Dena unpacked a muffin and a cup of tea from the plastic convenience store bag, and set it out on the scarred surface of the painted gate-leg table. Then she put away the few groceries she had bought in the old refrigerator which had no light. Dena rummaged in a kitchen drawer for a spoon and a knife and sat down to her breakfast.
She had earned it. She’d been awake, on and off, for most of the night. Before dawn she was up, searching under the kitchen sink for cleaning supplies, washing and waxing every surface in the apartment. Even when a surface was clean, she found herself going back and wiping it again.
It felt crazy to her to be cleaning this way, wearing herself out before morning even broke. But it was better than lying in that bed. It prevented her from thinking. She knew, somehow, that Peter would be disappointed to learn that she had spent a miserable, restless night in the tiny apartment, despite his poetry reading and the herbal tea. It would take more than that to dispel the horror of yesterday’s news. The thought of Jennifer and Ron, and their baby that now would never be born … The fear that maybe Brian was somehow involved …
Dena rubbed her own stomach protectively and sniffed, swallowing back the sobs that wanted to start again. She forced herself to breathe deeply, and then she placed the muffin on a faded flowered plate. Eat, she told herself, though she had no appetite.
Think of the baby. Despite the suspicions of the police, despite her own suspicions, she told herself it had to have been random. Blind chance. She herself might have been the victim, had she stayed home that day and been the one who had answered the door. The thought of that was no comfort. It made her feel slightly light-headed with anxiety.
The morning light shone weakly through the dormer windows, illuminating the meager furnishings of the apartment. It was a dreary little place but at least she was safe here. Brian didn’t know where she was staying, and now that Albert knew better than to let him come around the restaurant, he had no way to contact her. How long will I be here? she wondered. Hopefully, not too long. But still there were a few things she would have to buy to make the place livable in, no matter how short a time she stayed. A reading lamp by the bed, a new shower curtain, a light bulb for the refrigerator. You can start today, she told herself, trying to think positively about feathering this temporary nest. Albert had told her not to come in today, so she could go to the hardware store and make a beginning. She was not going out to collect her things at Brian’s. She was sure about that.
Dena chewed on her muffin without interest and burned her tongue on the first sip of hot tea. She was exhausted from the events of the last few days. Only a few days ago she had still been living with Brian, still trying to tell herself that maybe they could work out problems and be a family. And now, here she was, in these gloomy top-floor rooms with no mate and virtually no possessions. Don’t look at it that way, she told herself. It’s only for a little while. They’re bound to find Jennifer’s killer, and then you can get out of here. Go to Marcia’s and wait for the baby. Start your new life as a single mom. The thought saddened her, as it always did, but she was beginning to get used to the idea.
Lots of women are single mothers. I can do it, she thought. My mother did it and I can do it. What choice did she have? Stop looking back, and regretting what might have been. Start planning the life you are going to have when you put this part behind you, she told herself.
She tapped absently on her phone. This afternoon, she would call Marcia and explain the delay. She dreaded the call, though. There was no way to explain other than to tell her that Jennifer had been murdered, and the word would send Marcia into a tailspin. Somehow she would manage to construe this as some sort of carelessness on Dena’s part, that she’d had a friend who was murdered. Dena could so easily predict her sister’s reactions. Still, she wasn’t eager to get into it with her. Besides, there were other things to do. Dena struggled up from her chair, and pulled the magnetic pad off the refrigerator. Make a list, she told herself. Write it down and get started.
Now that the little apartment was clean, it was the best way she could think of to banish all the demons that assailed her when she just allowed herself to sit and think. Start to plan.
Dena wrote down, ‘Linen outlet, hardware store,’ and then, underneath that, ‘Call Marcia.’ It was a slim plan for a new life, she thought. But the very act of starting a list was comforting. She was just about to write down a fourth item when suddenly her phone on the tabletop beside her started to ring.
Dena jumped. The number was not one of her contacts. Then she shook her head. Telemarketer, she thought. Or maybe Peter. Wanting to know how she liked her new place. She wondered how she was going to work up any enthusiasm, so he wouldn’t be too disappointed. She picked up the phone and took a deep breath. ‘Hello,’ she said.
There was a silence at the other end. At first, she thought it might be that automated delay, before the click and the phone solicitor kicked in with his spiel. ‘Hello,’ she said again, impatiently.
Silence again. And then, unmistakably, a breath at the other end.
‘Who is it?’ she demanded, although she knew there would be no answer. She heard the breath again, softer.
‘Don’t call me again,’ she snapped, and slammed the phone back down on the table.
She snatched up her list and tried to study it. But she was distracted. Get a grip, she told herself. It was just some kids, fooling around. Or some bored idiot with nothing else to do. She took a deep breath. Just get back to your list. She put a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes.
Tomorrow was the funeral. She had to have something to wear. It made her furious to think that Brian had all her things. Holding them hostage. Well, she wasn’t about to negotiate. He could keep them. Forget it, she thought. Don’t even think about it. How could I have ever thought I loved him? ‘Black dress,’ she wrote, and then she put her hands over her stinging eyes.
The phone began to ring again.
When Tyrell arrived back at the police station, he had to push his way through a crowd of reporters to get inside. Lou Potter was already there, talking on the phone to Captain Van Brunt.
‘All right,’ said Lou, as he put the phone down, ‘I’m afraid there’s not much to go on.’ He relayed to Tyrell the substance of Heath’s conversation with Anita Edgerton and Tyrell told the chief about the green van.
‘Well, it’s a start,’ said Lou, trying to sound optimistic. ‘It all depends on how you look at it. I mean, the ex-wife says he worries about money. We know he has a baby on the way, and that he’s losing his job. It could have led to quite an argument.’
Tyrell made a face. ‘It’s possible, but …’
‘But what?’ Lou demanded.
‘But aren’t we overlooking the obvious?’
‘The obvious being …’ Lou said coldly.
‘Lou, I know the Riley kid is a friend of yours. But when you’re talking motive …’
‘I spoke to him, and he is not involved. Now, I think we need to have another conversation with Mr Hubbell,’ said Lou. ‘He’s at the crime scene right now. He wanted permission to go into the house to pick out some stuff for the wife’s funeral.’
Tyrell stood up. ‘All right. Let’s roll,’ he said. He and the chief started toward the door.
‘You drive,’ said Lou.
The two men went out the back way, to where the squad cars were parked, but there were media people lying in wait there as well and they began to clamor at the sight of the chief.
‘OK, OK,’ Lou shouted over the din. ‘I’ve told the others and I’ll tell you. Tonight, at six, there will be a press conference over at the town council meeting room. Now, please, let us do our job.’ Reluctantly, the crowd parted and Lou was able to get into the car beside Tyrell.
Tyrell took the wheel of the squad car as he was bidden, and the two rode in silence out to the Hubbells’ stone cottage on Chestnut Street. As he parked behind Ron’s car, Tyrell looked up at the sun glinting off the multi-paned windows in the porch of the house. Yellow tape was draped on stakes around the yard, marking the area as forbidden to trespassers. A patrolman stood guard at the door.
‘What the hell’s he doing outside?’ said Lou in exasperation as they got out of the car. He marched up the steps to the patrolman, who greeted him respectfully.
‘Why aren’t you inside with Hubbell?’ Lou barked. ‘He could be destroying evidence while you stand around out here.’
The patrolman, who was little more than a boy, looked at his chief anxiously. ‘He wanted a little privacy,’ he said.
‘Well, he can’t have privacy,’ Lou snapped. ‘This is a murder investigation.’ He brushed past the young man and opened the door to the front porch. He peered through into the bleak living room, opening the inner door and calling out, ‘Mr Hubbell.’ There was no answer. He indicated to Tyrell that he was going upstairs and the sergeant followed him, looking back at the spot where the body had been found. As they reached the top of the stairs, an older woman came out into the hall.
‘Who are you?’ Lou demanded.
‘Ron’s mother,’ she said.
‘Oh,’ said Lou. He didn’t have the heart to bark at her.
She pulled her sweater tightly around her, although it was warm in the house. ‘Come in. We’re going through my daughter-in-law’s things.’
The two police officers followed the woman into the bedroom at the end of the hall. It was a cheery room, sun streaming in over the louvered shutters in the bottom half of the windows.
The double bed had a brass frame, and a quilt with flowers embroidered on it. The quilt was strewn with dresses and shoes. Ron Hubbell stood at the closet door, looking in with a blank expression on his face.
He turned and looked at the officers. His eyes were like sunken holes in his face. ‘We’re getting her clothes. For the funeral,’ he said.
‘You’re not supposed to be up here alone, Mr Hubbell,’ said Lou, and Tyrell was glad that he hadn’t been the one to have to say it. He didn’t know if he would have had the heart. There was something unbearably pitiful about the sight of him. It could be regret, Tyrell reminded himself, not devastation.
Rhonda Hubbell, who had followed them in, walked over to the dresses on the bed. ‘This one, then?’ she asked her son, holding up a pale blue knit dress with long sleeves.
Ron stared at the dress as if he could see his wife still wearing it.
‘And the blue shoes, I think,’ she said gently, tears sliding down her face.
Ron looked away and nodded, as if it didn’t matter any more. Rhonda began to carefully fold the clothes and place them in a small bag.
‘Mr Hubbell, can we talk to you downstairs?’ Lou asked.
Ron nodded, and led the way to the staircase. He clutched the banister with both hands, as if he were a ninety-year-old man who needed it for support. He stopped in the living room, where an outline of his wife’s body was still drawn on the floor. Turning away, he walked out onto the porch. It was a sunny space which could have been a lovely place to sit, but they had obviously not gotten that far in their work on the house.
There were a couple of pieces of mismatched wicker furniture on the bare floor. Ron sat down heavily and stared straight ahead.
Lou and Tyrell sat down on either side of him.
‘Mr Hubbell,’ said Lou. ‘We need a little more information. We’ve had a report that someone saw a green van outside your home yesterday. Around the time of your wife’s death. Was Jennifer … were you expecting anyone to be working here on the house yesterday?’
Ron looked surprised, almost excited for a minute, and then he sank back into lassitude. ‘I don’t think so. Sometimes people turn up, out of the blue, to finish up a job.’
‘Anyone who drives a green van?’
Ron shook his head. Then he said, ‘Maybe. I think the guys from Ranger … the electricians. They had a green van …’
‘Could you give us a list of the people who were working on the house for you?’ Lou said.
Ron thought about it for a moment. ‘I guess so. Sure.’ He made no move to get up.
‘I’d like that list as soon as we’re through here.’
‘OK,’ said Ron.
‘Also, we still have a little problem with your whereabouts yesterday during the afternoon hours.’
‘I told you,’ he said dully. ‘I came home early. On the one thirty train from Philly. I walked home from the station.’
‘Did you see anyone you knew?’ Lou asked.
‘I don’t know anyone here. We just moved here.’
‘No one?’
‘I saw some boys skateboarding.’
‘Did you recognize them?’
‘No,’ Ron said.
‘Would you know them if you saw them again?’
‘No. I wasn’t paying any attention.’
Lou shifted in his seat, his expression pained. ‘How was everything at work yesterday, Mr Hubbell?’
Ron wiped tears from his eyes but made no sound.
‘Anything unusual happen?’
Ron looked at him bitterly. ‘You already know, don’t you?’
‘I’d like you to tell me,’ said Lou.
‘All right. I found out the office was closing. And, before you ask, yes, I was dreading telling my wife.’
Lou looked at his notes, though he had no need of them. ‘That would have meant quite an upheaval for you and Jennifer. After you bought this new house, sank so much money into it …’
Ron looked at the walls around him. ‘We didn’t have time to even live here,’ he said. ‘We were never meant to live here.’
‘… And everything is so much more difficult with a baby.’
Ron did not reply.
‘Your ex-wife told one of our officers this morning that you had a tendency to get very upset about money.’
Ron stiffened, and then turned to glare at him. ‘She said that? Anita said that?’ Ron closed his eyes and his skin grew waxy, as if he was going to be sick. Lou and Tyrell exchanged a glance.
‘Why are you doing this?’ Ron whispered. ‘I didn’t kill Jennifer. Why don’t you arrest Brian Riley? He was the one. He was responsible for the death of my wife’s sister. He was over here ranting and raving about his girlfriend …’
‘We have talked to him,’ said Lou stubbornly. ‘Now, we’re talking to you.’
‘I can’t believe this,’ said Ron. He swallowed hard. ‘Why is that you are here badgering me while Riley is free to go about his business?’
‘Mr Riley had no reason to kill your wife, Mr Hubbell. No matter what your wife may have thought, he had nothing to do with the death of her sister,’ Lou said sternly.
Ron sank back into his chair ‘I don’t care what you do,’ he said.
Lou stood up and Tyrell followed his lead. ‘We are trying to track down your wife’s killer,’ Lou said. ‘Can we have that list now?’
‘What list?’ Ron asked, confused.
‘Of the guys who were on your job.’
Ron got slowly out of the chair. ‘It’s in the computer,’ he said. ‘I’ll print it out for you.’