Three-Day Town dk-17
Page 25
“So?”
“I know that one of the boys might have done it because he was jealous of your nephew, but what if the freshman girl was jealous of the nephew’s girlfriend? If he never paid her any attention, maybe he never noticed that she had watched him dial the combination on that lock. Old student locks aren’t all that precise anyhow, are they?”
“Oh, Lord!” It was too logical not to be true. And remembering my own early teen years, who more likely to keep pawing through Lee’s locker than a fourteen-year-old girl who had the hots for him? “The one person they all overlooked?”
Sigrid smiled. “The least likely suspect.”
CHAPTER
29
From the high tower of the Singer or the Metropolitan Building the eye travels around the ring and sees waterways, landways, bridgeways, railways, radiating and crossing, leading outward and onward.
—
The New New York
, 1909
We spent the evening tidying up the apartment, emptying the refrigerator of everything that wouldn’t make a picnic lunch on the train, and packing our suitcases.
While I was busy elsewhere in the apartment, Dwight used a wood cleaner on that bloodstain so that it really wasn’t very noticeable. Nevertheless, I wrote a note to Jordy Lacour to explain that the police had his missing gold-and-enamel pillboxes and to tell him why there was an overly clean spot on the floor near his French doors. We left him a bottle of good brandy as a thank-you for the use of his apartment.
I emailed the kids a group letter to ask if the culprit might be the freshman girl Jess had dismissed out of hand. Something in the picture’s background had already made them start to wonder if it had been taken in a stall in one of the girls’ restrooms. They had been ready to accuse Mark McLamb’s girlfriend of helping Mark and Jamie Benton embarrass Lee, but thought the girl with the lower locker was much more likely since Lee hadn’t even bothered to learn her name after bumping into her every day since school began back in September.
Cal had sounded ecstatic when we called to say we were coming back early. “Bandit’s wagging his tail like crazy,” he told us. “He’s really, really glad.” He paused, then said, “We’re not gonna have to stay at Grandma’s so you can finish your honeymoon, are we?”
“Absolutely not,” I told him. “We’ve been missing you and Bandit way too much for that.”
Next morning, as our southbound train broke free of the dark tunnel under the Hudson River and out into the first real sunlight we’d seen since leaving home, Dwight and I looked back across the snowy New Jersey landscape for a final view of Manhattan. We even caught a brief glimpse of the Statue of Liberty before Dwight settled into his seat with a contented sigh.
We both agreed that it would be good to get home.
“Yesterday?” he said. “When you told Lieutenant Harald that we’d be back? You said ‘with our son.’ ”
“Did I?”
“Is that how you feel about Cal?”
Confused and unsure what he wanted my answer to be, I said, “I know that he’ll never stop remembering that Jonna was his mother, but yeah, after a year, I sometimes forget he’s not really my son, too.”
“He should have been yours.” Dwight drew me closer so that my head was tucked under his chin. “Whatever I’d felt for Jonna was gone long before Cal was born. I should have waited.”
“No,” I said. “If you’d waited, Cal wouldn’t be here.”
“Still…”
I reached up to touch his face and put my fingers across his lips to stop him. “Still, nothing.”
He kissed my fingers and tightened his arm around me as the train lurched toward Newark. “All the same,” he said, “I never told you this, but after the first few months, whenever Jonna and I made love, I used to pretend she was you. I knew it wasn’t fair to her, but I couldn’t help myself. It was you I made love to the night Cal was conceived.”
I was flooded with such emotion that I couldn’t speak.
He tilted my chin up so that he could look into my eyes, and just before we kissed, he said, “So in some psychic way, he really is your son.”
My son?
Yes.
My thanks to those inveterate New Yorkers, Vicky Bijur and Susan Richman, for allowing me to take aspects of their Manhattan apartments and shape them to the needs of this book.
Deborah Knott novels:
THREE-DAY TOWN
CHRISTMAS MOURNING
SAND SHARKS
DEATH’S HALF ACRE
HARD ROW
WINTER’S CHILD
RITUALS OF THE SEASON
HIGH COUNTRY FALL
SLOW DOLLAR
UNCOMMON CLAY
STORM TRACK
HOME FIRES
KILLER MARKET
UP JUMPS THE DEVIL
SHOOTING AT LOONS
SOUTHERN DISCOMFORT
BOOTLEGGER’S DAUGHTER
Sigrid Harald novels:
FUGITIVE COLORS
PAST IMPERFECT
CORPUS CHRISTMAS
BABY DOLL GAMES
THE RIGHT JACK
DEATH IN BLUE FOLDERS
DEATH OF A BUTTERFLY
ONE COFFEE WITH
Non-series:
BLOODY KIN
SHOVELING SMOKE
LAST LESSONS OF SUMMER
SUITABLE FOR HANGING
Contents
Front Cover Image
Welcome
Dedication
Deborah Knott’s Family Tree
Epigraph
1940
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Copyright
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2011 by Margaret Maron All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
All epigraphs taken from The New New York, by John C. Van Dyke, Macmillan Company, 1909.
Grand Central Publishing
Hachette Book Group
237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017
www.hachettebookgroup.com
www.twitter.com/grandcentralpub
First e-book edition: November 2011
Grand Central Publishing is a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
The Grand Central Publishing name and logo is a trademark of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.
ISBN 978-1-4555-0627-9
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