“Take me through what you talked about,” she said. “Something you think is insignificant could turn out to be important.”
Wendy spun around, knife in hand, tears shining in her brown eyes. “Why? You have the man who killed him.” She stared suddenly at her knife and went deathly pale. Her fingers opened, and she deliberately let the knife drop to the floor. “I have enough apples for my apple crisp,” she mumbled, turning back to the counter.
Without a word, Joshua picked up the knife and rinsed it off in the sink.
Tatro’s K-bar. The blood on its blade. That image had probably just materialized for Wendy. Juliet could see it herself, could smell Tatro’s sweat, hear his taunts. “Wendy, if you could concentrate on Juan—”
“He asked about the tin with Teddy’s ashes.” Using both hands, Wendy scooped oats into a battered aluminum measuring cup. “I told him it contained loose-leaf tea.”
“He searched your bags?”
She nodded. “He was following security procedures. He asked to see my ID.” Frowning, Wendy dumped oats into her mixing bowl, then pulled the necklace she always wore from inside her sweatshirt and fingered its small polished rose quartz stone. “He commented on my necklace. I told him I don’t like fancy gems. He said something like, ‘No diamonds and emeralds for you, huh?’ And then he said you didn’t seem the type, either.”
“He mentioned me specifically?”
“He said you never know, maybe you have a soft side that likes a little luxury. I think that’s pretty close. I remember—” She released her necklace and pushed up the sleeves to her sweatshirt, then she dug into the bowl, mixing honey and oats and oil with her hands.
“And on Friday,” Juliet said, moving forward despite Joshua’s tight look. “What did he say to you?”
She continued to knead her mixture. “He just seemed surprised that I’d come back on my own. He let me use his key to get into your apartment. That was it, pretty much.”
“How was his demeanor? Did he seem—”
“I know what demeanor means. He was friendly. He never seemed nervous or angry or anything, like that man—Tatro. It’s not like Tatro had got there first and threatened to kill Juan if he didn’t say the right thing and was in hiding, watching us.” Wendy pulled her hands out of her bowl and scraped the excess oats and goo off her fingers. “I don’t think that’s what happened.”
Wendy had already told Joe Collins that she hadn’t seen any sign of Tatro on her return to the Upper West Side Friday morning—not until he was shoving her into her aunt’s apartment.
Juliet abandoned her coffee. It was her sixth cup of the day. More than enough. “I know this has been hard, but there’s something I need to tell you. We have new information—”
Joshua stood up straight. “I’ll tell her.”
Juliet didn’t argue with him. After all, he was Wendy’s father.
Wendy sprinkled the oat mixture over the apple slices she’d arranged in a ceramic pie plate. Pretending she hadn’t heard the exchange between her father and aunt, she wiped off her hands with a damp dishcloth, then put the apple crisp in the oven and set the timer.
But when she turned around, her cheeks were flushed, rosy pink with emotion. “Tell me what?”
“I’ll be outside,” Juliet said quietly.
Walking outside only reminded her what an intrusion she was. The autumn leaves blazed against the bright afternoon sun. Spaceshot worked up the energy to haul himself to his feet and lick her hand. “Hey, buddy,” she said, “it’s been a rough few days.”
She headed behind the small barn where her family had kept chickens and the occasional sheep or goat for as long as she could remember. The last of the dahlias and even a few hollyhocks bloomed against the rough-hewn barn boards. Vines of blue morning glories tangled on trellises, and the hard-to-describe pink of cone flowers reminded her of summertime.
No matter how protected they were in their warm spot against the old barn, a killing frost would get them. There’d be one before too long—this was Vermont, after all.
Joshua joined her. “She’s gone up to her room while the apple crisp is baking. Says she’s working on her college essays, but I doubt it.”
“Joshua, I’m sorry I had to bring it all up again.”
He shook his head, but everything about him was tight, emotionally unable to accept what had happened to his daughter. As an experienced law enforcement officer, he understood. As a father—never. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“It wasn’t Wendy’s fault, either.”
“Yeah.” He looked away. “I know.”
Juliet sighed, wishing she didn’t have more to tell him. “I need to fill you in on a couple things I didn’t mention earlier. My partner, Tony Cipriani—you met him at my place on Friday. He’s been doing some legwork. He’s the one who called me on my way up here and told me the doorman’s real name was Vincente Perez, that he was from Miami.”