"You know you shouldn't have done that, right?" Maggie asked her as Carol opened a large insulated bag and pulled out two foil-wrapped sandwiches. "Talked to Holly Spivak, I mean."
"I know that now, yes," Carol told her, grabbing two paper cups from a small cabinet and two cans of soda from the same refrigerator she'd taken the insulated bag from a moment earlier. She worked with a quiet efficiency that was only betrayed once as she attempted to open one of the cans and her fingers shook so badly she couldn't get a firm grip on the pop-top.
"Here, I'll do that," Maggie said helpfully, motioning for Carol to push the cans over to her.
"Thank you, dear. I'm so nervous. I just thought that if I made the whole thing public, then the police would have to drop their charges against poor Evan. Would you like more mayonnaise on that sandwich? I keep some in the fridge."
"Er ... um ... sure, fine, that's good."
Maggie wanted to slide under the table. She wanted to take off her coat and look at her elbow because it was probably broken.
But those were small things.
What she really wanted to do was figure out how to shut Carol up and make her talk, both at the same time.
Of course, then there were the questions:
So you're really my dad's lover? Girlfriend? Chippie?
Do you know he doesn't really love you and was just using you for revenge on Mom?
Do you know he loves my mom? I don't know exactly why he loves my mom, but he does, and she loves him back. But, then, who understands what goes on inside a marriage, right?
Did my dad tell you what went on inside his marriage?
What were you two doing at your house on Christmas Eve? Exchanging gifts? Exchanging something else?
Do I really want to know?
"I suppose you're here to talk about Evan," Carol said, unwrapping her sandwich.
"Yeah, okay," Maggie said, wishing herself at the North Pole or somewhere, but not until she'd eaten her own sandwich, because she'd unwrapped it, and Carol used really good marbled rye, and wasn't stingy with the turkey, and even had put lettuce and tomato on the thing, for crying out loud.
Maggie's idea of a sandwich when she was working consisted of two slices of dry, hopefully semi-fresh bread and whatever lunchmeat hadn't yet turned green in her refrigerator.
When this woman had lunch, she had lunch.
"He's really the sweetest man," Carol said, resting her elbows on the table, her fisted hands tucked beneath her chin. With her blond curls, her small, upturned nose, her neatly pressed Peter Pan collar peeking out from above a pink angora sweater, her single strand of pearls, she looked like Richie Cunningham's mom, Marion, the menopausal version. Pretty, fairly clueless, and totally harmless. Except, with Maggie's dad arrested for murder, these certainly weren't Happy Days, were they?
"Yeah, Dad's one of the good guys."
Carol smiled. "He didn't betray his vows, you know. Not with me. We were just friends. Very good friends, but no more than that. I think he thought he wanted more, should want more, when we first began seeing each other, but he didn't. I invited him up for coffee after we'd been out for dinner for the third time, and he didn't even know what that meant. Such a sweet man. He loves your mother very much, and she hurt him very badly."
"With Bodkin. Yeah, I know."
"Oh, good," Carol said, at last picking up her sandwich. "I'm so glad he's told you about that. Walter Bodkin was a bad man, a very bad man. I did my best to explain that to Evan, explain that your mother was a victim. The way ... the way I was a victim." Maggie put down her soda can with an audible thump.
"Holy cripes, was there a woman in this town the guy didn't boink—I mean ... well, you know what I mean. Sorry."
"Don't be. I was a grown woman, recently divorced, and horribly lonely. I thought I knew what I was doing. I doubt he lingered with any woman beyond a week or two, and then went on his merry way again. But few held that against him. As I told your father, Walter Bodkin had this, well, this way about him. By the time Walter was gone, I was also ready to move on with my life."
"Yeah, a way about him. I heard he was very ... talented."
Carol looked down at her sandwich, her cheeks coloring becomingly. "That I didn't tell Evan. Walter was charming, convincing, even caring. Always a sympathetic ear, you understand? And before you knew it, he was—well, he was very good at what he did. A lonely woman appreciates feeling so ... so, um, catered to. It wasn't until at least a year or so after Walter had moved on to greener pastures, and greener pastures after that, that I realized I had been used, and not the other way around. I had been looking for comfort, some sort of reassurance that I was still an attractive woman, and he gave me that gift. But Walter was also a predator. That was the whole truth. He was keeping score in his own sick, private game. Possibly the lonely women he romanced were as guilty as he was, and might not have blamed him too much. Because I can't honestly say he didn't provide ... provide a service."
Maggie looked at her half-eaten sandwich and decided she'd lost her appetite. If she stayed in this town another week or so, she'd have lost all of the weight she gained when she quit smoking. "Mom blames the hormone pills her doctor gave her," she said, then wondered why the hell she'd said it, why she was defending her mother for doing something so completely stupid.
"We all had our reasons, I'm sure. I understand there are some women who were actually grateful to Walter, even after he moved on."
"The W.B.B.s," Maggie said, reaching for her walker. "It's a club. But you didn't join, did you?"
Carol smiled sweetly. "No, I didn't. I'd like to think I still had some pride, when it was over. But maybe a club isn't so far-fetched. Isn't that why wives are so unhappy? Men have their clubs, their activities. They golf, they fish, they bowl. My ex-husband made a second career out of sports, card games and beer, all with his friends. What have we women got? Our homes, juggled careers, children if we're lucky? Oprah? And nobody plays bridge anymore. We live in a small town, Maggie, and it's even smaller in the winter months, with the tourists gone. Walter was excitement. And I believe I got your father to understand that, understand what happened to Alicia. So when he came here Christmas Eve, it was to exchange presents, and to say good-bye. I'm moving to Colorado next week to be with my grown daughter and her children. I'll come back, if there's a trial, of course, to testify in Evan's behalf."
Maggie pushed herself to her feet, feeling better, much better. "You're a good friend to my dad, Carol. Thank you."
Carol also got to her feet. "I gave him a tie," she said as she walked with Maggie to the door of the store. "You know, Christmas Eve, when we exchanged presents. He gave me a food chopper. I don't know how I'm going to pack that and get it through airport security." She leaned over to kiss Maggie's cheek. "You're a good daughter. He's very proud of you. He talked about you all the time. You, and all the children."
Maggie blinked furiously as tears stung at her eyes. "Do you have any idea who might have killed Walter? My ... my friend and I are trying to figure out who did it, to get Dad off the hook."
Carol sighed. "No, I'm afraid I don't. I wouldn't think your father had any enemies."