“Hmmm. Have the police told you anything about Virginia’s phone records?”
“No, and I don’t think they’re likely to.” I’d tried to come up with some reason I simply had to know who Virginia had been talking to, but there was no argument that would persuade Levon I had any right to have that information. I did tell John my theory of how the phone had come to be in my purse. “What do you think?” I asked.
John said, “Aida, can you put another pillow under my head? I’m having a hard time seeing Roe.”
Mother shot from her chair and got a larger pillow. John eased himself up while she positioned the pillow so he could look at me directly. Mother sat down again, hiding a smile.
“Either she wanted it to be found, or she put it in your purse by accident,” John said. “Of course, the man who took your diaper bag thought it was your purse, and he was sure the phone was in it, not yet discovered. So his name is in that telephone.”
“I never put that all together,” I said. “Motherhood’s made me stupid. I’ll bet you’re right.”
“After all, how many purse thefts do we have in Lawrenceton in a year?” John continued.
“Not many,” my mother said. “I’d know.”
Mother has close ties to the Chamber of Commerce, and she’d be among the first to hear about any negative statistics.
We discussed the crimes—the murder, the disappearance, the shootings—for another thirty minutes. Then John said, “Looks like I’d better come to your house to see the scene.”
“Whenever you feel you’re up to it.” I glanced at Mother, who was giving me a very significant look. “If the doctor says it’s okay,” I added hastily. “By the way, I brought you something to read.” I reached into the reusable grocery bag to retrieve New Developments, Old Crimes: How Today’s Forensics Can Shed Light on Murders of the Past.
“Haven’t read that one,” John said, sounding very pleased.
I knew he hadn’t been reading much of the literature that interested us both, since my mother took a very dim view of our mutual interest in crimes of the past. And since Sophie’s birth, I’d stuck to conventional mysteries. But I’d figured John needed a solid distraction. I was delighted at his pleasure.
My job here is done, I thought, and I rose to say good-bye. I’d had the vague conviction that if John didn’t react to my stories, I would have been sure he wasn’t going to recover.
Robin was glad I’d returned, because he was trying to keep a plot twist for the new book fixed in his head. The second I took Sophie from her bouncer seat, he made a beeline for his office.
For about half a minute, I wondered why I’d been so determined to stay home with Sophie. I had a moment of wishing I had hours free from the necessity of being tethered to my baby’s needs. But I reminded myself that (a) this was only one phase of Sophie’s life, that (b) we would all feel better when our sleep was regular (I’d gotten up with her twice the night before, though that was getting increasingly rare), and that (c) someday Sophie would accept another food source.
I bundled her into the stroller and set out for a walk. It was a mild day, sunny and clear, but there was a tang in the air that warned me we’d all have to bundle up soon. The nights were already cooler. I felt dismayed at the prospect of maneuvering Sophie into still more layers of clothing—but that was in the future, and I was going to enjoy our excursion.
I talked to Peggy Herman (and Chaka, who sniffed Sophie again, with interest). From his yard, Jonathan called hello. Lulu was with him. She barked at me so vigorously I thought she might have a fit.
Sophie seemed to enjoy the change of scenery. When we got home, she fell fast asleep. Robin didn’t emerge from his office for lunch, which sometimes happened. So I ate all by myself, with a book propped up in front of me, and I enjoyed every minute of it.
Chapter Nineteen
Robin was fast enough to abandon his work when the Spartan Shield team—consisting of Arnie Petrosian and an assistant—arrived with several boxes and bags and tools. Robin was ready for some stimulation outside of his own head.
I had very little interest in the physical process of making our house secure. As long as the result worked, that was good enough for me. I played with Sophie when she got up, fed her out on the patio discreetly draped, and went in to greet Phillip when he came home from school. He brought Sarah, Joss, and Josh with him.
After they’d all said hello and admired Sophie, Phillip ushered them outside to see the site of the murder. This was not my favorite choice for an activity, but I knew it was only natural, so I didn’t comment. They were back within ten minutes—because after all, what was there to see but a yard? No clues, no bloodstains, no corpse, only a (possibly deaf) cat up in the mimosa tree.
Phillip poured drinks and actually prepared a snack for his guests. I tried to (very casually) glance sideways as he put items on a tray on the island, but I was very interested to see what he’d served.
I identified Triscuits, Ritz crackers, and a block of sharp cheddar on a cutting board with a couple of knives. He added the bowl of grapes I’d washed earlier. As a final flourish he put a stack of napkins beside the bowl. Not bad.
I sat on the floor with the baby, singing “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” and other babyhood hits. No singer me, but Sophie had never seemed to care, and I kept my voice very low. I didn’t want to embarrass my brother.
The kids observed the security-installation team with great interest. Josh and Joss remembered that Spartan Shield had installed their own security measures, and they said hello and had a bit of conversation with Arnie.
Neither twin seemed to know the assistant, who wore an ill-fitting khaki shirt matching his boss’s.
“You didn’t come to our house when we got our system,” Joss said, when the assistant was within talking distance. “You new with the company?”
He gave her a fleeting smile before he turned away. Over his shoulder, he said, “No, just back at work.”
Phillip and his friends lost interest when it became clear the installation would take more than an hour or two. They all decided to go to Sarah’s house to play Ping-Pong. When Phillip was on his way out, he said, “Not a school night, Roe.”
“Got you. Eleven thirty, please.” I stood in loco parentis to my brother, and sometimes that was an uneasy position.
It’s probably good training for when Sophie is a teen, I thought, though I could not imagine such a thing just now.
The next time the assistant walked through the living room, I said, “Are you all through in the baby’s room? I’d like to put her down for a nap.”