wants to sit around and watch him throw the rest of his life away, then, well, whatever….”

  “Don’t be like that,” Carly said, reaching over and taking my hand. She looked at me in silence for a moment, her eyes full of understanding… or was it pity? When she spoke again, her voice was slow and gentle, like she was speaking to someone mildly autistic. “Maybe you should just let it go, hon?”

  “I-I don’t think I can.”