business-related, with a few correspondences to friends she knew. Four were from Angela, all within the last few days. They were curt inquiries about some book or CD that she’d accidentally left behind. Jeff was just as curt with his responses:
I’ll make sure Chris brings the Moody Blues CD to you next time he visits.—J.
Molly had no idea Angela was still bugging him about little things like that. His poor ex-wife just couldn’t let go— and that was why she’d tried to put these doubts about Jeff’s fidelity in her head. Molly felt stupid, listening to her.
She shut off the computer.
Carrying the Tupperware full of cookies into the kitchen, she set it on the counter, and then pulled Detective Blazevich’s card from her jeans pocket. She fixed it to the front of the refrigerator with a magnet.
She had to work on her painting. But before heading upstairs to her studio on the third floor, Molly wandered back into Jeff’s study. She gazed out the window—toward the start of the cul-de-sac. She could see the NO OUTLET sign was still there.
She just needed to make sure.
Incoming Call
206-555-0416
Angela Dwyer
Chris frowned at the little screen on his cell phone. He still wasn’t used to his mother going by her maiden name.
The phone was on vibrate, but it had still startled him. Chris had been slouched over a long desk in the school library, his arms folded on the tabletop, resting his head on them. He was a little out of it, but hadn’t really fallen asleep. He couldn’t stop thinking about Mr. Corson.
During swimming season, he was excused from gym, his last class of the day. So he often came here to kill time, get a head start on his homework, or nap before swim practice. He liked the arched windows and the quiet. Plus he had a little crush on the head librarian, Merrill Chertok. The pretty brunette was his swim coach’s wife. She got him hooked on books about time travel. When things hadn’t been so great at home, he’d sometimes stay at the library until it closed at five. Unlike the assistant librarian, who had a burr up her butt, Ms. Chertok let him nap there. He’d wake up and see her behind the desk, and somehow he’d feel all right for a while.
At the moment, Ms. Chertok was at her desk, shaking her head at him. She pointed to the door.
Chris got her drift: no talking on cell phones in the library. Nodding, he quickly got to his feet and stepped out to the empty hallway with his cell. He clicked it on. “Hi, Mom,” he said, leaning against the wall. “What’s going on?”
“I’ve been thinking about you all day—ever since I heard about Mr. Corson,” she said. “How are you doing, sweetie?”
Chris rubbed his eyes. “I’m okay.” He really didn’t want to talk to her about Mr. Corson’s death. His mom had played as pivotal a role as anyone in banishing Mr. Corson from the school.
“Listen,” she said, “if you’re confused or feeling bad, I want you to know that I’m here for you, Chris. You can talk to me. Or you can talk to your father. He’s a smart man, a very compassionate man.”
He couldn’t believe she was actually praising his father to him. It was touching that in order to make sure he had someone to talk to, his mom put aside her personal grievances with his dad.
“Thanks, Mom,” he said into the phone. “Dad and I talked this morning, and I’m okay.” He wanted to change the subject. “How are you? What’s going on?”
“Well, I was in the neighborhood today,” she said. “Lynette Hahn had one of those Neighborhood Watch meetings at her place, and this attractive, young policeman told us all about the Cul-de-sac Killer. Very scary stuff! Oh, and afterwards, he flirted shamelessly with Molly. Of course, she’s so pretty. Still, I didn’t see her do anything to discourage him. Sometimes, I really wonder about her. You get along with her, honey. Has she said anything to you about her family or her past? I mean, I’m absolutely clueless
I’ll make sure Chris brings the Moody Blues CD to you next time he visits.—J.
Molly had no idea Angela was still bugging him about little things like that. His poor ex-wife just couldn’t let go— and that was why she’d tried to put these doubts about Jeff’s fidelity in her head. Molly felt stupid, listening to her.
She shut off the computer.
Carrying the Tupperware full of cookies into the kitchen, she set it on the counter, and then pulled Detective Blazevich’s card from her jeans pocket. She fixed it to the front of the refrigerator with a magnet.
She had to work on her painting. But before heading upstairs to her studio on the third floor, Molly wandered back into Jeff’s study. She gazed out the window—toward the start of the cul-de-sac. She could see the NO OUTLET sign was still there.
She just needed to make sure.
Incoming Call
206-555-0416
Angela Dwyer
Chris frowned at the little screen on his cell phone. He still wasn’t used to his mother going by her maiden name.
The phone was on vibrate, but it had still startled him. Chris had been slouched over a long desk in the school library, his arms folded on the tabletop, resting his head on them. He was a little out of it, but hadn’t really fallen asleep. He couldn’t stop thinking about Mr. Corson.
During swimming season, he was excused from gym, his last class of the day. So he often came here to kill time, get a head start on his homework, or nap before swim practice. He liked the arched windows and the quiet. Plus he had a little crush on the head librarian, Merrill Chertok. The pretty brunette was his swim coach’s wife. She got him hooked on books about time travel. When things hadn’t been so great at home, he’d sometimes stay at the library until it closed at five. Unlike the assistant librarian, who had a burr up her butt, Ms. Chertok let him nap there. He’d wake up and see her behind the desk, and somehow he’d feel all right for a while.
At the moment, Ms. Chertok was at her desk, shaking her head at him. She pointed to the door.
Chris got her drift: no talking on cell phones in the library. Nodding, he quickly got to his feet and stepped out to the empty hallway with his cell. He clicked it on. “Hi, Mom,” he said, leaning against the wall. “What’s going on?”
“I’ve been thinking about you all day—ever since I heard about Mr. Corson,” she said. “How are you doing, sweetie?”
Chris rubbed his eyes. “I’m okay.” He really didn’t want to talk to her about Mr. Corson’s death. His mom had played as pivotal a role as anyone in banishing Mr. Corson from the school.
“Listen,” she said, “if you’re confused or feeling bad, I want you to know that I’m here for you, Chris. You can talk to me. Or you can talk to your father. He’s a smart man, a very compassionate man.”
He couldn’t believe she was actually praising his father to him. It was touching that in order to make sure he had someone to talk to, his mom put aside her personal grievances with his dad.
“Thanks, Mom,” he said into the phone. “Dad and I talked this morning, and I’m okay.” He wanted to change the subject. “How are you? What’s going on?”
“Well, I was in the neighborhood today,” she said. “Lynette Hahn had one of those Neighborhood Watch meetings at her place, and this attractive, young policeman told us all about the Cul-de-sac Killer. Very scary stuff! Oh, and afterwards, he flirted shamelessly with Molly. Of course, she’s so pretty. Still, I didn’t see her do anything to discourage him. Sometimes, I really wonder about her. You get along with her, honey. Has she said anything to you about her family or her past? I mean, I’m absolutely clueless
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