He was silent for a second, and then wondered if he had just stood there during that second with his mouth open. “What makes you think that?”
Sarah shrugged. “I noticed as soon as I got here that she was very chirpy. She’s also dieting, and doing a better job with her makeup and hair. And her voice was different when she talked to you.” She paused. “And so on.”
“She’s just happy. Her daughter is home.”
Sarah said, “This isn’t my home. Or hers either, really. Look, I watched her when she talked about you. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve tentatively decided to approve. She’s a magnificent person, and she seems to feel better than she has since she divorced my father.”
Caldwell recovered from the shock. “I’m glad that you appreciate her and want her to be happy. That confirms some good things she said about you. But you should direct any questions to your mother. Not me.”
“My questions aren’t about her. They’re about you.”
“Well, save them up, and I’ll do my best to satisfy your curiosity when we have time. Right now we’ve both got things to do—study and take the dogs out. See you later.” He went to the front door and took the leashes off the hook. “Bye.”
“Should I have said, ‘Welcome to the family’?”
“Not very funny,” he said.
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
He closed the door behind him and walked the dogs toward the park. He was feeling an uneasiness that grew with each step. First he’d had the scare with the attempted robbery last night. He had come through it all right, but he had barely stopped himself from killing someone who was barely a legal adult, and the experience had left him anxious. Now there was Sarah.
Sarah seemed more dangerous right now than the teenager with the revolver. She had immediately figured out that he and Zoe weren’t just sharing an apartment. She had sensed that there was something about him that was off, and researched him online. There wasn’t enough online about any one of the real Peter Caldwells to satisfy her.
He had chosen the name partly because there were so many of them, and they lived all over the country and in a few foreign countries. It would be hard for anyone to say he wasn’t one of them. But many had social media accounts with photographs. Some had articles about them with pictures: PETER CALDWELL APPOINTED TO GOVERNOR’S COMMISSION. PETER CALDWELL MARRIES NANCY STANHOPE. PETER CALDWELL TAKES HOLY ORDERS. He just hoped there wasn’t one that said PETER CALDWELL CHARGED WITH MURDER.
Sarah was bright, she was protective of her mother, and she wasn’t shy about asking about other people’s personal lives. Even stupid people in her age group were expert at using online sources to find out whatever they wanted. A bright law student like Sarah probably knew ways to search that he’d never heard of. She had already learned how shallow his cover as Peter Caldwell was. How long before she decided to get someone with access to law enforcement databases to dig deeper?
As he walked with the dogs he kept thinking. He didn’t know whether she had a good relationship with her father. Maybe she would turn the problem over to him. He could hear her voice. “Mom is seeing someone. Living with him. I don’t think she really knows anything about him. He just seems a little … I don’t know.” That would be all it took.
He and the dogs walked around the lake. He felt the leashes swinging from his neck, and it reminded him to look for signs that he needed to leash the dogs. He saw no police cars, and nobody walking who was close enough to feel uneasy about unleashed dogs.
When they were near the café he bought some coffee and went back down to the park to sit on a bench while the dogs sniffed around the area. He thought about the dogs. They had sat patiently while he had been at the café. They loved routines, because routines implied order, and order reassured them. All it took was repetition. Things being the same for a long time reassured people, too. A long history that didn’t change much was a person’s best credential.
When Caldwell and the dogs returned to the apartment, Sarah was still alone, this time reading a large hardcover law book. When they came in, she looked up. “You know what I’d like to know?”
“Whether I have a criminal record?”
“You don’t,” she said. “I already checked that. It cost me money, too.”
“Sorry.”
“I’d like to see a credit report on you.”
He felt his heartbeat accelerate, but kept his facial muscles relaxed. “Why would I give you that? Would you give me your credit report?”
“I’m not fucking your mother.” She frowned. “Or your father. Or whatever.”
He stared at her. “All right.”
“All right?” She had not been expecting this.
“May I use your computer?”