She put the Windex away and went into the living room to sit on the couch. She began the thought, “How could he-” but then stopped. She knew how he could. Phil was a middleaged man who was tall and trim and attractive, and he was the boss. April was pretty and sweet-natured, but brainless, and there she was, right in front of him all day long. How could he not? April must have been amazed by a man like Phil, may even have been naive enough to think that there was a nice future in a relationship with a man old enough to be her father who was cheating on his wife.
Emily corrected herself. She was a fine one to be calling April stupid. April was twentyfive years old. Whether she wanted it to be or not, her unfortunate mistake with Phil Kramer was over. She had all those years ahead of her. She was sad right now, but she had lost nothing of any importance. Emily was forty-two. She had invested twentytwo years of her life-her attractive childbearing years-in loving Phil Kramer. As of today, there was no way to pretend that she had done the right thing, made the right choice. She had devoted her life to a man who hadn’t really loved her but hadn’t bothered to tell her, to bearing and raising the beautiful, strong son they named Pete after her father, and then having the child crash a car into the front of a tractor-trailer truck. It was a hard time to find out that Phil had been with other women.
Women. Plural. She had suspected it for years. April had certainly not been the first. The suspicions Emily had pushed to the back of her mind so many times were true. There had been a hundred moments over the years when the only reason she had to believe he was faithful was that she wanted to.
She realized she was crying, and hearing herself cry this way was the loneliest sound she had ever heard. Phil was dead, Pete was dead. It didn’t matter if she cried loudly or softly. She was as alone as a person floating in the middle of the ocean.
She had been working frantically to learn the reason for Phil’s murder and to find out who did it, because being engaged in the investigation let her stay close to Phil. The connection was thin and waning, constructed of memory and intellect and intention, but it was something. Now that the truth about April had been driven into her skull, the connection was painful and sour. She couldn’t make herself think that Phil deserved her loyalty and devotion. She couldn’t even say he would have done the same for her.
Emily couldn’t sit still. She stood up and began to pace up and down the living room. She had to stop herself from formulating the idea that it was better for her to have learned about Phil’s infidelity now because knowing would help her break the bond with him. It was a cowardly impulse to make excuses for circumstance. Things didn’t happen for a reason, and people who thought they did were idiots. Knowing wasn’t better, and it didn’t make anything easier. She felt as bad about his cheating right now as she would have a year ago. She couldn’t even talk to him now and ask him why, or tell him she was hurt and angry, or do anything else. It was simply a fact that could never be changed.
She heard the sound of a car engine, but no sound of the car passing. Then she heard the slam of a car door. She stepped to the front window just as the bell rang. The sound seemed incredibly loud and intrusive. She stood still for a few seconds, then moved the curtain aside a half inch.
Ray Hall stood on the porch, looking straight into her eye. She couldn’t pretend she wasn’t at home, or that she thought the person at the door was a salesman or a solicitor. She closed her eyes and sighed, then stepped to the door and opened it.
“I’m sorry, Ray. I’m just not feeling up to visitors right now. Can I call you tomorrow?”
“April told me.”
“All right. Come in.”
Ray stepped inside and Emily closed the door. He stood in the entry until Emily walked toward the kitchen, and then he followed her. She stood at the counter and started making coffee, and he sat down at the table.
Emily looked only at the coffeemaker as she spoke. “April said you knew, and that you were going to tell me. Is she right?”
“Not exactly. If I found out for sure, I would have told you.”
VVj1 J ? 77
“Because you asked me to find out who killed Phil and why. I’ve noticed that an extramarital relationship sometimes bears on those questions.” He paused. “I wasn’t ready to say anything because I could have been wrong.”
“But you weren’t wrong. When did you start to suspect it?”
There was nothing subtle about her questions. She wasn’t imagining he had forgotten she’d asked him a couple of years ago. He chose to answer a narrower question than the one she had asked. “A few months ago, I noticed she would stay late with Phil after everyone else had left. There wasn’t that much paperwork.”
“Go on.”
“Jesus, Emily. You really don’t want to hear about that. April said she had confessed to you already. Take her word for it.”
Emily shrugged. “I guess you’re right. I probably know all of his moves already. I suppose I’m just reacting out of shock.” She gave a single, unhappy laugh. “I don’t know where the shock comes from. You remember we had a conversation about this a couple of years ago, before April came along.”
“I remember,” he said.
She folded her arms across her chest. He recognized that she was unconsciously protecting herself from what was coming. “Tell me, Ray. Were you lying then?”
“I don’t know. I thought he might be seeing somebody. I wasn’t sure, and I couldn’t tell you he was cheating if I wasn’t sure. I didn’t think what I was saying was a lie.”
“After I talked to you, did you try to find out?”
“No.”
“Not an honorable thing to do to your friend?”
“No. Come on, Emily. I think it’s time to go.”
“Go where? What are you talking about?”
“I’m going to take you out to dinner.”
“No. I’m not in the mood to get dressed up.”
“You already are dressed up. You got dressed up to go to work.”
“I can’t go out. My husband just died, and I want to be alone.”
“My friend just died, and I don’t want to be alone.” He took her hand and gently pulled her, picked up her purse, and conducted her to the door. “Nobody wants to be worthless on a bad day, Em. Not even me.”
“I’m not going, Ray. I can’t.”
He studied her face, and realized that she meant it. He put the purse on the chair near the door. “I wish you would. If you change your mind, or just want to talk, call me.”
“All right.” She looked at the doorknob.
He saw where she was looking, opened the door, and stepped outside. He watched her shut the door, heard the lock, and then the faint sound of her going deeper into the house. He felt a twinge, an impulse to protect her. It was as though he were missing a chance, letting something happen that he shouldn’t. He walked to his car. As he drove away up Emily’s street he looked in his rearview mirror several times, but he couldn’t find an excuse to stop or go back.
11
Jerry Hobart looked in the telephone book, then drove the blue Hyundai to the Disabled American Veterans storefront a few miles north of Los Angeles in Sun Valley. There he arranged to donate the car in exchange for a tax deduction. The pink slip carried the name David Finlay, so the tax deduction wasn’t much use to Jerry Hobart, who had not paid taxes since before his incarceration nearly twenty years ago. There was no immediate need to get rid of the car, but he liked to get rid of anything that might be connected to a shooting. He accepted a ride in the Hyundai from the man in charge of the office, a volunteer named Don who hit the pedals with his left foot because his right leg was made of glossy plastic. The part that Hobart could see above the sock looked like the leg of a doll.