Secret Letter: The Beginning Page 4

  ***

  By 4:00 p.m., Dobson was back at his desk typing his report on Mrs. Bailey. The walls to his office were empty except for a few framed awards for meritorious action in the line of duty. Across from his desk was a large wheeled bulletin board with several notes and photographs from previous cases, many of them still open. A framed photo of his wife, Rachel, and daughter, Penny, sat near his office phone, but he was focused on his report that glowed on the computer monitor screen.

  Dr. Galligan had emailed the certificate, citing the time of her death at around 9:00 p.m., two nights prior. Her attacker or the culprits involved had chosen a relatively early evening time, when Mrs. Bailey could still have been awake. For two nights, she lay dead in her foyer, and for two nights, no one noticed.

  Dobson’s office door was closed along with the blinds on his window. No one had bothered him yet, but the captain was expecting a five o’clock brief. Dobson’s routine phone check-ins with forensics had produced little result. They did, however, find a jewelry box in her bedroom that looked as though it had been pilfered.

  Dobson finished the first draft of his report and prepared to read it over when his phone rang, breaking his concentration. He pressed the speaker button on the second ring.

  “Detective Dobson.”

  “Dobson, it’s Fitzgerald. I need you to meet me at Holding Room C.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Evelyn Bailey is here. She came here straight from the airport.”

  Dobson rose from his chair and grabbed his notebook. “I’m on my way.”

  He quickly walked around his desk and exited his office. Down a gray-carpeted hall, he passed several offices and took a sharp left, avoiding Captain Nelson’s door along the way. He then flashed his key card across a sensor and opened the heavy door to the holding room block where he saw Fitzpatrick and a uniformed officer standing down the way. Dobson rushed toward them, looking around for the niece, but didn’t see her anywhere.

  “Relax,” Fitzgerald said, raising a hand. “We haven’t talked to her yet.” He paused and signaled toward the door. “She’s in there now, very upset, and I told her that we’d give her a minute.”

  Dobson walked past them without a word and went straight to a nearby security desk, where a row of small screens displayed the grainy surveillance images of all five holding rooms. On one of the screens, he could see Evelyn Bailey sitting at a table alone and wiping tears from her eyes with Kleenex. She looked young and sophisticated in her expensive-looking black jacket, and the simplicity of her pinned-back hair showed to good effect large, diamond earrings, dangling from her ears.

  Her fingers tapped nervously against the table as she bobbed her head, lips moving.

  “Have you asked her any questions?” Dobson asked as Fitzpatrick approached. “Confirmed her alibi?””

  Fitzpatrick looked around and then stepped closer. “Let’s make a few things clear. Evelyn Bailey is not yet a suspect. She happens to head an organization that donates millions to police charities across the country, including our own. I hope that you can appreciate that.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Dobson said, and quickly changed the subject. “Any word on that Suburban?”

  Fitzpatrick glanced at him. “The Suburban?” he asked, and after a beat, quickly got back on track. “Nothing yet, unfortunately.”

  Dobson checked his watch and then looked back at Fitzpatrick with an indifferent shrug. “Captain Nelson is expecting his brief soon. Better get this over with.”

  His relationship with the homicide department’s fresh-faced new lieutenant had been rocky since Fitzpatrick’s arrival only two months prior. Straight from the academy, he was eager and sharp, but was also younger and less experienced. It seemed to constantly put him at odds with Dobson, who was nearing retirement.

  Fitzpatrick turned without saying anything and then walked toward Holding Room C, waving his hand at the attending officer, who moved aside and opened the door. Fitzpatrick entered as Dobson followed. Evelyn Bailey looked up from the table, exposing tear-soaked cheeks and streaks of mascara under her eyes. Sniffling, she took a sip of her coffee and set it back down, wiping again at her eyes.

  Fitzpatrick sat at the table in one of the two empty chairs as the door closed behind them. “I’m sorry about the wait,” he began. “We can’t thank you enough for coming here right away.”

  Dobson approached the table, extending his arm. “Ms. Bailey. My name is Michael Dobson.”

  She looked up and lightly shook his hand, a blank sadness on her face. “Nice to meet you, Detective.”

  Dobson pulled his chair closer and then sat, placing his notebook on the table. “You must be tired, and I can only understand how difficult this must be.”

  Evelyn Bailey dabbed at her eyes again. “I just… I don’t understand what happened. I’ve been looking after my aunt for months. I take one short trip and this happens.” She suddenly brought her hands to her face in anguish. “It’s all my fault. I should never have left her.”

  Fitzpatrick pulled his chair closer and leaned against the table. “No one blames you for what happened. Your aunt was murdered, and we need to find out why.”

  Ms. Bailey cleared her throat and nodded. “I thought I could do this, but it’s very hard. My aunt was a good woman. She was a kind and giving woman whom I looked up to as a role model.” She paused and clutched her hands together, fighting back tears. “She didn’t deserve to die like this. She should have been able to live her last years in peace. She deserved something dignified.” She then raised her trembling hands to her face and sobbed.

  Dobson opened his pocket notepad

  “Would you like something else?” Fitzpatrick asked. “Water perhaps?”

  Ms. Bailey raised her head and sniffled. “No thank you. I just want you to find out who did this. Aunt Andrea deserves justice.”

  “How long have you lived with your aunt?” Dobson asked, not gently, but not harshly either.

  Ms. Bailey sniffled again, wiped her eyes, and then thought to herself. “Off and on for about two years. I couldn’t stand the fact of her being in the old house by herself. She refused most help though. Didn’t want someone looking after her all the time.”

  “Did she have a staff or hired help to manage the grounds?” Dobson asked.

  “Yes. Both a home cleaning service and lawn maintenance team.”

  “Can you provide us the names of each?” Dobson asked.

  “That shouldn’t be a problem,” she said.

  Dobson leaned in closer. “Who else did she have over? Visitors, friends?”

  Ms. Bailey brought a hand to her chin in thought. “My aunt preferred solitude.” She glanced at both detectives, quick to correct herself. “Not that she didn’t like people. She did what she could, given her physical limitations.”

  Dobson scribbled his notes and then looked up. “What kind of physical limitations?”

  “She had arthritis and osteoporosis,” Ms. Bailey said. “It was hard for her to move around a lot. She got tired easily.”

  “We found nine millimeter shells in her room along with corresponding bullet holes lodged into her bedpost and walls, Dobson continued. “Is there anyone you know who may have wanted her dead? Anyone capable of such a thing?”

  Evelyn took a deep breath, leaning back. “I really can’t say. Not anyone I would associate with.”

  Dobson scribbled in his notepad and then pointed at her with his pen, ready to hear more.

  “Aunt Andrea…” she began. “She was like a mother to me.”

  Fitzpatrick jumped in. “I think that’s enough for now. Don’t you say, Detective?”

  Dobson looked at the lieutenant, perturbed, then back to Evelyn. “Why do you think she had the security system shut off that evening?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, shrugging. “She might have forgotten.” Ms. Bailey suddenly brought a hand to her cheek to wipe away a tear. “I should have reminded her. Shoul
d never have left her alone in the first place.”

  “Are you the sole beneficiary of your aunt’s estate?” he asked, pressing, receiving a glare from Fitzpatrick in return.

  Her tear-soaked face seemed to go blank, wiped clean of emotion, or maybe it was anger at the implication of what Dobson was asking.

  “As far as I know, and as I said before, my aunt was a very charitable woman, so I believe most of her money was designated for local charities. Then again, it’s not my business. That’s between her and her lawyers.”

  “But she told you that you are the executor of the Bailey estate, correct?” Dobson asked, tapping his pen.

  Her eyes suddenly brightened with recollection. “I do recall a man who came to us trying to sell frozen meats.”

  Dobson stared at her with an arched brow, confused by the response. “Frozen meats?”

  “Yes. A solicitor. The gate was open and he rode right onto our property with boxes of frozen meats he wanted to sell.”

  “This man. Had you ever seen him before?” Fitzpatrick asked, suddenly excited.

  “Once or twice,” she said. “He was scruffy-looking with a beard. Wore a flannel shirt and had a pot belly. Eduardo, our maintenance supervisor, had to tell him to leave our property. He got angry and said that he was only trying to support a family. Things like that.”

  “What kind of vehicle did he drive?” Fitzpatrick asked, as if they might be onto something.

  Ms. Bailey looked up, thinking. “I believe he drove a Chevy Suburban. Early nineties model. But I could be wrong.”

  Fitzpatrick nudged Dobson, pleased.

  Ms. Bailey rubbed her eyes with an exhausted sigh. “I’m afraid that’s all I can remember. It’s been a long day…

  Dobson glanced at her fingers, searching for a wedding band but didn’t see one. “Do you have anyone with you? A companion who can help you?”

  Evelyn closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “He’s not here right now. Paul lives in the city.”

  “New York?” Dobson asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “But I have my driver, Al, with me. He will be assisting me in getting a few things from the mansion. I’ll be staying at the Radisson Suites in town for a few days while you continue your investigation.”

  Fitzpatrick rose to his feet. “Is there anything else we can do for you, Ms. Bailey?”

  “No. Thank you,” she said with a vacant stare. She then glanced at both detectives with blue-eyed intensity. “You find the bastard who did this. Don’t stop until you do.”

  “We will try our best,” Dobson said. “I can promise you that.”

  Dobson and Fitzpatrick thanked Ms. Bailey as they walked her to the lobby where her driver waited, dressed in a suit, tie, and driving cap. With all the questions asked, Dobson felt as though they had only scratched the surface. It was a little after five when she left the station, and he hadn’t made up his mind about Mrs. Bailey’s pretty relative. Could he believe that Evelyn Bailey was anything but a loving niece devastated by the death of her aunt? Only time would tell.

  Dobson returned in haste to his office, with a glance at his wall clock. It was time to brief the captain, but first it was time for another call to the forensics lab.

  “Detective LaRue speaking,” a female voice said over the speaker.

  “Hey, it’s Mike,” he said, relieved. “Glad I could catch you before you left.”

  “Lucky me,” she said. “What’s up?”

  “A few quick questions,” Dobson began. “Did you find anything on the toothpick?”

  “Inconclusive. No DNA match in the database.”

  “And where are we with the sweep?”

  “Nothing so far,” she said. “Not a single hair or fingerprint to be found.”

  “That’s impossible,” he barked over the phone.

  “Would you like to go back there tonight and double check?” she asked. “The team could certainly use your help.”

  “No,” Dobson said with a quiet sigh. “Thanks for the info. I’ll check in first thing tomorrow morning.” He hung up the phone and walked out of his office, coat and satchel in hand.

  Captain Nelson’s office was straight down the hall with the door closed. As he approached, he could see two figures beyond the thick, blurry glass of his door. He knocked lightly, hoping that they wouldn’t hear. Then he could go home.

  “Come in,” the captain bellowed from inside.

  Dobson drooped his head and opened the door to see Captain Nelson sitting at his mahogany desk with Lieutenant Fitzpatrick in one of the leather chairs across from him. Nelson adjusted his glasses and signaled to the empty chair next to the lieutenant. “Have a seat.”

  Dobson walked inside and closed the door behind him. “Thank you, sir.” He pulled the seat a good space away from Fitzpatrick and sat, notepad and pen in hand.

  Captain Nelson was a tall man with a long leathery neck, tan face and short gray flattop. He had overseen the homicide department for the last two years and proved himself a competent commander. Dobson had learned his penchant for daily briefings early on.

  “Fitzpatrick gave me a rundown. I don’t like it. The murder of Leesburg’s wealthiest citizen is not going to sit well with the public. No one’s going to feel safe.”

  “Not to worry, sir,” Fitzpatrick said in a confident tone. “We’ve got a lead on a viable suspect we’re in the process of considering.”

  “Great,” the captain said, rocking back in his office chair.

  Dobson leaned forward, hands folded at his knees. “I’d also like to investigate Mrs. Bailey’s assets, and those of her niece, Evelyn Bailey.”

  Captain Nelson nodded in approval. “Sounds reasonable enough. I want every avenue explored, no matter how unlikely.” He then paused, as his attention went to his computer screen. “I’m reading your report now, Mike. There are some gaps to be sure, but it’ll do for now.”

  For now? Through his peripheral, Dobson noticed that Fitzpatrick was looking at him. He could practically feel the disdain. “You gentlemen are dismissed,” Nelson continued. “Solve this thing, damn it.”

  Dobson and Fitzpatrick both rose and left the captain’s office without saying a word to each other. Dobson was too deep in his own thoughts to notice. It was almost six, and Rachel’s dinner was likely getting cold.

  At sundown, Dobson turned down a quiet neighborhood street, alert behind the wheel of his four-door Chevy Impala. He lived roughly twenty minutes from the station, depending on traffic. Hoping to cut some time off his commute, he skirted the inevitable gridlock of small-town rush hour and took a series of back roads.

  He continued down Saxon Boulevard where the fresh, black pavement of the two-lane road still had an aroma. Bright yellow traffic lines marked the path, with quaint neighborhood homes of various bright colors, spaced with little room between them.

  Closer to the end of the street, he noticed another car parked on the opposite side of the road, facing him. He could see the shape of a man at the wheel wearing a ball cap. With Dobson’s steady approach, the man shielded his face and lowered his cap just as the headlights shined against the windshield.

  Dobson looked over and caught a glimpse of a digital camera in the man’s hands. Across from the car was a small blue-painted house with a white picket fence and no vehicle in the driveway. He recognized the house. The police had been called there several times by a neurotic middle-aged woman named Betsy Wade. She lived alone and suffered from mental issues, or so the rumors went.

  Dobson briefly wondered who was taking pictures of her house and why, as he reached a three-way stop. Glancing in his rear-view mirror, he saw that the car remained idling on the side of the road, the man slinking lower in his seat, to the point where his head wasn’t visible anymore. Dobson pressed the gas and continued, not giving the matter much more thought.

  He reached his house a few more blocks down the road just as the news on the radio broke the story of Andrea Bailey’s murder. Th
e murder had been described as a “shock to the community.” Dobson had to agree. If one of Leesburg’s wealthiest residents could end up murdered in her own home, what was protecting anyone else from the same fate?

  He turned down his street, a cul-de-sac, where he pulled into the driveway of his three-bedroom red-brick home. The freshly-cut lawn and absence of garbage cans on the road was a welcome sight.

  There were several lights on inside and he could see Penny walk past one of the front windows. He parked next to Rachel’s blue Mini Cooper and took a moment to grab his things after shutting off the engine. He stepped out of the car with his satchel and coat, eager to get inside after smelling the aroma of Rachel’s meatloaf from an open kitchen window. He walked in and saw Penny sitting on the living room couch, watching television. She turned and jumped off the couch, excited.

  “I knew that you’d make it!” she said, hurrying over to him. “Mom said that you’d probably be working yet, but I told her she’d be wrong.” Penny had on a faded red T-shirt and blue jeans. She was twenty-three and already the height of perfection to Dobson. Her big blue eyes and adoring face made his day every time.

  She hugged him and coughed as he patted her back. “Easy there. Don’t want to get you all worked up. How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Good,” she said, backing away. “Much better actually. This new treatment has done wonders for my sinuses. And there’s been minimal buildup in my lungs.”

  “I am so glad to hear that,” he said, squeezing her shoulders.

  Penny waved him off but couldn’t help but expose the bright white teeth of her wide smile. “I was thinking that if this keeps up, maybe I can go back to teaching.”

  “Certainly,” Dobson said in his most optimistic tone. “We’ll see how it goes.”

  “Dinner’s ready!” Rachel called from the kitchen. “Hurry up the both of you before it gets cold!”

  Penny looked at her father and smiled. “She beckons us.”

  Dobson quietly laughed as she walked away. He set his coat and satchel on a nearby recliner and took off his dress shoes, relaxed for the first time that day. The effects of her life-long illness from cystic fibrosis were evident. Her lungs were badly damaged, but despite a regimen of treatments, exercises, and medicine just to get through the day, she somehow stayed optimistic. The doctors said she might not live past her twenty-fifth birthday, but Penny was determined to prove them wrong.

  As they sat around the table under the glow of a hanging lamp shade, Dobson talked about the case, without revealing too many details. “No one knows what happened,” he continued. “It’s a real mess.”

  Both Rachel and Penny listened, shocked someone would murder a defenseless elderly woman in the very town they lived in.

  “No real suspect yet, but there are definitely some interesting theories,” Dobson said, taking a bite of meatloaf.

  Rachel brushed back her short red hair, adjusting her headband. “That Bailey family is so weird. Built that mansion way out there, hidden from the world.”

  Dobson discussed the many and diverse rooms and the extraordinary size of the mansion, explaining that he’d never been in a house like it. For a moment, they seemed to hang on his every word. That evening, there was a shared happiness among them, tethered, he believed, to Penny’s improving condition. Penny seemed to read his thoughts and smiled.

  Special Delivery

  Clearwater, Maine

  Todd walked in without his briefcase, his shirt un-tucked, collar open—his normal appearance after a hard day. He stopped at the kitchen, surprised to see Victoria sitting in the darkness at the empty table by herself.

  “Hey,” he said, slightly taken aback. “Where’s Brooke?”

  “In her cave,” Victoria said. “We need to talk.”

  “Okay,” he said, walking in and flipping on a light switch. “What’s up?”

  “Brooke’s birthday is coming up, and guess what she wants.”

  Todd glanced behind him and shrugged. “I give up.”

  “She wants a dog. An Australian Shepherd to be precise.”

  Todd walked to the refrigerator, shaking his head. He opened the door and grabbed a bottle of water. “And what did you tell her?” he asked, closing the door. He twisted the cap and guzzled the bottle as he made his way to the table.

  “I told her that we’d see.”

  Todd pulled a chair out and sat across from her, slumping down with a sigh. “Honey, you know how I feel about dogs.”

  “I know how you feel about animals in general, but this isn’t about you. It’s about Brooke.”

  Todd lowered his head and then placed both his palms on the table, thinking. He then looked up and cut across the air with one hand like a negotiator. “Let’s consider all our options here first. Maybe she’d be just as happy with some fish.”

  “A fish? No,” Victoria said, adamant.

  “Or a hamster!” Todd was quick to say.

  Victoria shook her head. “That’s enough. She might hear us. We’ll talk about it later.”

  Todd nodded and then looked around the kitchen to see empty counters and no trace of dinner in the works. Victoria could see his disappointment, despite the seemingly casual examination of his surroundings.

  “Sorry I didn’t call sooner,” he said, scanning the kitchen. “It’s been a long day.”

  “Same here,” she said, stretching her arms across the table. She waited to see if he knew she got the flowers, but his face was hard to read.

  “Maybe we could order out tonight. Pizza?” she began.

  Todd glanced at his watch. “Sure.” He turned to walk to their bedroom, when she stopped him.

  “You know, I received a little surprise today at the office.”

  “What happened?” he asked, waiting with no sign of recognition on his face.

  “A special delivery,” she said. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

  Her smile began to drop at the sight of Todd’s expression.

  “Delivered to my office today…” she continued.

  Silence came between them as Todd’s eyes shifted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I know they were from you, so just stop it.”

  His face was awash in confusion, grasping for clues, it seemed, and she soon realized he hadn’t the faintest notion what she was hinting at.

  “You really don’t know what I’m talking about?” she asked, frustration creeping into in her tone.

  Todd held his arms out helplessly. “I don’t.”

  “The flowers!” she said in a loud voice, rising from her chair. She paused at the sound of Brooke’s door opening for a moment, then closing. “You didn’t order flowers for me?” she asked in a tense whisper.

  “Flowers?” he said. “No.”

  “Someone sent them to my office today. A lovely floral arrangement in a large vase. You’re telling me that you had nothing to do with that?”

  She waited as Todd stared into nothing, trying to make sense of her question. “I’m sorry, Vicky. I didn’t send them, but now I wish that I had.”

  “There was a small card inside that said, To Victoria Owens With Love. Nothing else.”

  “With love?” Todd said, trying not to sound appalled. “Honey, I don’t know what to tell you. That’s super weird.” He paused and turned toward the fridge, opening its door and searching the contents. “Beats me. Looks like you have a secret admirer.” He gave a forced little laugh.

  “This isn’t funny,” Vitoria said, approaching him with the chain letter in her hand. “First this letter, now mysterious flowers delivered to my office. This is not normal, Todd.”

  Todd took a Ziploc bag of fried chicken from the fridge and went to the microwave with an audible groan. “Someone’s having a little fun at your expense. That’s all. Just ignore it.”

  Victoria got in his face. “What if it’s another man? Doesn’t that bother you that he’d send me flowers?”
br />   Todd opened the microwave door, and placed the chicken inside on a plate. “Of course it would, but I’m sure it was a professional gesture. Someone at work appreciates you.”

  “No, signing it ‘with love’ and no name? That’s not it,” she said, her frustration growing.

  Todd set the timer on the microwave, turning his back to her. “Haven’t you ever done something nice for someone and not wanted them to know?”

  Victoria turned away from him, flustered, her patience waning. “I knew that you’d be no help with this.”

  Todd swung the microwave door open after the beeper sounded. “What else do you want from me, Vicky?”

  Victoria stormed out of the kitchen without saying another word, leaving Todd alone as she went into her bedroom and slammed the door. She sat at the end of the bed, feeling tense and shaken. She hadn’t planned on an argument. She had assumed that Todd would come clean and that they’d share a special moment as the truth came out. Instead, all she got were more questions without answers.

  She placed the envelope, with the chain letter inside her dresser and sat at the edge of her bed, trying to get her mind in order. A knock came at the door as Victoria whipped her head around, wiping her watering eyes. She was crying and couldn’t believe it. Telling herself that she was entirely overreacting, part of her sounded just like Todd.

  “Mom?” Brooke’s voice said from the door.

  “Yes…” she tried to say in a cheery voice.

  “Are you okay?”

  She rose from the bed and approached the door, checking her face in the mirror as she passed. “Yes, honey,” she said, opening the door.

  Brooke stood outside the room with a concerned look. “I thought I heard you and dad fighting.”

  Victoria stuck her head outside the door, looking for Todd. She then rubbed Brooke’s head and smiled. “We’re fine. Don’t worry. Is everything okay with you?”

  Brooke glanced toward the end of the hall and then back at her mother. “I don’t know. Dad sure left in a hurry.”

  Victoria’s eyes widened. “He did?” She immediately stepped outside the room and walked toward the foyer as Brooke trailed behind her. “Where did he go?” She went to the front door and pulled it open. Her Toyota Corolla sat in the driveway next to an empty space where his car had been parked.

  “He said he was going to pick up something for us for dinner,” Brooke said. She then looked down, saddened. “Barely said two words to me. All he did was complain that there was no food in the house.”

  Victoria turned to face Brooke and brought both hands against her cheeks, lifting her head up. “Oh, honey. Don’t worry. Your father’s just tired.”

  Brooke tried to smile. “I know, but he hasn’t said much to me for a while now.” Victoria brushed Brooke’s hair with care. “Nonsense. He loves you very much.” She then closed the front door just as a car drove by the house. Brooke followed her into the living room as they sat on the couch, Veronica reaching for the remote.

  “You’re not going to watch the news again, are you?” Brooke asked.

  “We can watch whatever you want,” she replied, shrugging.

  Brooke’s eyes lit up. “Can we watch Dancing with the Stars?”

  Victoria handed her the remote as Brooke lay on the couch next to her, head against her shoulder. “Here you go.”

  Brooke snatched the remote and flipped through the cable channels until she found the program. Victoria tried to put her mind on autopilot and enjoy the show, but she couldn’t dash her earlier concerns.

  Perhaps she could reach out to Elizabeth’s family and tell them about their high school friendship. She could even inquire about the letter while she was at it. There was no reason to keep second guessing herself. Anyone with any sense would find something peculiar about the flowers, the murders, and the letter, all happening at once.

  She stroked Brooke’s hair as a celebrity dance duo spun around on screen, while realizing that she wasn’t paying attention to a bit of it. Her mind was elsewhere. She thought of going to the police station again and laying out her evidence.

  What evidence? she thought. All you have is some weird stuff happening. Are you really prepared to waste their time?

  Todd came home later that night with a pizza. Victoria was still bothered by his abrupt exit, but remained amicable for Brooke’s sake. They all sat at the kitchen table, eating pepperoni slices at close to ten in the evening. Todd asked Brooke about school as Victoria kept most of her thoughts to herself. There was little purpose, she believed, in pursuing the matter further.

  “Did Mom tell you about the woman they found in the lake?” Brooke abruptly asked Todd as Victoria took her last bite of pizza.

  Todd looked at Victoria. She shrugged, and then answered for him. “I think your father has been too busy to pay attention to the news today.”

  “I heard about it earlier on the radio,” he said. “Just tragic.”

  Victoria glanced at him, irritated. Todd took a sip of soda from his glass as Brooke continued. “It happened right around here. Do you think that the killer is close by?”

  Todd shook his head and patted her hand. “Don’t worry. Whoever did it is probably long gone.”

  “It’s almost time for you to get into bed,” Victoria said to Brooke as she looked up at the clock. “We could all use a good night’s sleep.”

  “Are you taking me to school tomorrow?” Brooke asked.

  “Sure,” Victoria answered.

  Todd got up from the table and tossed his paper plate into the can under the sink. The open pizza box had two slices left, but Victoria was full.

  “I’ll wrap these up for your lunch tomorrow,” she told Brooke. “How about that?”

  “Okay,” Brooke said, smiling.

  Todd suddenly came around and gave Victoria a quick kiss on the forehead, followed by a hug to Brooke and kiss on her cheek. “I’ve got some stuff to go over tonight, so I’ll be in the study,” he said, walking off.

  Victoria turned around as he stopped at the refrigerator and grabbed a canned beer from inside. Apparently, pizza wasn’t the only thing he had picked up. He took his briefcase from the foyer floor and disappeared before she could say anything. She then looked at Brooke, folded a napkin, and wiped some pizza sauce from her cheek.

  “Don’t forget to brush your teeth before bed, okay?”

  Brooke rolled her eyes. “I know, Mom.”

  “Well, that’s good,” she said, standing up and taking the pizza box with her to the counter.

  With Brooke’s birthday two weeks away, they had to make a decision on the dog. Perhaps it was time for a new addition to their family, whether Todd liked it or not.

  Before going to bed, Victoria stood in the doorway to their study where Todd sat at the computer desk, dressed down in his T-shirt and boxers and surrounded by paperwork.

  “Ready to call it a night?” she asked.

  Todd shook his head without looking at her. “I wish I could. It’ll be at least another hour or so for me.”

  “What are you working on, exactly?” she asked, approaching his desk.

  “Work stuff,” he said, barely engaged.

  She turned to leave the room, only to be suddenly called back.

  “Look, I’m sorry for the flower thing,” he said, making eye contact. “I wish that I could be more help to you. I just don’t know what to say.”

  Victoria thought to herself. “It’s fine. Really. It’s not your fault. Maybe I’m making too much about it.”

  “I just want you to know that I care. Your problems are my problems, remember that,” he said. After a brief smile between them, Todd’s eyes shifted to the monitor as he began typing.

  Victoria left the room feeling a little better. She flicked her bedroom light switch on and illuminated the room. There were clothes on the floor and bed. Their dressers and shelves and nightstands needed a good dusting, and their beige carpet was way past due for a vacuuming, but all sh
e wanted to do was sleep.

  She brushed her teeth and changed into her nightgown, eager to get under the covers. As she lay in bed, she could hear the low, distant rumblings of Todd talking on the phone in the next room. She closed her eyes and tried to drown out the slightest hum of noise, mind drifting to her teenage years, including her friendship with Liz and the crew.

  They had all been so close, and she couldn’t remember exactly when they had begun to drift apart. College, marriage, and families were the definitive factors. She’d have to reach out to the old gang and see how they were doing. Liz’s funeral could be a reunion of sorts. She’d check into it. But first, she needed some sleep.