*
We’d agreed not to call Heather constantly and to make sure we were careful about what we said. But the brief conversation I eventually had with her that first day didn’t do anything to relieve my nerves. On the third day, desperate to know what was happening, I took a casserole over to Heather’s after a house showing nearby. There was an unfamiliar SUV parked near the garage; otherwise everything looked just as I’d last seen it. I couldn’t help staring for a moment at the garage bay closest to the house, picturing Viktor’s car. And his body.
An older and heavily made-up woman answered the front door, startling me. “Oh, hello, I’ve come to see Heather,” I said, holding aloft a white porcelain dish that held some concoction of meat and potatoes that I’ll admit was actually made by one of the nannies from the service I sometimes used. I’ll also admit that I’d called them with this in mind, asking the agency if they could send someone who cooked. I’ve never made a casserole in my life, but it seemed like the thing you did after someone died. “Are you a family member?”
The woman didn’t return my tentative smile, looking me up and down with a grumpy expression. “I’m Anna,” she said in heavily accented English. “Vitya’s mother.”
“Vitya?” I said, confused, lowering the casserole dish and trying to look over her shoulder to spot Heather.
Her frown deepened. “Viktor. My son.”
“Oh, yes, of course. I’m Julie, a friend of Viktor and Heather’s. I’m so sorry for your loss. This is for you.” I thrust the dish at her, babbling in my nervousness. “For all of you.”
The corners of her mouth turned ever so slightly upward in a sour, Grinch-like smile. “How kind of you, Judy.”
I’d heard about Heather’s mother-in-law, but Heather’s descriptions hadn’t fully done her justice. Anna Lysenko was in her early seventies, a short, squat woman with very bleached-looking blond hair, styled in a strangely coquettish long bob with a Veronica Lake–inspired swoop down one side of her face. She wore a tight, shiny black polyester suit with a ruffled white shirt.
“It’s Julie,” I said with my own forced smile. “It’s the least I could do. I’m so sorry for your loss.” I leaned toward her to exchange a quick air kiss.
“He was a wonderful man,” she said, delivering accolades ahead of me. “An amazing son and father. My only child.” Tears spilled over, creating tracks through a heavy layer of rouge and powder and reddening her nose. Sympathetic tears welled in my own eyes and I swallowed hard, reminding myself that her son had been a bully and a brute.
She was still blocking the doorway, and I realized that Anna thought I was just dropping food off and leaving. “Um, is Heather home?”
A quick nod. “She’s busy now; I’ll tell her you stopped by.” She shut the door in my face.
I stood there, too dumbstruck to protest, but just before it slammed, I heard Heather call, “Who’s there, Anna?” and a moment later the door opened again.
“Julie! I’m so glad you’re here.” She sounded so pleased to see me—too pleased, I thought, catching the narrow-eyed appraisal that Anna gave her. Or was I just being paranoid?
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said quickly, pulling her into an embrace. She clung to me for a moment, sniffling, which surprised me, but perhaps shouldn’t have. This was stressful and he was, after all, her husband, even if he’d been a wife-beating asshole.
“She brought food; you should put this in the fridge,” Anna interrupted, pushing the dish at her daughter-in-law. Heather pulled back, swiping at her eyes, but I noticed, startled, that there weren’t any tears. So that was all an act—I hoped it fooled her mother-in-law as well as it had fooled me.
“Come in, Julie, come in,” Heather said as she took the casserole dish with one hand and pulled on my arm with the other. I could feel Anna Lysenko’s disapproving gaze on us as I followed her daughter-in-law into the house.
The kitchen island was covered with other casserole dishes, plus plates of cookies and at least one cake. My offering—the nanny’s offering—seemed somewhat pitiful. “Strange, isn’t it?” Heather said as she added my dish to the pile. “This custom of giving food when people die—I’ve never felt less like eating.”
“I’m sorry, I should have realized you wouldn’t want—”
“No, I didn’t mean that,” she cut me off. “I’ll serve yours tonight. I’m very grateful—truly.”
“How’s Daniel?” I asked, glancing around, surprised not to at least hear him.
“As well as can be expected.” Heather shrugged. “He’s visiting Viktor’s cousin right now.” She must have seen the surprise on my face, because she added, “I didn’t want him here with the police and everything.”
And everything. From where I was standing I could see down the hall into the laundry room and I had a sudden vision of Heather standing, blood-spattered, in the doorway out to the garage. I forced the image away, turning back to see Heather making me coffee, her hair and clothes clean. She was dressed casually, as always, her jeans and T-shirt a stark contrast to her mother-in-law. The only visible signs of stress were the gray smudges from fatigue under her eyes. “I think you could wear a burlap sack and still look pretty,” I said as she handed me the coffee. She smiled, but it vanished as she looked over my shoulder at something. I turned to see Viktor’s mother talking to another short, older woman, this one wearing large round glasses that seemed even larger because her silver hair was pulled back from her round face. They were whispering and shooting hostile looks at us.
“Who’s that?” I muttered.
“Viktor’s aunt. Olga. Yes, that’s really her name. She came yesterday—she brought Anna—and she hasn’t left except to drive Daniel to her daughter’s house.” She raised her voice and said, “Do either of you want some coffee?”
Anna shook her head, but the other woman just stared, giving me a once-over before she turned her back and stalked away down the hall. Her sister hurried after her, the two of them reminding me of bugs scuttling back to a hidey-hole.
“Charming.” I rolled my eyes and Heather grinned.
“Aren’t they? His whole family is like that. I don’t know if that’s just an Eastern European thing, not smiling, but they all seem like depressives. The only positive is there aren’t too many of them.”
“Do you think they suspect something?”
“I don’t know. I hope not.”
“Did they know about Viktor?” I asked hesitantly. “About the abuse, I mean.” I was afraid of upsetting Heather, but she just shook her head.
“No. I never told Anna—she wouldn’t have believed me. As far as she’s concerned the world has just been robbed of the most wonderful, amazing son and father.” Her voice was bitter, and I reached out to pat her arm.
“You’re free now,” I said in a low voice. “Just remember that.”
“Not yet. Not until the police stop investigating and release the body.”
She seemed a bit calmer than she had two nights ago, sitting there sipping coffee. “It’s decaf,” she whispered when she saw me looking. She looked around again before adding, “Don’t say anything about the baby.”
“You haven’t told Anna?”
“Absolutely not,” she said before adding, “It would just upset her.”
I thought it might give Anna something to look forward to, but I didn’t say that. Heather was already dealing with enough; she didn’t need her overbearing mother-in-law trying to micromanage her pregnancy.
“What are you going to do about the funeral?” I asked.
“His mother’s taken care of that—she called the funeral home and is arranging a service at a Ukrainian church.”
“Has she asked for your help planning the service?”