“Is something wrong?” It didn't occur to her at first that their visit had anything to do with the car they'd seen burning that afternoon, or the explosion they'd heard when the gas tank must have exploded. She couldn't imagine why they had come to see her. And for a moment it reminded her of the agonizing days after Allan's death, dealing with the authorities in Mexico.
“We were wondering if we could talk to you for a minute.” They were two plainclothes officers, one Asian, and the other Caucasian. They were both nicely dressed men somewhere in their forties, wearing sport coats, shirts, and ties. They said they were Detectives Lee and Stone, and handed her their cards, as they stood in the front hall, talking to her. There was nothing ominous about them, and the Asian man looked at her and smiled. “We didn't mean to frighten you, ma'am. There was an incident up the street from you this afternoon. If you were home, you probably heard it.” He was pleasant and polite and put her instantly at ease.
“Yes, we did. It looked like a car caught fire, and I assumed the gas tank exploded.”
“That's a reasonable assumption,” Detective Lee volunteered. He was watching her, as though looking for something. There was something about her that seemed to intrigue him. The other detective said nothing. He let his partner take the lead.
“Do you want to come in?” Fernanda asked. It was obvious that they weren't ready to leave yet.
“Would you mind? We'll only take a minute.” She walked them into the kitchen, and found her sandals under the kitchen table. They looked so respectable, she was embarrassed to stand there talking to them barefoot.
“Would you like to sit down?” She waved at the kitchen table, which was almost cleared. She used the sponge to get off the rest of the crumbs, tossed it into the sink, and then sat down with them. “What happened?”
“We're still working on it, we want to ask the neighbors some questions. Was anyone in the house with you when you heard the explosion?” She saw him glance around the room, taking in the elegant kitchen. It was a big handsome room, with white granite counters, state-of-the-art equipment, and a big white Venetian glass chandelier. It was in keeping with the grandeur of the rest of the house. It was an imposing, large, very formal house, in direct proportion to Allan's success at the time they acquired it. But she looked very normal and relaxed as Detective Lee took in the jeans, T-shirt, and hair loosely tied in an elastic. She looked like a kid, at first glance, and it was obvious that she had been cooking dinner, which seemed surprising to him. In a house like hers, he had expected to see a cook. Not a pretty woman in jeans and bare feet.
“My children were here with me,” she said, as he nodded.
“Anyone else?” Along with a cook, he expected maids and a housekeeper too. It was the kind of house he presumed would be staffed. Maybe an au pair or two, or even a butler. It seemed odd to him that she was the only one there. Maybe they were off on Sunday, he assumed.
“No, just us. The kids and I,” she said simply.
“Was your husband home?” he asked, and she hesitated, and then glanced away. She still hated to explain it. It was too new, and the word still hurt whenever she had to say it.
“No. I'm a widow.” Her voice was soft and seemed to catch as she said it. She hated the word.
“I'm sorry. Did any of you go outside before you heard the explosion?” He sounded kind as he asked the questions, and she didn't know why, but she liked him. So far, Detective Lee was the only one doing the talking. The other inspector, Detective Stone, still said nothing. But she saw him glance around and notice the kitchen. They seemed to be taking in everything, and studying her as well.
“No. We went outside afterward, but not before. Why? Did something else happen? Did someone set fire to the car?” Maybe it was malicious mischief, and not an innocent fire after all, she thought.
“We don't know yet.” He smiled pleasantly. “Did you look outside, or see anyone on the street? Anything unusual, or anyone suspicious?”
“No. I was doing some paperwork at my desk, I think my daughter was asleep, one of my sons was watching a video, and the other one was doing a science project for school.”
“Would you mind if we asked them?”
“No, that's fine. I'm sure the boys will think it's exciting. I'll go get them.” And then she turned as an afterthought as she stood in the doorway and Ted Lee watched her. “Would you like something to drink?” She glanced at both of them, and they shook their heads, but both of them smiled at her and thanked her. They seemed extremely polite to her. “I'll be back in a minute,” she said, and bounded up the stairs to the children's rooms. She told them that the police were downstairs and wanted to ask them some questions. As she had predicted, Ashley looked annoyed. She was on the phone and didn't want to be interrupted. And Sam looked excited.
“Are they going to arrest us?” He looked both scared and hopeful. And Will tore himself away from a Nintendo game long enough to raise an eyebrow and look intrigued.
“Was I right? Was it a car bombing?” He looked hopeful.
“No, I don't think so. They said they don't know what it was, but they want to know if any of you saw someone or something suspicious. And no, Sam, they are not going to arrest us. They don't think you did it.” Sam looked momentarily disappointed, and Will stood up and followed his mother to the stairs, while Ashley objected.
“Why do I have to come downstairs? I was asleep. Can't you tell them that? I'm talking to Marcy.” They had serious matters to discuss. Like the eighth-grade boy in their school who had evidenced some recent interest in Ashley. As far as she was concerned, that was a lot more important, and more interesting than the police.
“Tell Marcy you'll call her back. And you can tell the detectives yourself that you were sleeping,” Fernanda said, as she preceded them downstairs and they followed her to the kitchen. The children came into the room right behind her, as the two detectives stood up and smiled at them. They were a nice-looking bunch of kids, and she was a nice-looking woman. Ted Lee suddenly felt sorry for her, and from the look on her face when she'd answered him, he got the feeling her widowhood was recent. He had an instinctive sense of things, after almost thirty years of asking questions and watching people when they answered. She had looked wounded when she answered him, but she looked more comfortable now, surrounded by her children. He noticed that the little redheaded boy looked like an imp, and he was staring up at him with interest.
“My mom says you're not going to arrest us,” Sam piped up, and everyone in the room laughed, as Ted smiled down at him.
“That's right, son. Maybe you'd like to help us with the investigation. How does that sound? We could deputize you, and when you grow up, you can be a detective.”