“That leads us back to Vera,” Gray said. “At the moment I don’t know how I’m going to explain it.”

  Vera smiled. “Guys, I’m not a child. I don’t need either of you fussing over me. I didn’t kill Frank. Maybe my word doesn’t mean anything. Probably it shouldn’t. But the reason I let Podeski wander through my house is because I had nothing to hide. And as far as Kate’s break-in goes . . .”

  I waved her off. “I don’t know about Frank, but I don’t see you killing a bird and then coming back three days later, putting him in a shoe box, and leaving him on my porch.”

  “It is a bit macabre, isn’t it,” she said.

  Gray sipped his coffee, then sighed. “Whoever it is has a flair for the dramatic.”

  “That could be a few people,” I said. That list included Wyatt, Linda, and even, on occasion, me. But it wasn’t what I wanted to think about. I sat back against the leather seat and bit into my dessert.

  An hour later, despite Gray’s persistence, I begged off getting a ride home, claiming I had errands to run. Vera wanted to walk home, and Gray said something about going to his office downtown.

  “Are you sure I can’t drop you off on my way?” he said, once we’d said good-bye to Vera.

  “No. I’ve got to pick up groceries and make a few other stops. But I’ll see you the day after tomorrow.”

  “Another interview. I really hate interviews but it’s for a good cause.” He paused. “You’re very nice to her, Kate. I know Vera’s a good person, but under the circumstances no one would blame you if you hated her.”

  “It wasn’t all her fault.”

  “You can’t blame yourself.”

  “I meant Frank.”

  He nodded. “It’s hard, isn’t it? Marriage, I mean. You make a promise to one person and then you meet someone else, someone you might like more, might be more suited to, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  His eyes, his startlingly green eyes, were staring into mine. Suddenly I was aware of the way his crisp white shirt accentuated the muscle on his arm and the casual way he held his suit coat. It was the way he got to people, I realized. People not used to having the attentions of someone with his charm and good looks.

  “I don’t know if Frank was suited to Vera.” My voice was harder than it needed to be.

  “I didn’t mean . . . ,” he started. “I just really admire the way you’ve handled this. I don’t think everyone would be as generous as you.”

  “Thank you.” As much as I was trying not to be won over, I found myself grateful for the compliment.

  “You sure I can’t give you a ride?”

  “Errands,” I reminded him.

  “Okay.” He touched my shoulder lightly and then headed off toward his car.

  I’d lied about the errands. I just didn’t want to talk about Frank or Vera anymore. As soon as I walked away, though, my phone rang and I knew Frank would be back in the conversation.

  “Hi, Lynette,” I said.

  “Kate, dear, I’m so glad I caught you. How has your day gone?”

  I hesitated but I found myself telling her anyway. Not about the funeral, but about being called to the police station and about the plant in Vera’s backyard.

  “That’s wonderful, Kate. It sounds like the police are going to arrest her soon. I’m so proud of you.”

  My feet, which had been in three-inch pumps all day, were finally beginning to hurt. I found a nearby bench and sat.

  “The thing is, Lynette, I don’t think she did it.” There was a pause.

  “Based on what?”

  That was a good question. “Based on gut instinct, I guess. I know how difficult this has been for you. It’s been hard on me too . . .”

  “On you?” Her voice was shrill and uncompromising.

  What followed was the “talking-to” I’d been getting from my mother-in-law since my wedding. Something about how I needed to remember where my loyalties were, especially after everything Frank’s family had done for me. She was about two minutes into her tirade when I heard a scuffle and Alex came on the line.

  “Hey, kiddo,” he said with forced casualness. “The reason Lynette was calling is that we can’t find the cuff links we gave Frank for his wedding. For your wedding.”

  “It might have gotten mixed up with some of the stuff I took back from Vera,” I said. “I’ll check when I get home.”

  “Listen, they were a wedding present, so they’re really yours, but we were thinking of giving them to Henry. He just got tenure.”

  Henry was Frank’s younger brother and a history professor at Northwestern University. It wasn’t the U.S. Senate seat they wanted for Frank, but at least it gave them bragging rights.

  “You can have the cuff links,” I said. This whole thing was getting exhausting. I would have given them anything just to be left alone. “Let me check when I get home,” I said again. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, dear. And don’t worry about Lynette. You just do what you think is right, and we’ll be one hundred percent behind you.”

  “I know, Alex, thanks,” I said. “Listen, while we’re on the subject of Frank’s belongings, did he happen to store his paintings at your house?”

  “No. Doesn’t that woman have them?”

  “She said she doesn’t. That’s okay. Don’t worry about it. I’ll find them.”

  I hung up before Lynette could get back on the phone and yell at me about losing her son’s legacy or some such nonsense.

  I took a cab to my neighborhood then picked up some pasta for dinner. The apple torte was great, but since it was the only thing I’d eaten since breakfast, it was hardly going to keep me going into the evening. I passed a drugstore and remembered I was out of shampoo. After I got that, I stopped at the bank to withdraw some money for the next day’s lunch.

  “I’m doing errands after all,” I said, smiling. A man walked past me but didn’t even look. That’s the great thing about city living. You can talk to yourself and no one bothers to notice.

  I walked the two blocks to the house, grabbed the mail, and went inside. I was looking forward to a relaxing evening and a good night’s sleep. But it only took a moment to know my plans had changed.

  Fifty-five

  All the wedding photos of Frank and me, the ones I’d packed up and stored in the garage months before, were displayed in the living room. They were on shelves, the coffee table, even the couch. There were other photos of us when we were dating, when we first married, when we bought the house, took vacations, celebrated anniversaries, even one taken the week before we split up. Everywhere I looked were images of Frank and me from every part of our life together. Maybe three or four dozen of them. Many of them were in the frames I’d put them in, and stored them in, but some were taken out of the photo albums that had been in the kitchen. And even those were open and propped up against the coffee table. It was as if someone wanted my whole life to flash before my eyes.

  I didn’t take another step inside. I turned and ran down the steps and down the block until I came to a major street with people and traffic and noise. My feet were pounding in shoes not meant for running, but I would have gone another ten miles if I had to.

  I grabbed my cell phone and dialed 911.

  “Hello. My name is Kate Conway. There’s been a break-in at my house. I need someone to come quickly, and call Detective Podeski of the Area 3 homicide division.”

  Within minutes two squad cars were on my street. I’d waited at the end of the block until I saw the flashing blue lights and then went running toward them. Podeski arrived just seconds later. He and two other officers went into my house while I waited with a third uniformed officer outside.

  It was several minutes before they came out and when they did, Podeski was shaking his head.

  “Do you have a place to spend the night?” he asked me.

  “Yes, I guess. Is there anybody in there?”

  “No. The place is clear. The only area that’s been disturbed is the living room. Whoever did it designed it to scare the hell out of you the moment you walked in the door.”

  “It worked.”

  “Listen, Mrs. Conway, this is getting serious.”

  “I didn’t do this.”

  He nodded. “I believe you. I know this is hard and I know you’re scared, but you have to think about who might want to do this to you.”

  “I don’t know.” I threw up my arms. “You’re the one investigating Frank’s death. Shouldn’t someone be trying to come after you?”

  “And you’re sure this is about your husband?”

  “I don’t know. You obviously know about the show I’m working on. I talked with Detective Rosenthal. She told me you called her.”

  “She didn’t think anyone you’ve interviewed would do this.”

  “There’s nothing else going on in my life. There’s Frank and there’s the show. That’s it.”

  My voice was getting loud. I was sounding hysterical. I could see a few neighbors standing on their porches, using me for their evening’s entertainment. I took a deep breath and leaned against one of the police cars.

  Podeski watched me quietly. Then, when I was calm, he said softly, “Whoever did this is trying to send you a message.”

  “Well, he’s doing a terrible job because I have no idea what the message is.”

  “The good news is that this sicko hasn’t tried to hurt you so far.”

  “I liked every part of that sentence except for the last two words.”

  I took another deep breath. I tried to think. I knew I was shaking and my heart was pounding, but I had to focus. Podeski was right. Someone was trying to scare me. The only control I had over the situation was not to let myself be scared. I took a third deep breath and looked toward the house.

  “I’ll need clothes and some toiletries. I just need to go in for ten minutes.”

  He sent me inside. I walked quickly past the living room, trying not to look at the pictures still displayed there or at the officers who were photographing the display while commenting about how weird it all was.

  I went into the bedroom, where everything still looked normal. I grabbed some pajamas, Frank’s Springsteen T-shirt, jeans, a white short-sleeved shirt, and some gym shoes. I stuffed them in an overnight bag, slipped off my pumps, put on a pair of sandals, and sat on the bed. Facing me on the dresser was the stuff I’d brought back from Vera’s on Saturday, which had been piled on the stuff she’d brought to me before that.

  I’d promised Alex I’d look for the cuff links when I got home, and if I didn’t I’d have to explain why or face another dressing-down from Lynette. Neither option seemed very attractive.

  I got up and carefully searched through the things, moving one piece at a time. There were no cuff links. But they weren’t the only thing that wasn’t there. Frank’s wedding ring was gone.

  I opened up the boxes of Frank’s old clothes that I’d promised to donate but hadn’t yet. I went through each piece but still no cuff links. In the pocket of his favorite jeans I did find what had happened to them, though. There was a receipt for a pair of diamond cuff links from a local pawnshop.

  “What the hell did you do that for, Frank?” I asked no one.

  “Mrs. Conway, are you okay?” Podeski was at the door to my bedroom.

  “I can’t find my husband’s wedding ring. It was in this pile of his things that I’d left on my dresser. And now it’s gone.”

  “You sure?”

  He didn’t wait for a response. He strode into the room and went searching through the pile himself. He came up just as empty as I had. We searched the floor around the dressers, the drawers, and finally the whole room. Nothing.

  For the next hour I went room by room checking everything, with Podeski standing next to me. We looked for anything else that might be missing. There were a few sauté pans, a large plastic pitcher we used to take on picnics, and a paring knife that I couldn’t find, but I figured Frank had taken those, especially since Vera seemed to have revived his love of cooking. Everything of value was still there. Everything but the ring.

  Fifty-six

  I showed up on Ellen’s doorstep with an overnight bag and a stupid story about finding rats in my house.

  “This is about that detective,” she said before I’d even sat down. “Are you trying to avoid him or something?”

  “If I were, I wouldn’t have come here,” I pointed out. “He knows where you live.”

  “You didn’t come here because you found rats, Kate. So if it isn’t the detective, what is it? And I think we both know I will not let up until you tell me.”

  I took a moment and came up with a plausible story. I hinted that the Missing Persons episode I was working on brought me in contact with some drug dealer who didn’t like that I might mention his name in the story. I didn’t want to be home alone in case he came by to convince me not to include him. It was more interesting and less personal than the truth.

  Ellen leaned back, obviously sure she had gotten the full story. “You can have the guest room for as long as you want, but I’m surprised at you, letting some jerk scare you out of your own house.”

  “I’m a little surprised too,” I admitted.

  Andres and Victor picked me up at my sister’s house at eleven thirty the next morning and we drove south. On the way I told them about my latest adventure and was chewed out for not being more careful.

  “I think you should call Mike and tell him that we’re canceling the rest of the shoot,” Andres said.

  “This might not have anything to do with the shoot. It might be about Frank.”

  “If we cancel the shoot, you’ll know for sure.”

  “That still doesn’t tell me who it is or guarantee it will stop,” I said. “We’ll miss two days’ pay for nothing. I can’t afford that, can you?”

  Andres shook his head. “There has to be a better way to make a living than this.”

  We stopped first at the clinic that Theresa had saved from closing down. I didn’t see it making the finished piece; we had photos of Theresa with the mayor that would cover the voice-over about her award, but it was something to shoot. I left the guys to get the exterior while I went looking for permission to film interiors.

  I didn’t get it.

  “We have patient privacy to consider,” the administrator told me. She was a formidable-looking woman, a Sherman tank in pumps, but when I told her why I was getting footage, she melted. “Theresa was a lovely girl, so giving.”

  “Do you know how she got the money for the clinic? I heard it was a hundred thousand dollars.”

  “It was. Kept us going until the grant came through. She made some calls. She knew people.”

  “How? She was a nursing student from a working-class family.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. When someone works miracles, you don’t ask for details.”

  “Did you contact the mayor’s office? Is that how she got the award?”

  “Oh, no. Gray Meyer did that. Have you met him?”

  “I have.”

  “That is a beautiful man,” she said, flashing a smile. “He called the mayor, I think. Pretty much set the whole thing up. She was Volunteer of the Year before we’d even received all the money she’d raised.”

  “How did he do that?”

  She laughed. “When Gray Meyer wants something, he gets it. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

  I came back out to the van, annoyed. If Gray Meyer had suggested Theresa for the award, why not just say it? It was my job to manipulate people, but ever since I’d started on this story I’d felt like the puppet instead of the puppeteer.

  “What’s next?” Andres asked as we drove away from the clinic.

  I thought about it for a moment. “Let’s go back to the coffee shop where Theresa was last seen.”

  “We already have that,” Victor said.

  “Not inside.”

  “Do we need it?” Andres asked.

  “Someone is trying to scare the hell out of me,” I said. “If it has to do with Frank then it can only be Vera, but if it’s got something to do with Theresa’s death, then I’m going to find out everything I can about her. And while I’m doing that, you can grab some B-roll. It’s perfect.” Before he could respond, I got out of the van and walked across the street to Hank’s.

  Hank’s Restaurant was every bit as depressing on the inside as it looked on the outside. The booths were old and worn, as were the waitresses. The menus were laminated but still managed to have stains all over them, and there was a cigarette burn in the No Smoking sign.

  “Can I speak to the manager?” I asked a man behind the cash register.

  “Why?”

  I pointed toward Andres, holding his camera, and Victor, standing behind him, yawning. “We’re a camera crew hoping to shoot some footage inside the restaurant.”

  “I’m the manager. What’s it for?”

  “A show on Crime TV called Missing Persons. It’s about Theresa Moretti.”

  “I remember her.”

  That surprised me. “You do?”

  “Not her,” he corrected himself. “I remember the police bringing around her picture.”

  “Had you ever seen her in here?”

  “What did I tell the police?”

  “I don’t know,” I lied. “Let me show you a picture and see if it jogs your memory.” I pulled out my laptop and set it up at one of the tables. “Is it okay if they get some shots of the place while we chat?”

  The manager looked at Andres. “No customers without their permission,” he said.

  Andres nodded and he and Victor walked toward the booths.

  I pulled up one of the photos of Theresa I’d gotten on disc from Linda. “Does she look familiar?”

 

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