Death Will Pay Your Debts

by Elizabeth Zelvin

  The simplest explanation for that was that Sophia was in recovery, Tracy a civilian. But I wasn't going to say so.

  "Was she part of an in-group in college?" I asked.

  "She was attractive and popular, if that's what you mean. The school was big enough to have a smart party-girl crowd, and Sophia was one of the queens of that. But I was in the same crowd. We got along fine then."

  "Did she have any enemies in college?"

  "She snubbed a few people. It kind of went with the tall blonde popular thing."

  People she might have made amends to, I thought, or should have made amends to when she did her step work. Too bad her sponsor had dropped out of meetings. I wondered if the sponsor had kept Sophia's fourth and eighth step lists: people she'd resented, people she owed amends to.

  "So she might have had enemies she didn't know about."

  "That's putting it too strongly," she said. "There were plenty of people who were simply not in our crowd, but only a couple who got their feelings seriously hurt."

  "Is anyone else who went to college with you here?" I asked.

  "No. I guess they grew up and moved on." Tracy scanned the room. "I spotted her college boyfriend at the service the other day. That surprised me. He lives in Texas. But he's not here now."

  Chapter Fourteen: Barbara

  When the doorbell rang, Barbara was standing on the bathroom scale, telling herself without conviction that neither wishing nor stepping off the thing and on again would make the number go down. She wanted a healthy child, but not a giant child. She'd been asking around about the birth experience. For every starry-eyed mom who had birthed her baby at home in the bathtub with a midwife and doula in attendance, there was a retro mom who swore that giving birth hurt like hell, even in the hospital with benefit of anesthesia, and the bigger the baby, the greater the pain. After that, she had fifteen years of cupcakes and ice cream cones and whatever else kids ate ahead of her.

  "Jimmy?" she yelled. "Jimmy! Answer the door!"

  No response. Ready to be angry, she stormed into the living room. Halfway across it, she remembered that Jimmy had gone out for an appointment with a career counselor who specialized in high-tech jobs. Normally, unless he'd gone to a meeting, he never budged from his electronics-crammed nest behind the giant screen of the computer. But his DA pressure relief group had told him the change had to be a lot more fundamental than updating his programming skills through online tutorials.

  "How can you take a programming job?" she'd said. "It would be like a four-star chef flipping burgers at a greasy spoon."

  "I'll do anything to get solvent," Jimmy had said. "But Dan said your DA vision is always bigger than you think it's going to be. Like I might think it's a job with a steady paycheck, but it's really a life of abundance and creativity."

  "You've already had that," Barbara said.

  "Yeah, but having it and being solvent in this economy at the same time would be something else. And they think getting out of cyberspace into RL will shake me up and get me where I need to be."

  Barbara had wondered where Jimmy thought he'd been for the past twenty years, if he didn't consider their life together Real Life, not to mention their apartment. But she'd managed not to say so. No point adding fuel to the fire.

  The doorbell rang again, an insistent double ring. Who could it be? The cleaners delivering Jimmy's shirts? He'd had to dig deep into the closet for an office wardrobe. He hadn't even worn a tie for ages. Friends didn't drop by without calling or texting. Barbara grabbed a throw from the sofa to wrap around herself. She could open the door a crack, stick out a hand, and snake the cleaning in. The delivery guy might even have left the hangers on the doorknob and gone back down in the elevator by now. She was only a few feet from the door when the doorbell rang a third time, this time accompanied by knocking and an unfamiliar masculine voice.

  "NYPD. We need to talk with you."

  "Coming!" she called out. "I'll be with you in a minute."

  She threw on jeans and a sweatshirt with shaking fingers and thrust her feet into a pair of slippers. What on earth? Oh, God, what if something had happened to Jimmy? Bad news was the most likely reason for police to come to an ordinary, law-abiding person's door. What a nightmare if the first time Jimmy tried to break his addiction to holing up in the apartment, he got run over crossing the street. Please, God, let Jimmy be okay.

  The man Bruce had spotted and identified as a detective at Sophia's funeral stood in the hall holding up his badge. Not an accident, then. Thank God.

  "Barbara Rose? Detective Natali. May I come in?"

  "Of course." Barbara stepped back to let him in. "Is anything wrong? Are you looking for James Cullen? He isn't here."

  "I came to speak to you, Ms. Rose," the detective said. "I have a few questions. May I sit down?"

  He was already lowering himself into an armchair that faced the sofa. She sat, her stomach churning.

  "How can I help you?"

  "I'm investigating the death of Sophia Schofield," Natali said.

  "I didn't really know her," Barbara said, "only through my partner, Jimmy. James Cullen. I mean, my fiancé. We're getting married, but we've been together a long time."

  She was babbling. She had to calm down. Too bad she couldn't ask the detective to hold hands and say the Serenity Prayer.

  "Did you ever meet her?"

  "Briefly," she said. "A couple of times. We never actually had a conversation."

  When Jimmy had told her his DA sponsor was a woman, Barbara had wanted to check her out. That was normal, wasn't it? Jimmy and Sophia were always meeting for coffee or talking on the phone. Jimmy had thrown himself into the step work because he wanted this new recovery to work. That's all it was. But she had wanted to see for herself. A couple of times when they were meeting in Starbucks, she had dropped by. The first time, she had been taken aback to find out how gorgeous Sophia was. She hadn't been able to make herself go up to them, but watched from a distance as they talked and laughed. Their hands had met frequently as they pointed to passages in the books and papers on the small table between them. The second time, she had armed herself with a latte and said hello, saying she had just popped in for a moment.

  "What was the nature of their relationship?"

  What kind of a question was that? She was not about to break Jimmy's anonymity. She'd only tie herself into knots if she tried to explain twelve-step sponsorship.

  "They were friends," she said.

  "Was it usual for your fiancé to have female friends outside the home?"

  "Well, yes," she said. "The same way I have men friends of my own. It is the twenty-first century."

  Stupid, stupid. Volunteering information was a mistake, and so was sarcasm.

  "Were they intimate?"

  "How do you mean? They had some things in common."

  "Can you be more specific?"

  As if she'd tell him their common ground was alcoholism and compulsive debting.

  "Not really," she said. "She was Jimmy's friend, not mine. Wait a minute, are you asking if they were lovers? That's ridiculous!"

  "Why is that, Ms. Rose?"

  "We don't live that way," she said. "We aren't that kind of people, and neither are our friends." Well, there was Bruce, who hadn't been averse to bed-hopping before he met Cindy. But that was neither here nor there. It had probably been another mistake to mention friends at all. "Jimmy and I have a wonderful relationship. We're about to get married."

  " To your knowledge," Natali asked, eyebrows raised, "Mr. Cullen was as happy about this as you are?"

  "Of course!"

  What was he driving at? Did they suspect Jimmy of killing Sophia? Why? To protect Barbara? If Sophia loved Jimmy, maybe she'd have wanted to kill Barbara. But that was so not what happened.

  "Where were you last Thursday, Ms. Rose, between the hours of eleven and three?"

  Wait a minute! Was he asking her for an alibi? That made no sense at all. She didn't even know Sophia.
<
br />   "I was at work, I guess." She could hear the faint wobble in her voice and took a deep breath to steady it. "I'm a counselor at a hospital in the Bronx. Let me check my calendar."

  She fumbled in her bag for her iPhone.

  "Thursday, you said?" Her thumb flicked the screen, scrolling back. "Actually, I wasn't at work that morning. I went to the dentist."

  "I'll need your dentist's name, address, and phone number. What time was your appointment?"

  "Nine thirty," she said.

  "And the dentist's office can corroborate that you kept the appointment?"

  "Yes!" Barbara opened her mouth and pointed to an upper molar. "You can see the filling he put in," she said indistinctly. "It's brand new."

  "Where did you go after that, Ms. Rose?"

  "Back to the hospital."

  The moment the words left her mouth, she remembered they weren't true. She had taken advantage of being in the city to attend a lunchtime meeting.

  "Is there anyone who can confirm your time of arrival?"

  "Actually, I didn't get there until almost three. I had lunch in the city first."

  "Can anyone corroborate that?"

  "No, I had lunch by myself."

  "The name of the restaurant?"

  "I didn't go to a restaurant. I got a salad at a deli. I can tell you where the deli is, but there was a big crowd at the salad bar. I hardly noticed the person behind the counter, and they wouldn't remember me."

  "Where did you eat this salad?" Natali asked.

  Should she say she went home? Then they'd want to know if the doorman could confirm it. They usually didn't pay much attention to the tenants' comings and goings, but at lunchtime, he would have been sorting the mail, and she usually stopped and asked if there was anything for her. He might remember that he hadn't seen her. What if she said she'd gone to the park and had lunch sitting on a bench? They couldn't expect her to produce a witness to that. On the other hand, it wasn't true. While she scrambled for a plan, her Higher Power in her head was saying that lying to the police was a very bad idea.

  "Where did you eat your lunch on Thursday, Ms. Rose?" the detective repeated.

  Damn. She'd hesitated so long that her silence had become noticeable.

  "I went to a—a talk."

  "What kind of talk? We'll need all the particulars."

  Anonymity didn't mean she couldn't tell anyone she wanted to that she was in the program. The trouble was that she didn't want to. But he wouldn't stop until she spit it out.

  "If you must know," she said, knowing she sounded sulky, "it was a twelve-step meeting. I ate my salad while it was going on. It was a big meeting, so probably no one noticed me, but if they did, they wouldn't tell you. There's a tradition of anonymity."

  "I see," he said. "After the AA meeting, did you return directly to work?”

  "It wasn't AA," she said. "I'm not an alcoholic."

  Natali made a note.

  "What time did you arrive," he asked, "and whom can we contact to corroborate that?"

  "Why are you asking me all this, anyway?" she burst out. "What does it have to do with Sophia's murder? I hardly knew the woman."

  "You attended the funeral," he pointed out.

  "Yes, to support Jimmy, because he was upset about her death. That doesn't explain why you need to know where I was the day she died."

  "We have reason to believe," the detective said, "that you resented your fiancé's friendship with Ms. Schofield. Is there anything you'd care to tell us about that?"

  "I don't need a lawyer, do I?" she asked, feeling as if she'd strayed into a TV script.

  "Do you think you do?"

  "You tell me!" She needed to calm down. Getting defensive wouldn't help. "I don't have any experience with this kind of thing, and I had nothing to do with Sophia Schofield or her death."

  "Are you saying that you did not resent Ms. Schofield's friendship with Mr. Cullen?"

  He was trying to confuse her. Could they have interviewed Jimmy without his telling her? Could he possibly have said he thought she had resented Sophia? Wouldn't he protect her the same way she'd protect him? He had been mad at her lately: for being pregnant, for wanting a wedding and, God forbid, a honeymoon, for wanting to go back and get her master's right when he'd run out of money. Well, she'd been mad at him too: for not telling her sooner about his money problems, for canceling their long-anticipated vacation, for not being thrilled about becoming a father. For joining DA and deciding he was answerable to strangers for every penny he spent, including the pennies he spent on, for, and with her, a decision that sabotaged their whole relationship and messed with Barbara's happiness. If she'd wanted to kill anyone, it would have been Jimmy! But she loved Jimmy. She'd never betray him, whether or not he showed the same concern for her.

  "I did not." She looked Detective Natali in the eye. "I had absolutely no reason to resent Sophia Schofield."

  Chapter Fifteen: Jimmy

  "He said 'resent'!" Barbara screeched. "Do you think the word 'resentment' appears in the New York Police Manual? Do you think it appears in Homicide Investigations for Dummies? I'll tell you where you'll find the word 'resentment': the AA Big Book! Where did the cops get the idea that I had a homicidal resentment against your sponsor, James Francis Xavier Cullen? They must have gotten it from you!"

  Jimmy stood stock still in the middle of the living room as Barbara's furious reproaches charged at him like a herd of stampeding buffalo. It was futile to think that if he didn't move a muscle, they'd pass him by. Sooner or later, he was bound to get trampled. He was already feeling kind of chewed up. Barbara hadn't screamed at him this way since his drinking days. Screaming didn't work on alcoholism. Screaming to relieve her feelings and make him feel guilty worked just fine. Sobriety was easy. If you wanted hard, try fixing a relationship that had suddenly developed a rift the size of the Grand Canyon.

  "Say something, dammit! You can't get out of this by playing possum, Jimmy!"

  "What do you want me to say?"

  Barbara clenched her fists and growled through gritted teeth.

  "You know that saying that only makes me angrier. I've only been telling you that for twenty years! What part of 'say something' don't you understand?"

  Jimmy shook his head like a mule, more frustrated than angry. He'd been telling her for twenty years that when someone yelled at him, his mind went blank. It came from having an alcoholic father with a heavy hand and the vocabulary of a man who read the dictionary for fun. He'd given up his dream of being a teacher to marry Jimmy's mom and lived to regret it bitterly and vocally. Barbara talked the talk about what she called his wounded inner child. But if she really got it, she wouldn't keep expecting Jimmy to come up on his own with the script she would have written.

  "I'm sorry," he said helplessly.

  "That's not good enough! You're only apologizing to appease me. If you really meant it, you'd look at your own behavior and say what you were sorry for."

  For a moment, he thought with longing of the days when they would have run away at this stage of a fight, Barbara to her mother's and Jimmy to the nearest bar. Sometimes Barbara would fling herself across the doorway, blocking his escape, demanding that they confront the problem and work it through. That had been sheer torture.

  "I'm sorry I've made you angry," he said.

  She took a deep breath, unclenched her fists, and lowered her shoulders.

  "You're not responsible for my feelings," she said.

  Thank God. The Barbara who was in recovery was still in there somewhere.

  "I'm not angry," she said. "Well, I am angry, but I'm hurt. How could you talk about me with Sophia?"

  "She was my sponsor," he said. "You're supposed to be honest with your sponsor. I didn't know she was going to get killed!"

  "Honesty is one thing," she said, "telling someone else what's wrong with me is another."

  "I didn't mean to take your inventory," he said. "I talked about my own resentments, really."

 
Barbara stiffened again.

  "What resentments?"

  He approached her cautiously and put his arms around her. She held herself rigid, but she didn't pull away.

  "Come on, petunia, please," he said, "let's not fight. I love you. I've been feeling ashamed and inadequate about this money thing."

  She relaxed against him.

  "See? You can talk about your feelings. Why can't you do it right away instead of taking us to the gates of hell first?"

  "I can't always do it," he said. "I'm not holding back on purpose. I'm not like you."

  That elicited a wan grin.

  "That's an understatement."

  "I love you." He tightened his arms around her.

  "More," she said.

  "I love how you can talk about your feelings whenever you want to," he said. "I love your enthusiasm. I love how uninhibited you are, even though it drives me crazy. I want us to get married, and I want our baby."

  Barbara burst into tears. Jimmy held her and rocked her. She snuffled into his shirt.

  "I wish just once," she said, "we could make up before I cry."

  "Well, don't use up all your wishes on that," he said.

  She snuggled up against his chest and let him rock her. That was a good sign. If she'd still been feeling combative, she'd have gotten mad again and told him she was not an autistic child.

  "You really want the baby?" she said.

  "Of course I do," he said. "That's why I'm trying so hard to make DA work for me."

  "Okay," Barbara said. "Try to understand that your DA is scary for me. I'm afraid of the changes you have to make and how they'll affect me. I guess deep down I like it when you take care of me."

  "Gee, do you think?"

  She punched him, not hard.

  "Idiot!"

  "Are we okay?" he asked.

  "I guess so," she said. "Enough rocking. Let's sit on the couch." She drew him down and squirmed closer to plaster herself against him. "Jimmy? How did the police get the idea that we had resentments? I could see how if they thought I thought you were telling Sophia what I considered our private business, I might have been angry. But mad enough to kill her? That's crazy. Your money trouble and my pregnancy aren't exactly secrets, at least not dangerous secrets."