“I think the wedding rings point a finger back at a widow as suspect, don’t you?” Mia asked. “I mean, the person behind hiring Margot is out to see if these men would cheat. They all did. And even though two were robbed, all four men were wearing their rings. As if the killer wanted to do right by the marriage.”
Matthew stared at her. “You’re absolutely right, Mia. There is something there.”
“What I still don’t get is why any of the widows would hire Margot to entice the other husbands,” Mia said, leaning back against the sofa. “Why would, say, Lisa Ann Cole care if Theresa Davidson’s husband cheated on her? None of the widows even know each other.”
That was true. Matthew had asked each widow if she’d heard of the others, and the answer had been no. He’d been careful to watch for the slightest change in expression or body language, and the three widows hadn’t flinched a bit.
He had a vague feeling that none of them was involved in the death of her or anyone else’s husband. And he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Laurie Gray was as innocent. He didn’t know about Norman Newman, but the wedding ring connection didn’t seem to point to him at all.
“What about Robert?” Mia asked. “He was wearing his wedding ring when he was found, right?”
“Right, but there’s nothing to indicate that he—”
“What?” Mia asked.
“Wait a minute,” Matthew said, his mouth dropping open. “Wait. A. Minute.”
Mia turned to him, eyes wide.
“When I burst in on Robert and Margot in Chumley’s and dragged Robert over to the jukebox, he hadn’t been wearing his ring. I noticed that. It was one of the reasons why I’d gotten so angry at him.”
“But he’d been wearing it when he was found in the parking lot?”
“Yes, I saw it on his hand when I identified him in the morgue,” Matthew confirmed.
“So now there are two men who weren’t wearing their rings before they were killed yet were found wearing their rings,” Mia said.
“What the hell is going on?” Matthew asked. “What’s the connection with the rings? Who killed these men?”
“And who is the killer’s target on July tenth at MacDougal’s?” Mia asked softly, shaking her head.
Matthew stared at her. “I’m at a total loss.”
“Maybe we should go to the police, Matthew,” Mia said. “We have very good reason to believe that someone is going to be in grave danger of losing his life in two weeks. We have to tell the police what we know.”
“And risk incriminating your sister?” he asked, eyebrow raised.
Mia took a deep breath. “I know Margot is innocent. I also know that I could be saving a man’s life by coming forward.”
“Let’s keep on track,” Matthew said. “We’ve got two weeks before we have to start worrying about this psycho’s next victim. Two weeks to uncover the killer before he or she can strike again.”
Mia nodded and put down her practically untouched bowl of sorbet. Clearly, her appetite, like Matthew’s, was gone.
“And we’ve got a suspect to trail tonight,” Matthew said, the image of that weasly loser Norman Newman intruding in his mind.
Mia let out a deep breath.
Chapter Ten
Mia was surprised that so many people were out and about in the city on a Sunday night. Granted, it was still early, only eight o’clock, but at this hour on a Sunday, Mia would be curled up in an armchair with a good book or at her desk grading tests and ready to hit the sheets by ten.
Then again, she’d never been much—anything, actually—of a party girl. Never had done the bar circuit in her single days or gone to nightclubs, which Margot had always enjoyed. Mia had always wondered about the quality of men she’d meet in a bar—and then she’d gone and met and married the worst of men right next door. Several of Mia’s fellow teachers at Baywater Middle School had met their boyfriends and husbands in bars or nightclubs, and they were quite happy, quite in love with wonderful men.
She wondered if Matthew spent time in singles bars. He lived right in the middle of all this energy and madness, so he must enjoy all that living in the city had to offer.
She glanced over at him. He’d changed into black pants and a gray knit polo shirt. And he’d shaved, too. Every now and then, Mia would get just a hint of his aftershave, a spicy—
Oh, my God.
“Matthew!” she whispered, grabbing his arm. “There he is. There’s Norman.”
He followed her gaze across the street. Norman Newman, carrying a brown leather briefcase, was stopping at every bar window and peering inside.
Is he looking for me? Mia wondered, panic filling her stomach. “Why is he carrying a briefcase on a Sunday night when school’s over for the year?” she asked, her voice cracking. “He wasn’t even working for the last two weeks—he’s been taking care of his sick mother. And he got out of his summer school assignment because of it, so—”
“Mia,” Matthew said, turning to her, his blue eyes intense on hers. “He can’t hurt you. And he can’t hurt me. Okay? You don’t have to worry about this creep.”
She managed to nod. In silence they watched Norman head down the street, covering the top of his eyes with his hands as he looked into the windows of bars and restaurants that lined the busy boulevard.
“He’s definitely looking for something,” Matthew commented. “Maybe for friends, or maybe to see if a place looks inviting to him—”
“Or maybe for me,” Mia added dryly.
“Let’s trail him,” Matthew said. “We’ll stay a bit behind like we are, on this side of the street. When he goes in somewhere, we’ll go in, too. At some point, we’ll let him see us.”
Mia swallowed.
She felt Matthew take her hand, clasp it in his. Startled, she glanced up at him, but he was staring straight ahead.
He was playing a role, Mia realized. Just in case Norman should suddenly turn around and walk their way, he wanted Norman to see them holding hands. He was encouraging Norman’s anger. To see what it would lead to.
But still, Matthew’s strong, warm hand felt so good against hers. She felt safe.
After five minutes of staring in windows, Norman backed up a few steps and headed inside Red Hots, a popular bar known for their buffalo wings.
“Let’s go,” Matthew said, leading her across the street.
Mia paused in front of the entrance.
“All right?” he asked.
She nodded, and they headed inside, still holding hands.
Norman was sitting at the bar, facing away from the door. He was perusing a menu. His briefcase was sitting on the ledge under his feet.
Matthew leaned close. “Let’s head toward the back where it’s crowded and watch him for a while,” he suggested over the blare of the jukebox. “Let’s watch who he watches, who he talks to.”
Mia nodded, and they headed to the back, taking a seat behind a large group of people that still afforded them a bit of a view of Norman’s profile. Norman was wearing his “special assembly” clothes, outfits up a notch from the usual “business casual” dress code of Baywater Middle School. He’d taken pains to comb his wiry brown hair, which was usually flopping in different directions—and not in an endearing way.
A few minutes later, an order of buffalo wings was placed in front of Norman, and he stuffed two in his mouth at once. He also ordered what looked like a ginger ale.
Two women came in and sat down next to Norman. One smiled at him, but he ignored her and instead gnawed on a wing as though he hadn’t eaten in days.
Matthew raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. A nice-looking woman smiles at him, and he’s more interested in his food?”
Mia didn’t know what to say. Did Norman like her so much that he wasn’t interested in other women at all?
Norman either stared at his food or at the television above the bar, which was airing a baseball game. So perhaps he’d only come in to watch the game and have some wings. Maybe he�
��d been peering in windows for television sets.
Mia breathed a sigh of relief. Norman wasn’t a suspect. He was just an annoying and socially inept man.
“Mia,” Matthew whispered, nudging her forearm. “Check this out.”
Mia followed Matthew’s gaze to Norman, who had set his briefcase on top of the bar. He was pulling something out, a large book.
“It’s the Baywater Middle School yearbook,” Mia told Matthew.
“Looks like he has it bookmarked to a specific page,” Matthew said, craning his neck a bit to see around a particularly tall man. “Yes, he’s flipped right to it. He just seems to be staring at it.”
Mia shook her head and sipped her club soda. “I can’t imagine why he’d want to look at the yearbook only a few days after school ended, even if he did miss the last two weeks. No teacher gets that nostalgic that fast.”
“I have the feeling that school provided his only social outlet,” Matthew said. “Most likely, he really misses it.”
Mia shrugged. “You’re probably right.”
“Let’s move a bit closer, get a better view,” Matthew said. “There’s still enough people between us and the bar that he won’t see us unless he turns around.”
They quietly stood with their drinks and moved to a table closer to the bar. Norman didn’t look up from the yearbook.
The woman who’d smiled at Norman knocked into her beer mug with her elbow, sloshing some of her beer on the bar, and Norman suddenly jumped up, the yearbook in his hands, a vein popping out on his temple.
“Be more careful!” Norman snapped. “You almost ruined my book!”
“Sor-ry,” the woman snapped back, rolling her eyes as she mopped up liquid with a wad of napkins.
Norman inspected the area in front of him to make sure it was dry, then sat back down and stood the yearbook up in front of him. Mia could now see the page at which he was looking.
Baywater Middle School’s Faculty. He was staring at the first page, which featured teachers whose last names began with the letters A–C. Six photos.
But Norman had blacked out every photo with a heavy-duty magic marker—every photo except for one.
Except for Mia Anderson’s.
Mia squeezed her eyes shut.
“He’s obsessed,” Matthew said darkly. “I don’t like this one bit.”
“I hate it,” Mia responded quietly.
The woman next to Norman leaned over and looked at the yearbook. “Pretty,” she commented, her gaze on the page. “Your girlfriend?”
Norman eyed the woman as though she’d interrupted an important conversation, then returned his gaze to the yearbook. “Yes. She is.”
The woman raised an eyebrow. “Too bad she’s sitting right over there with another guy, then. Look, they’re holding hands. Ooh, she’s cheating,” the woman trilled in singsong.
Norman’s head swiveled so fast that Mia was sure he’d sprained his neck. His gaze locked with hers, then took in Matthew and their hands entwined on top of the table.
Norman’s face turned beet red, and the same vein popped out in his temple. He slammed the yearbook shut.
The woman next to him burst out in a giggle, and Norman jumped up, threw the yearbook in his briefcase, then reached into his wallet and pulled out a ten-dollar bill, which he tossed on top of the bar. He fixed Mia with a withering glare, then stalked out.
“C’mon, let’s follow him,” Matthew said, reaching for his wallet and getting up.
“Matthew, I just want to go home,” Mia said. “I’ve had more than enough espionage for one night—one weekend. One lifetime, for that matter.”
He sat back down and pulled his chair close to hers. “Mia, listen to me. I know this is hard to deal with, but we’ve just seen evidence, our first real evidence, that a suspect is truly unhinged. We need to follow him for his own safety and for everyone else’s. If he’s a killer, then—”
Mia’s hands shook. “Okay,” she interrupted. “Just stop talking.”
But when they hurried out of the bar, Norman Newman was nowhere to be seen.
“You’re either staying with me, or I’m staying with you,” Matthew told Mia.
While he let her digest that piece of information, Matthew took one last look up and down the boulevard. For the last hour, they’d circled the main drag of Center City twice, gone into several bars and nightclubs, but they hadn’t spotted Norman.
He sure hoped the guy wasn’t watching them.
“I suggest we stay at Margot’s,” Matthew said. “There’s a good chance that Norman has followed Margot there, thinking it was you, thinking it’s your weekend place in the city. If he knows where we are, it makes it easier for us to find him.”
Mia let out a deep breath. “All right.”
They headed to Margot’s building in silence. Mia seemed lost in thought, and Matthew was preoccupied with keeping an eye out for Norman Newman.
“I know it’s creepy,” Matthew said as they reached the high-rise. “The whole situation with Norman. But I want you to know you don’t have to worry about him. I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”
She glanced up at him, those doe eyes full of trepidation. She only nodded, then returned her gaze to the sidewalk.
When they entered the apartment, Mia ran to check the answering machine for calls from Margot, but she was disappointed once again.
“Where could she be?” Mia asked rhetorically as she walked to the wall of windows and crossed her arms over her chest. She stared out at the night. “Margot, where are you?”
Matthew walked up behind her, tempted to put his arms around her, to rub her shoulders, to hold her. But he didn’t. “She’ll come home when she’s ready. For now, we need to believe that she’s safe.”
Mia continued to stare out at the night. “Do you still think she’s the one?” she asked quietly. “Do you think she killed your brother—and the others?”
“I really don’t know what to think anymore,” Matthew said. “C’mon, Mia—let’s sit down on the sofa and kick off our shoes. It’s been a very long day.”
After a moment, he saw her shoulders relax. Her arms dropped down to her sides.
“Wait a minute,” Mia said, whirling around to face him. “I just realized something about Norman Newman. He can’t be a suspect!”
“Why?”
Mia’s eyes were flashing. “Because if he thinks Margot is me, why would he hire her as a decoy? There’s no connection between Norman and hiring Margot!”
Matthew realized she was desperate to take Norman off the list to ease her mind. “Mia, we have to remember that the folder that arrived the other day didn’t have a name on it, nor did the note. It wasn’t addressed to Margot Daniels. The manila envelope was simply slipped under the door. For all we know, Norman thinks being a decoy is your side job and that this is your base of operation.”
Mia bit her lip and seemed to consider that. “But if that’s true, how would he even have found out about the decoy thing?”
Matthew shrugged. “How does anyone? I have no idea, but someone has been hiring her. And I’ve heard of decoys for as long as I can remember.”
“And so he’d hire her—me—to watch me with other men—why? So he can get good and riled up and furious, then kill the men?”
Again, Matthew shrugged. “It’s a possibility, Mia.”
She dropped down on the sofa and let out a deep breath. “The whole thing is revolting. Absolutely revolting. I still can’t understand why my sister would have gotten herself involved in that kind of business. It makes no sense to me at all.”
“It would make a lot more sense for someone from my family,” Matthew said darkly, running a hand through his hair. He sat down next to her, kicked off his shoes, and put his feet up on the coffee table.
Mia stared at him. “Why?”
“Because my father cheated on my mother constantly.”
The moment the words were out of his mouth, Matthew felt the familiar taste of
bile. He pictured his father, graying, pot-bellied, smelling of beer, his shirts stained with junk food, his expression either a smirk or a scowl. And then he pictured his mother, his sweet, kind mother, who’d tried so hard and thought she was a failure.
“Did your mom know?” Mia asked.
“She knew,” Matthew said flatly.
“Because she hired a decoy to test him?”
Matthew laughed bitterly. “No. She didn’t need to.”
“How ... How did she find out?” Mia asked.
Matthew leaned back against the sofa and stared up at the ceiling. “My father paraded his women right in front of her.”
Mia sat up straight. “What?”
“He even brought them home.” His mother had deserved so much better. So much more than her bastard of a husband. Why hadn’t she left when she first found out about the infidelities? How could you know you were being cheated on, disrespected on every level, violated, and not pack up and leave?
Because it’s never that simple. And that was the answer.
Shades of gray, his mother had always said when Matthew demanded answers. Just like our name. Remember that, Matthew. Nothing is black or white.
But things were black and white, just as there were facts and assumptions. There was a right and a wrong, period. Gray was nothing but rationalizations.
“He brought them home?” Mia repeated, her voice incredulous.
“My parents had been sleeping in separate bedrooms for a few years,” Matthew said. “My father said my mother snored like a giant. Made her feel awful about it. So he had his own bedroom.”
“And he brought women to your mother’s house?”
He was glad that she found it hard to believe. It should be hard to believe. No matter how many women had come and gone through his father’s bedroom, Matthew had never gotten used to it, never thought it was the way people lived.
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