“Yes you do.”
Just another of their escalating and maddening arguments. Daniel settled in between them, not saying much. Aside from occasional outbursts of temper, he’d always been a pretty quiet little boy, something I attributed to being an only child and not having to fight for attention.
“Mom, do we have to call Benjamin by another name?” Matthew whined, as usual appealing to me to arbitrate the silliness.
“What did your teacher say?”
“She said we need to get a bigger house for Benjamin.”
I laughed out loud. “That certainly seems like the more important thing right now.”
“You still need a different name,” Lucy insisted. “Doesn’t he, Daniel?”
Sometimes I wondered if Lucy would grow up to be lawyer. Or a judge. I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw that Daniel wore the look of someone who wished he could be anywhere else.
“Enough, you two,” I said as I slowed to turn onto the road leading to Heather’s house. “The kindergarten bunny isn’t any of your business, Lucy.”
“He’s the one talking about it,” she protested. “It’s not my fault his teacher can’t tell the difference between a boy and a girl.”
“Mrs. Arnold can so tell,” Matthew yelled.
“Cannot.”
“Can so.”
As I slowed to turn left into Heather’s driveway, I glanced again in the rearview mirror and saw Daniel pressing two fingers against his forehead as if he were feeling a headache coming on. I could relate. “Be quiet!” I finally snapped, louder than I meant to, feeling guilty when all three kids jumped in their seats. There was silence for a moment as we climbed the winding drive, sun washing the pavers and burnishing the bare forsythia bushes. It was still cold out, but spring would be here soon. “Let’s talk about something else,” I said in a calmer voice, as we reached the top of the hill. “What else happened today?”
I stopped talking, struck dumb by the sight of a familiar Ford Taurus parked on Heather’s driveway.
The short, bald detective from the funeral home was standing on the front steps and he turned to watch us pull up. I fought the urge to flee back down the driveway. There was no sign of Heather’s car—she probably wasn’t back yet.
As I tried to decide what to do, the detective moved in my direction and I got out of the car, anxious not to speak with him in front of the kids. “I’ll see if your mom’s home yet, Daniel,” I said, turning to the backseat. “The three of you just sit tight.”
“Who’s that man?” I heard Lucy asking Daniel as I closed the door.
The detective was shading his eyes from the sun, his feet tapping across the pavers. “Alison Riordan?”
“Yes?” I crossed around the car, zipping my coat, and trying to look as if I were having trouble placing him.
“I’m Detective Lou Tedesco,” he said, flashing his badge with a small, meaty hand. “I’m investigating the death of Dr. Viktor Lysenko.” He paused as if expecting me to say something, but I continued to give him a slightly puzzled look. “I think you met my partner, Detective Kasper?”
“Yes, I spoke with him a while ago.”
He jangled something in his jacket pocket, flashing a smile. His teeth seemed too large and too white for his face. “I guess you’re here to see Heather Lysenko?”
“Yes. She isn’t home yet?”
“No.” He continued to stare at me, an occasional breeze flattening the curl from his gray fringe. “Do you know where she is?”
“Doctor’s appointment,” I said. “She asked if I’d drop off her son from school because she was running late.”
“Aah. The doctor.” He said the word as if he were testing it out. “You’re one of Heather’s friends, right?”
“That’s right. And her husband’s. I was friends with him, too, I mean.” I mentally cursed. Less than a minute in and I was already saying too much. My brother was a cop, for goodness’ sake—I knew that when you were talking to the police, the less said the better. Too much information just raised suspicion.
“Right.” He jotted something down in a small spiral notebook that he pulled from a jacket pocket. “How long have you known Mrs. Lysenko?”
For a split second I thought he was talking about Heather’s mother-in-law. “Oh, you mean Heather? About three years.”
“Her husband, the same length of time?”
“Yes. I met Viktor through Heather.”
“How would you describe their relationship?”
“Happy. They had a happy marriage.” I watched as he jotted this down. “What’s this about, Detective? Why are you asking?”
“In any homicide investigation we have to ask a lot of questions.” He smiled in what he probably thought was an ingratiating manner, flashing the teeth. They were probably capped.
“I thought Viktor was killed during a carjacking,” I said.
“Hmm, yes, well, we have to get as full a picture as possible—it’s all routine. Tell me, do you know much about Heather’s life before she married Dr. Lysenko?”
Why was he asking these questions? I struggled to look unconcerned. “Not really. She was a model. I know she was doing modeling when she met Viktor.”
“And before modeling?”
“Um, I don’t know what you mean—”
“About her life in West Virginia? Have you ever talked with her about that?”
“Not really. I know she’s from a small town and her parents still live there.” Where was he going with this? “But Heather doesn’t like to talk much about her past.” As soon as I said it I realized it was wrong; it made it appear as if Heather had something to hide. “She’s so busy with her life now, I mean, she always said she didn’t miss modeling because she loved being a mother.” Okay, that was a lie. I’d never heard her say anything of the kind.
I glanced back at the car and saw Lucy’s face pressed against the window, staring at me. “Is there anything else?” I said. “I’ve got to be with the kids.”
“Yes, just one more question if you don’t mind.” Another flash of those teeth. “Did Heather ever mention divorce?”
“Divorce? No, not to me. As I said, she had a happy marriage.”
“Hmm, yes, as you said.” There was something skeptical in the way he repeated my phrase. “Of course, Heather had a lot of incentive to stay married.”
“You mean because of Daniel.”
“Well, yes, of course, there’s her stepson,” he said. “But I was thinking of the terms of her marriage.” He flipped his notebook shut. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Riordan.”
He walked briskly toward his car, surprisingly fast and nimble for someone so short and heavyset. I should have been relieved to see the back of him, but I was puzzling over what he’d said.
“The terms?” I called after him. “What are you referring to?”
He turned back and gave me a look of clearly simulated surprise. “You didn’t know about the prenuptial agreement?”
chapter thirty
ALISON
A prenup? I couldn’t hide my surprise and, even though I didn’t say anything, the detective smiled again, his big, capped-teeth grin like a fucking Cheshire cat.
“Thanks again, Mrs. Riordan.” He raised his hand in some cross between a wave and a Hitler salute and continued to his car, his footsteps loud against the stone. I crossed to my own car, but waited until he’d driven away to let the kids out.
“Was that the police, Mommy?” Matthew asked. “Daniel says that man is the police.”
“Daniel’s right.” I kept my voice light as I helped all three kids out of the backseat. “Don’t forget your backpack,” I said, handing Daniel the red bag he’d left in the car.
“Why did he want to talk to you?” Lucy said.
“He didn’t. He wanted to talk to Daniel’s mom.”
“Why?”