“Maybe. I hate to open it up to the public if we don’t have to.”
Cope kept studying the husband on the TV monitor. Muse wondered what he was thinking. Cope had known so much damn tragedy, including the death of his first wife. Muse glanced about the office. There were five new iPods, still in the boxes, sitting on the table. “What’s this?” she asked.
“iPods.”
“I know that. I mean, what are they for?”
Cope’s gaze never left Cordova’s. “I’m almost hoping he did it.”
“Cordova? He didn’t.”
“I know. You can almost feel the hurt coming off him.”
Silence.
“The iPods are for the bridesmaids,” Cope said.
“Sweet.”
“Maybe I should talk to him.”
“Cordova?”
Cope nodded.
“That might help,” she said.
“Lucy loves sad songs,” he said. “You know that, right?”
Though a bridesmaid, Muse hadn’t known Lucy all that long or, in many ways, all that well. She nodded anyway, but Cope was still staring at the monitor.
“Every month I make her a new CD. It’s corny, I know. But she loves it. So every month I scour for the absolute saddest songs I can find. Total heartbreakers. Like this month-I have ‘Congratulations’ by Blue October, and ‘Seed’ by Angie Aparo.”
“I never heard of either of those.”
He smiled. “Oh, you will. That’s the gift. You’re getting all those playlists preloaded into the iPod.”
“Great idea,” she said. Muse felt the stab. Cope made CDs for the woman he loved. How lucky was she?
“I used to wonder why Lucy liked those songs so much. You know what I mean? She sits in the dark and listens and cries. Music does that to her. I didn’t get it. And like last month? I had this song from Missy Higgins. Do you know her?”
“No.”
“She’s great. Her music is a total killer. This one song she talks about an ex-love and how she can’t stand the thought of another hand upon him, even though she knows she should.”
“Sad.”
“Exactly. And Lucy is happy now, right? I mean, we are so good. We finally found each other, and we’re getting married. So why does she still listen to the heartbreakers?”
“You’re asking me?”
“No, Muse, I’m explaining something to you. I didn’t understand for a long time. But I do now. The sad songs are a safe hurt. It’s a diversion. It’s controlled. And maybe it helps you imagine that real pain will be like that. But it’s not. Lucy knows that, of course. You can’t prepare for real pain. You just have to let it rip you apart.”
His phone buzzed. Cope finally pulled away his gaze and answered the phone. “Copeland,” he said. Then he looked up at Muse. “They found Marianne Gillespie’s next of kin. You better go.”
30
AS soon as the two girls were alone in the bedroom, Yasmin started crying.
“What’s wrong?” Jill asked.
Yasmin pointed at her computer and sat. “People are so horrible.”
“What happened?’
“I’ll show you. It’s so mean.”
Jill pulled the chair and sat next to her friend. She bit down on a fingernail.
“Yasmin?”
“What?”
“I’m worried about my brother. And something happened to my dad too. That’s why Mom dropped me back off here.”
“Did you ask your mom about it?”
“She won’t tell me.”
Yasmin wiped her tears, still typing. “They always want to protect us, don’t they?”
Jill wondered if Yasmin was being sarcastic or serious or maybe a little of both. Yasmin’s eyes were back on the monitor. She pointed.
“Wait, here it is. Take a look.”
It was a MySpace page entitled “Male or Female?-The Story of XY.”The wallpaper had a plethora of gorillas and monkeys. Under favorite movies, the two listed were Planet of the Apesand Hair.The default song was Peter Gabriel’s “Shock the Monkey.” There were National Geographic videos, all involving primates. One was a YouTube short called “Dancing Gorilla.”
But the worst part was the default picture-a school photograph of Yasmin with a beard drawn over the face.
Jill whispered, “I can’t believe it.”
Yasmin started crying again.
“How did you find this?”
“Marie Alexandra, that bitch, sent me the link. She copied in half the class.”
“Who made it up?”
“I don’t know. I bet she did. She sent it like she was all concerned but I could almost hear her giggling, you know?”
“And she copied other people in?”
“Yes. Heidi and Annie and…”
Jill shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?”
Jill said nothing.
Yasmin’s face turned red. “Someone has to pay for this.”
Jill looked at her friend. Yasmin used to be so gentle. She used to love to play the piano and dance and laugh at dumb movies. Now all Jill could see was the rage. It scared her. So much had gone wrong in the past few days. Her brother had run away, her father was in some kind of trouble, and now Yasmin was angrier than ever.
“Girls?”
It was Mr. Novak calling from downstairs. Yasmin wiped the tears off her face. She opened the door and called out, “Yes, Daddy?”
“I made some popcorn.”
“We’ll be down in a minute.”
“Beth and I were thinking about taking you guys to the mall. We can see a movie or maybe you two can play at the arcade. What do you think?”
“We’ll be down in a second.”
Yasmin closed the door again.
“My dad needs to get out of the house. He’s been freaking.”
“Why?”
“The weirdest thing happened. Mr. Lewiston’s wife showed up.”
“At your house? No way.”
Yasmin nodded, her eyes widened. “I mean, I guess it was her. I’ve never seen her, but she was driving his crappy car.”
“So what happened?”
“They started arguing.”
“Oh my God.”
“I couldn’t hear. But she looked really pissed.”
From downstairs: “Popcorn’s ready!”
The two girls came downstairs. Guy Novak was waiting for them. His smile was strained. “IMAX has the new Spider-Man movie,” he said.
The doorbell rang.
Guy Novak turned to it. His body tensed.
“Dad?”
“I’ll get it,” he said.
He started for the front door. The two girls followed, keeping a little distance. Beth was there. Mr. Novak looked out the little window, frowned, opened the door. A woman stood in the doorway. Jill looked at Yasmin. Yasmin shook her head. This woman was not Mr. Lewiston’s wife.
Mr. Novak said, “Can I help you?”
The woman peeked behind him, saw the girls, then looked back up at Yasmin’s dad.
“Are you Guy Novak?” the woman asked.
“Yes.”
“My name is Loren Muse. Can we talk a moment in private?”
LOREN Muse stood in the doorway.
She spotted the two little girls behind Guy Novak. One was probably his daughter, the other, well, maybe she belonged to the woman standing behind them both. The woman, she quickly noted, was not Reba Cordova. The woman looked fine and fairly relaxed, but you never know. Muse kept her eyes on her, looking for some sort of signal to show that she was under duress.
There were no signs of blood or trauma in the foyer. The girls looked a little timid but otherwise okay. Before she rang the bell, Muse had pressed her ear against the door. She’d heard nothing unusual, just Guy Novak calling upstairs about popcorn and a movie.
“What’s this about?” Guy Novak asked.
“I think it would be better if we talked alone.”
She stressed the word “alone,” hoping he would get the hint. He didn’t.
“Who are you?” he asked.
Muse did not want to identify herself as a law enforcement officer with the girls still in the room, so she leaned in, glanced at the girls, and then looked him hard in the eye. “I think it would be better in private, Mr. Novak.”