Slice (27 page)

S
IXTY-FOUR

“
O
h, no,” Monica mumbled to herself, seeing Todd turn around on Jessie's porch and start heading back to their house.

She had been watching him over there, playing Sir Galahad, fixing Jessie's broken window and door. She'd seen their conversation even if she couldn't hear what was being said. She'd seen Todd take her sister's hands, and it had made her blood boil. She'd seen their tender embrace.

And then she'd seen Jessie back away, as if she'd just learned something from Todd that had upset her.

Monica knew it could only be one thing. The way Todd had turned around and headed down the front porch steps only confirmed it.

She grabbed her purse and her car keys and hurried out the door. She was backing out of the driveway as she spotted Todd round the corner of the house. He gestured for her to come back. But she pretended she didn't see him and just sped off down the road.

Monica knew a confrontation was inevitable. But she wasn't quite ready for it yet. She needed time to think of something to say. In her rearview mirror she could see Todd standing at the end of the driveway looking after her, but she just pressed her foot on the gas and got the hell out of Hickory Dell.

S
IXTY-FIVE

T
he sun was dropping low in the sky as Jessie struggled to absorb the information about Monica and Todd. All these years . . . her sister had been deceiving her. She had been pregnant with Todd's child! Jessie wondered what had happened to the child. Part of her didn't want to know. She didn't want to learn anything that might make her feel sorry for her sister . . . like how difficult it must have been for a teenage girl to find out she was pregnant. Had she had an abortion? A miscarriage? Had they given the child away? Any of those scenarios would induce sympathy for Monica, and Jessie didn't want to feel sympathy. Right now she was angry with her sister, and she wanted to stay that way.

She knew it was childish. They'd both been teenagers, for God's sake. Jessie knew she'd forgive Monica eventually. But right now the pain felt fresh and real, as if Jessie was back in high school. She remembered how much it had hurt her when Todd had dumped her for Monica, and now she knew why. All of those old feelings came rushing back at her. She figured she needed to give herself some space to feel her anger and grief and her sense of betrayal.

A soft rapping came from the back door.

Jessie figured it was Todd coming back to apologize again, or maybe even Monica. But as she peered out into the dim light of dusk she could make out the figure of John Manning.

Somebody else she didn't want to see.

She opened the door only a crack.

“May I speak with you?” John asked.

Jessie smiled hard. “Need more information for your book?” she asked.

“So the chief did tell you.” He frowned. “That's why I came over. To tell you everything.”

“I already know, so don't bother.”

“No, you don't know, Jessie. I didn't say anything about this before because I felt awkward. . . . I kept waiting for the right moment to tell you about the book, but so many terrible things kept happening. . . .”

“Yeah, they sure have, haven't they? And won't they make great plot points for your book! Well, here's another twist for you. Emil may still be alive.”

John looked at her with those dark eyes of his, eyes that didn't seem all that surprised to hear the news.

“Please,” he said, “may I come in?”

“No, you can say what you want right there,” she told him, the door still only opened a crack. “And frankly, you only have about a minute more to say it.”

“I never expected to get to know you, Jessie, to become your friend. You must believe that my overtures to you were not opportunistic. It was years ago that I got interested in Emil Deetz's crimes. Yes, my book bears some similarities to his story, but I was not attempting to get information from you. I'm writing a novel. It's not fact-based. I never meant to hurt you, Jessie, or for you to get the wrong idea. . . .”

“Look, John, I'm just a little tired of men keeping things from me, or having motivations I'm not certain about, or otherwise not being completely up-front. That's been the story of my life. So I just need a little break. So much has happened since I've returned, and now there's the possibility that Emil may be behind all of this. . . .”

“Why do you think Emil might behind it, Jessie?”

“Your minute's up,” she said. “I'm not passing on any more information to you.”

“But Jessie, I'm worried about you—”

“Thanks, but I can take care of myself. Talk to Chief Walters if you want to get your next plot twist.”

She closed the door on his face. She was getting better at doing that.

All her life she'd let men tell her what to do. She'd lived by men's rules and because of it, too often she'd lived in fear.

Not anymore.

If Emil really had returned, Jessie would stand up to him.

And she'd do so on her own.

S
IXTY-SIX

“F
our days,” Heather told Detective Harry Knotts, her voic e level and calm. “Bryan hasn't come home for four days now. Hasn't shown up at work either.”

The detective took all of the information down, and gave Heather a sympathetic furrow of his brow. But, in fact, Heather really didn't care if Bryan ever came home. Not after what she'd found hidden in his lockbox—which she'd forced open on day three of his absence.

“Let me ask you something, Mrs. Pierce,” Knotts said, lifting his eyes from the paper where he'd been writing furiously. “And I apologize in advance if this sounds too personal, but I'll need to know if I'm going to fill out a missing-persons report.”

“Go ahead, ask whatever you need to.”

“Have you and your husband been having marital problems?”

She didn't hesitate. “Yes.”

“So is it possible that he may have left you without telling you?”

“Absolutely it's possible.” Heather leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. She was wearing a short skirt and hoped Detective Knotts would glance down at her shapely calves, but he didn't. “What
isn't
very likely, however, is that he'd just blow off his job like this. He's already been having problems at the company. He wouldn't want to give them a reason to fire him.”

“So he's been having problems at work, too?” Knotts scribbled this new bit of information down in the notepad in front of him.

Heather smiled wryly. “Oh, I think if you probe Bryan's life you'll find all sorts of problems.”

“Any in particular you want to share?”

“You could start with Jessie Clarkson.”

The detective's eyebrows shot up. “Jessie Clarkson ?”

Heather nodded. “I think they were having an affair.”

Knotts quickly wrote this down as well. “And why do you think that?”

“I have my reasons.”

“And they are?”

Heather smirked. “He keeps nude photographs of Jessie with a pair of panties that must be hers in a locked box in his closet. Pretty good evidence, I think.”

The detective didn't look up at her as he continued scribbling in his pad. “I note that your husband's disappearance apparently took place after a disturbance at Ms. Clarkson's home.”

“It sure did.” Heather sat forward in her chair. “She said she wasn't going to mention that, for the kids' sake, but I guess her word is as worthless as her reputation.”

“She didn't report it,” Knotts told her. “We learned about it while we were establishing her whereabouts that night.”

Heather's eyes narrowed in wonder. “Why would you need to establish her whereabouts?”

“That much I can't share, Mrs. Pierce.”

Heather's mind raced, and then she hit on the answer. “Detective Wolfowitz! That was the night he was killed! You suspect Jessie!”

“We have no official suspects at this time, Mrs. Pierce.”

Heather stood up, her eyes wild. “Bryan didn't just up and leave, Detective Knotts. He never came back home after the fight at Jessie's house. She called and told me all about it. And she told me who was there, who punched Bryan down the stairs!” She placed her hands on Knotts's desk and leaned in to look at him closely. “John Manning.”

“Yes,” Knotts said, looking back at her. He was no longer writing. “A man with whom
you
were having an affair, Mrs. Pierce.”

Heather fell silent.

The detective smiled. “I told you some of my questions might get personal. If you want us to investigate your husband's disappearance, we need all the facts.”

Heather stood up straight and buttoned her coat. She wasn't going to admit to that. If Bryan was really still alive, then he could use it against her in court. Their marriage was over, one way or another, but if Bryan was still in the land of the living, she wasn't going to make it easier for him to fight her. Heather figured she was already going to have a hard time getting much out of him, since it looked like Bryan would be losing his job.

She suppressed a smile. She'd be better off if he was dead. She'd get a nice fat insurance settlement in that case.

“That's all I have to say, Detective,” Heather said, heading out the door. “Good luck in finding my husband.”

S
IXTY-SEVEN

M
axin e Peterson told Abby she was doing very well learning her letters. The little girl was sitting cross-legged on the floor of her bedroom and picking wooden alphabet blocks out of a pile when her tutor called for a particular letter. She'd look through the blocks and then hand the correct one up to Maxine, who was sitting in a chair.

“Let's try one more,” Maxine said. “How about . . . P?”

Abby studied the pile of blocks. She reached out her hand to hover over one block with a bright red R engraved on its side. But then she thought better of it and grabbed a block with a P. She triumphantly raised it to Maxine's hand.

“Excellent, Abby!” her tutor said. “You are such a smart girl! You're really doing so very, very well.”

“Will I be able to go back to regular school soon then?” Abby asked, her round blue eyes looking imploringly up at Maxine.

“Do you
want
to go back to regular school?”

Abby nodded.

Her tutor smiled. “Tired of just playing with old Maxine, are you?”

“I like you very much,” Abby said, “and I would miss you.” She looked down at the floor sadly. “But I miss my friend.”

Maxine's smile turned sad as well. “I'm sure you do, sweetheart. It must be hard not seeing any other children. Maybe sometime your friend could come here and visit. You could play with her here.”

“It's not a girl,” Abby said. “It's a boy.”

“Oh?” Maxine's eyes lit up. “Well, then,
he
can come over and play sometime. I'm sure your mother wouldn't mind.”

But Abby's sad expression seemed to suggest otherwise.

“What is your friend's name?” Maxine asked.

“Aaron,” Abby told her.

“That's a nice name.”

“He's my best friend in the whole world.”

“Is he now? Well, then, he must be very nice.”

“He is.” Abby stood and walked over to the window, where she glanced out, as if she were looking for something. “If I had a brother, he would be just like Aaron.”

Maxine smiled. “Well, I'll ask your mother if it'd be all right if Aaron joined us for one of our lessons one of these days. Would you like that?”

Abby turned to face her. “Oh, yes, very much!”

Maxine stood. “We're done for today, sweetheart. I'll see you tomorrow. Pretty soon we'll start building words with the letters we learn.”

“I can't wait!” Abby exclaimed.

She turned to stare out the window again.

Maxine lifted her briefcase and headed out of the little girl's room. “Good-bye, Abby,” she called.

But Abby seemed not to hear her. She just stood looking out the window.

Maxine descended the stairs.

In the living room she spotted Jessie with her aunt Paulette. The two women were sitting closely together on the couch, and appeared to be deep in conversation. Jessie looked upset, Maxine thought. Paulette's hand was placed on her back. Maxine hated to disturb what appeared to be an intense and personal family moment, but she had to let them know she was done for the day.

“Excuse me, Jessie,” the tutor said. “Just wanted to say I'd see you tomorrow.”

Jessie lifted very tired eyes to gaze across the room at her. “Okay, Maxine,” she said. “Have a good night.”

“Thanks, you too.”

With what seemed superhuman effort, Jessie summoned a burst of energy and smiled over at Maxine. “Before you go, tell me how you think Abby's doing,” she said.

“Oh, she's doing splendidly. You have one very smart daughter.”

“I'm so glad to hear that.”

“If I might, however, I'd like to suggest that maybe she see some other children. She told me today that she missed her friends from school.”

Jessie's fragile smile disappeared. “Well, that was part of the problem. She didn't have any friends.”

“She mentioned one boy's name. Aaron.”

Maxine noticed the look that Jessie exchanged with her aunt.

“Oh, yes, Aaron,” Jessie said.

“She said she missed seeing him, so I suggested he come by and join one of our lessons, if that was okay with you.”

Jessie sighed. “Did Abby like the idea?”

“Oh, yes, very much. She seemed very fond of the boy.”

“What did she say about him?”

“She said that he was her best friend in the world.”

Jessie managed a small smile.

“Well, good night then,” Maxine said. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes. Have a good night, Maxine.”

The tutor was almost to the door when she stopped and turned around. “Oh, and there was one other thing Abby said about her little friend.”

“What was that?” Jessie asked.

“She said that if she had a brother, he would be just like Aaron.”

The room was dark, with the shadows of late afternoon gathering, so Maxine couldn't be entirely sure what she saw. But she could have sworn that the expression that suddenly appeared on Jessie's face was no longer one of weariness, but of fear.