Not Guilty (3 page)

There was no answer for a few moments. Then his voice drifted down to her, the tone slightly irritable, as usual. “What?”

“Come on down here, sweetie. You haven’t done your homework yet.”

He muttered something she couldn’t decipher.

“Right now,” she said. “Come on.”

Mark walked slowly by on his way to the living room, with Abby tottering in the lead. Keely smiled and followed them in, leaning against the archway. The living room also had French doors at the end, leading to the patio. “We’d better close those doors, honey. I don’t want Abby getting out there.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ve got my eye on her.” Mark sat down on the floor in his suit pants and let Abby clamber on top of him, pretending she knocked him over onto the oriental rug. “Oh, you’re strong,” he told her. So she did it again.

“Your pants will be ruined,” Keely chided him gently.

“These pants can take a joke,” he said.

“I hope so,” she said doubtfully. But she didn’t really mind. In fact, she kind of liked the way he was so cavalier about his belongings. He bought expensive clothes because he needed them for his job. He enjoyed having this house, and a nice car, but she truly believed that none of it was that important to him. It was a trait she had noticed early in their relationship and, considering the deprivation of his childhood, she found it rather admirable. She suspected it was an attitude he’d picked up from Lucas, who had amassed wealth but seemed indifferent to his possessions, other than his beloved collection of Western memorabilia. Lucas retained a boyish enthusiasm for everything having to do with cowboys and the Wild West.

Keely had not known what to make of Mark at first. After she and Dylan returned to Michigan, after Richard’s funeral, Mark had turned up at her door, ostensibly in town on a business trip, offering to help her with the many legal problems surrounding Richard’s death—for the sake of his old friendship with Richard, he had explained. Looking back on it, she hadn’t really questioned his appearance at her door. She had taken it as an answer to her prayers.

The very first task Mark tackled for her was to go head-to-head with insurance investigators over Richard’s life insurance policy. The company hadn’t wanted to pay because Richard had indeed purchased the gun himself, and the police had described Richard’s fatal wound as self-inflicted. Knowing Richard had committed suicide, and feeling guilty because of it, Keely had not been inclined to fight.

She could still picture Mark standing in her living room, brandishing the policy in his fist and shaking it at her while she and Dylan huddled together on the sofa. “Of course they are going to pay,” he had said, indignant on her behalf. “Haven’t you both suffered enough? You have a son who has to go to college. I’m going to make sure that they pay.” Mark had outlined his strategy like an enthusiastic coach explaining a game plan. “There was no suicide note. Therefore, they have no proof of Richard’s intentions.” Keely tried not to let Mark see how much that fact upset her. How could Richard leave them like that, without even a word of regret or farewell? Mark continued with his pitch. “There have been a string of burglaries in the neighborhood this past year. I will convince them that Richard bought the gun to protect his family. And perhaps, because he was inexperienced with guns, he shot himself with this defensive weapon by accident. Self-inflicted, yes—but accidental. Before I’m through, they’ll have to pay you twice the value of the policy. Double indemnity, for an accident.” Keely knew she should fight, but all she felt at the time was numbness and despair. Mark told her not to worry, that he would fight for her.

When he returned, after his meeting with the insurance investigators and executives, and announced that they had recommended that the company pay, she was stunned. It was as if Superman had swooped in to take care of her.

My superhero,
she thought, smiling at the sight of him now, crawling around the rug with the baby. It hadn’t been long after his confrontation with the insurance company that he had dropped the pretense of helping her out for the sake of Richard’s memory and admitted his intention to win her heart. For a while she had resisted him, insisted that he leave her alone. She needed time to heal. But finally, his persistence won her over. They were married two years after Richard’s death, and she was pregnant with Abby within the next year.

The ringing of the phone cut into her memories, and she turned back toward the kitchen. “I’ll get it,” she said, as she walked over and picked up the phone.

“Mrs. Weaver?” asked an unfamiliar woman’s voice at the other end.

“Yes?”

“My name is Susan Ambler. My son, Jake, is in your son’s class at school.”

Uh, oh,
Keely thought. She felt a tightening in her stomach as she carried the phone into the kitchen. “Yes?” she asked warily.

The woman on the other end sighed. “Well, Jake came home today with a bike. It’s a really beautiful new bike, and he claims that your son, Dylan, sold it to him for fifty dollars. Now, this is no fifty-dollar bike . . .”

Keely closed her eyes and shook her head. Mark had gone out himself and bought the bike for Dylan’s birthday. It was an Italian racing bike far more expensive than what she would have bought. But Mark insisted that he needed it out here, far from the center of town where the streets were peaceful, where it was too far to walk to playgrounds or stores or to the homes of friends. Not that Dylan had really made any friends yet.

“Frankly, I’m . . . worried,” said Susan Ambler, “that my son might have stolen it. Has Dylan mentioned it to you?”

“He didn’t say anything about it,” said Keely stiffly, knowing that the bike hadn’t been stolen. That wasn’t the kind of thing Dylan would neglect to mention. “Let me talk to him, and I’ll get back to you.” She took down the woman’s address and phone number and then hung up.

She heard someone come in, and when she looked up, Dylan was standing in the kitchen doorway, his backpack dangling from one hand. He was dressed in a black Korn T-shirt and droopy denims that showed the waistband of his underwear. His head was shaved and his complexion was pale and blemished around the jawline. He wore a gold earring in one ear. His face seemed to be growing more angular by the day as his body morphed into adulthood. “I’m going to do my homework up in my room,” he announced.

Keely folded her arms across her chest and looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Not so fast, buddy. I want to talk to you.”

“What?” he asked defensively.

“I just got a phone call from Jake Ambler’s mother,” she said.

He glanced at her, and then squinted out the windows, shrugging his shoulders. “So?” he said.

“Don’t you ‘so’ me,” she said. “You know what she was calling about, don’t you?”

Dylan shifted his weight and moved the backpack from one hand to another, meeting her gaze with his chin stuck out. He did not reply.

“She was wondering,” said Keely, “if her son
stole
your bike by any chance. She found it hard to believe his story that he had purchased your brand-new Italian racing bike from you for fifty dollars.”

Dylan chewed on the inside of his mouth and looked away, a bored expression on his face.

“Well?” she demanded.

He looked back at her, still not replying.

“Did you sell him your new bike for fifty dollars?”

“It’s my bike,” he said. “I can sell it if I want to.”

Keely felt the blood rushing to her cheeks. “Dylan, what is the matter with you?”

“Nothing,” he said. “What’s the big deal?”

“Oh, no you don’t. Don’t you take that attitude with me. I want to know what is going on here. You know perfectly well that Mark went out and bought that bike for you because he knew it was exactly what you wanted.”

“I
don’t
want the stupid bike,” Dylan retorted.

Keely came up close to him and pointed a finger at him. “Stop it, Dylan. You are acting like a brat, and I won’t have it. I will not let you hurt Mark like this. He didn’t do anything to deserve this except to be kind to you.”

Dylan stared straight ahead and did not flinch at the proximity of her finger.

“Now you march upstairs and get that fifty dollars,” Keely ordered. “We are going to go over to Jake Ambler’s house and get your bike back.”

“It’s my money,” Dylan protested.

Keely’s blue eyes flashed with anger. She saw the defiance waver in his eyes.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll go up there and get it, right now,” she said. “And keep quiet about it. I don’t want Mark to know anything about this.”

Dylan curled his lip and tossed his backpack on the table, where it landed with a loud thud. “It’s not in my room,” he said. “It’s in here.” He fished in the front pocket of the backpack and pulled out a handful of bills. “Here.”

“You hold onto it,” she said, grabbing the car keys from a peg beside the door. “You made the deal. Now you can explain to Jake’s mother exactly why you have to take the bike back. Let me just tell Mark we’re going.” She walked into the dining room and called out, “Honey, I have to go out for a while.” She walked back to where Dylan waited. He was wearing his favorite garment—a worn leather bomber jacket that had once belonged to Richard. The lining was faded and ripped in the pockets, despite her constant mending. “It’s warm out this evening,” Keely said.

“I’m wearing it,” said Dylan through gritted teeth.

Keely sighed and shook her head. “I hope he didn’t already notice the bike was missing.”

Mark came into the kitchen holding Abby. “What’s going on?” he asked.

Keely glanced at him and then looked away. She hated to think how hurt he would be if he found out. She pressed her lips together and jingled the keys. “Dylan forgot something at a friend’s house. We’re just going to pick it up.”

“Oh, okay,” he said.

“Do you mind staying here with Abby? I know you probably have work to do.”

“Of course not. Didn’t you say you had to go to the mall? Why don’t you go while you’re out?”

“Oh, I can do it another time,” she said.

“No, go. Take your time. It’ll do you good to get out of the house. Don’t worry about us.”

Keely did need to do some shopping. Their anniversary was coming up, and she didn’t have a single gift for him. It was difficult to shop with Abby in tow. “Maybe I will, if you don’t mind,” she said.

“Mind?” he said incredulously, nuzzling Abby’s cheek. “Mind being here with my girl? Take as long as you need to. We’ll have a good time.”

Keely gave him a grateful smile and followed Dylan out to the SUV. She climbed into the driver’s seat, and Dylan clambered in beside her, slamming the door as hard as he could.

“Put your seat belt on,” she insisted.

Sullenly, he complied. She turned on the engine, then made a turn in the wide driveway. As she looked out her window, she saw Mark, still carrying Abby, come out and stand on the asphalt. Mark whispered something in Abby’s ear, and then he lifted her little hand and waved it. Getting the idea, Abby began to wave, grasping her father’s hair with her other hand so that he had to tilt his head toward the baby to avoid being scalped. The two of them wore matching, silly grins.

Waving back, Keely smiled ruefully at the sight of them.
It’s so much easier with a baby,
she thought.
They may wear you out, but they don’t know how to hurt you yet.

A
fter a few minutes of driving in silence, Keely asked, “Is this Jake a friend of yours?”

“No,” Dylan replied, as if stating the obvious.

“Well, who is he? How come you made this deal with him?”

“He wanted the bike. I wanted the money. I don’t see what’s so wrong with it. I thought it was my bike. Why can’t I do what I want with it?”

She hated that querulous tone that he took so often these days. It made her long for that faraway time when he looked up to her, literally and figuratively. “Because you did it to be spiteful,” she said. “Don’t pretend you didn’t.”

Dylan did not try to argue the point. “I don’t know why I have to bring the money over to his house like I’m in first grade.”

“Well, our actions have consequences, my friend. If you’re going to act like a six-year-old, I’m going to treat you like one. Maybe next time you’ll think twice before you do something so foolish.”

Dylan stared out the window, ignoring her.

“Dylan, what really bothers me is that you seem so intent on hurting Mark that you’ll give up something you really love, just to be mean to him. I saw your face when you got that bike. It was exactly what you wanted.”

“It was a bribe,” he muttered.

Keely pressed her lips together, refusing to take the bait. “Mark doesn’t need to bribe you, Dylan. He doesn’t need your approval. He bought you the bike because he knew you wanted it. And because he cares for you.”

“For you, you mean. And the baby.”

“No, I mean for you, too. Honey, I know it’s difficult to adjust,
especially at your age, but there are some things you just have to accept in life. Our family has changed. You have a sister now, and a stepfather. They can both give you a lot of happiness if you let them. It’s up to you.”

“Obviously it’s easy for you,” he said scornfully. “Dad wasn’t even dead a week when you started going out with Mark.”

Keely sighed. It was not the first time he had hurled that insult at her. “I was not going out with him, and you know it. He offered to help me. That’s all it was. I needed his help at the time. Dylan, I wasn’t looking for someone to take Dad’s place. You know all this.”

“And I’m sick of talking about it,” he said. “There. That’s the house,” he said.

Keely glanced at him with raised eyebrows. “How do you know that’s the house? I thought you two weren’t friends.”

“I know where he lives, all right? That doesn’t make him my friend.”

Keely pulled the SUV into the driveway of the low, ranch-style house with a basketball hoop above the adjoining garage door. Keely stopped the car, turned, and looked at her son. “Look, I expect you to be a gentleman about this. You did something you shouldn’t have. Now you have to make it right. Is that clear enough?”

“If you say so,” he said.

“Dylan.”

“All right, all right—it’s clear.”

“Let’s go,” she said.

They walked up to the front door and Keely rang the bell. The door opened, and a woman with short, curly brown hair looked out at them. Her face was tense and drawn.

“Mrs. Ambler?” Keely asked.

“Susan,” she said, holding the door open. “Come in.”

“I’m Keely, and this is Dylan.”

“Come and sit down. Jake,” she called out.

A short, sandy-haired kid with a buzz cut came into the living room and stood awkwardly looking at them.

“Hey,” said Dylan.

“Hey,” said Jake in return.

“Dylan,” Keely prodded.

Dylan stared down in the vicinity of Jake’s shoes. “I have to get my bike back because I’m not allowed to sell it. I brought you your money back.”

“And . . .” said Keely.

“Sorry,” Dylan mumbled. He held out the wad of bills, and Jake reluctantly, after a warning glance from his mother, took them.

“Your bike’s in the garage,” he said. “My mom told me I wouldn’t be able to keep it anyway.” Jake did not seem overly distressed by the loss of the bike.

We all know when a deal is too good to be true,
Keely thought.

“Right. Whatever,” said Dylan.

Keely and Susan exchanged a knowing glance. “Jake, go out and show Dylan where the bike is.”

“Okay,” said Jake. The two boys started for the front door. “Do you want to shoot some hoops?” Jake asked.

Before Dylan had a chance to reply, Keely interjected, “Not tonight, Jake. Dylan hasn’t done his homework. Why don’t you do it another day,” she said, trying to make it clear that it wasn’t their spending time together that she disapproved of. She just didn’t want Dylan to lose sight of why they’d come. “Dylan, I want you to get on your bike and go directly home.”

“You too, Jake,” Susan called after her son as the two boys went out the front door. “Homework.”

Keely turned back to Susan. “Thank you for calling me,” she said. “I’m sorry about all this.”

Susan made a dismissive gesture. “Believe me, I’m just so glad he didn’t steal the bike. Lately, I never know what to think.”

Keely recognized the troubled look in the other woman’s eyes. “I know what you mean,” she said. “Dylan has been pretty impossible lately.”

The other woman’s frown deepened. “Jake’s been . . . acting out. His father and I are . . . getting divorced.”

“Oh,” said Keely nodding. “Yeah. That’s tough on . . . everybody.”

“So, when he came home with this bike, I just assumed the worst.” It was almost as if Susan was trying to explain it to herself.

“Oh, believe me, I understand,” said Keely. She hesitated, and then she added, “The bike was a gift to Dylan from his stepfather.”

The other woman’s troubled gaze cleared slightly, and she nodded. “Oh,” she said. “You
do
understand.”

“Oh, yes,” said Keely. “I sure do. Well, I’d better not keep you.”

Susan walked her to the door. Keely looked out and saw Dylan get on his bike and start down the driveway. “I’m sorry about all this,” said Keely.

“That’s okay,” said Susan. “And listen, Dylan is welcome to come over anytime. He seems like a good kid.”

“Thank you,” said Keely, meaning it. “He could use a friend.”

Keely walked down Susan’s driveway and got into the Bronco. Despite Mark’s insistence that she take her time, Keely felt as if she should head back. She was thinking of Abby’s bath and Dylan’s homework. But she was also reluctant to go right back home. It was a rarity for her to be out of the house without Abby. The stores were open late, and she knew Mark would have a nice gift for her for their anniversary. He was thoughtful that way. Reminding herself that Mark had urged her to go, she turned the car around in Susan Ambler’s driveway and headed to the mall.

A
FTER AN HOUR,
during which she tried in vain to figure out Mark’s criteria for picking out his ties and to remember which of the jazz albums were or were not part of his collection, Keely felt frustrated with herself.
You should know these things,
she thought. She had been so distracted lately with all the decisions about the house and caring for a baby. It had been that way ever since they got married, it seemed. One huge change after another. There didn’t seem to be any time for the details of life. But things were bound to settle down soon. In the meantime, she still had to find Mark a present.

Keely finally went into the mall bookshop, where a huge cardboard display of the latest John Grisham legal thriller was set up beside the cash register. It seemed like kind of a predictable gift for a lawyer, but it wasn’t as if Mark had some hobby she could find a book about. The truth was that Mark didn’t read very much, but she had heard him
mention the Grisham book one morning while he was reading the paper. His exact remark had been that John Grisham made a better living as an author than he ever could as an attorney. But when she questioned him further, he had said that the book sounded interesting. Keely frowned at the cover, read the dust jacket again, and then handed the book across the counter to the clerk.

“Will that be it?” the bearded young man asked, noting her hesitation.

Keely felt a little guilty because giving a best-seller like this to her husband seemed sort of . . . lazy.
Now, stop it,
she thought. There were plenty of best sellers she’d enjoy receiving as a gift. Keely nodded. “Yes. I’m sure he’ll like that.”

While the clerk rang it up, Keely continued trying to reason away her feelings of guilt. At least this proved she was paying attention to their breakfast conversation. Sometimes, she felt as if she shortchanged him, between the new house and the children. Not that he complained. He seemed content to be near her, no matter how preoccupied she might be.

The clerk, noting the expression on Keely’s face said, “He can always bring it back.”

“No, I’m sure it will be fine,” said Keely. She couldn’t imagine Mark bringing anything back. He had no patience at all for shopping. He had given her carte blanche when she decorated the house, although he dutifully admired her every purchase, constantly reassuring her that he liked her taste and that none of her choices were too expensive.

“Do you want it wrapped?”

“Could you?” Keely asked.

“Sure,” said the clerk, disappearing into the office behind the counter.

Keely gazed at the selection of bookmarks and calendars at the counter, then flipped through a literary magazine on display there while she waited. It troubled her a little that she had found it so difficult to buy Mark a present. Of course, his gifts to her were never especially imaginative. He always went the jewelry-and-flowers route, but his extravagance made her gasp and his choices were elegant. It was so
much more difficult to buy something for a man, especially a man like Mark who insisted that he had everything he wanted. He always said that she had given him the most precious gift—a home and a family. Considering his lonesome childhood, Keely had found that both understandable and endearing.

But they’d never really had that honeymoon time, a chance to be together—just the two of them. No wonder she had trouble choosing a tie for him. They’d hardly had time to breathe in the last two years. In a way, she thought, they’d done the hard part first. The fun part, the “getting to know you” part, unfurled before them like a leafy lane in summer.

A
S
K
EELY RETRACED
her route toward home, she considered having a little party for their anniversary. Immediately she began to formulate a menu. But the guest list was more problematical. Although she’d met a lot of people in St. Vincent’s Harbor, she didn’t really know many of them all that well. She’d need Mark to tell her who to invite. But he would probably like the idea of a party—a chance to show off the new house and his baby girl.

They hadn’t entertained here yet—except for Lucas and Betsy, of course, and Richard’s mother, Ingrid. But that was family. A party called for people their own age, music, and wine. It had been simpler with Richard, living as they did in a university environment. A pot of chili and a big bottle of Gallo red had sufficed for their dinners. Besides, with Richard’s headaches, they weren’t able to plan ahead for a party. Every invitation was impromptu. But this—this was different. She couldn’t help seeing this kind of party as more of a test. People would be looking her over, sizing her up. Mark’s wife. The woman he married instead of the attorney he’d been engaged to.