The Secret Desires of a Soccer Mom (16 page)

“Well…” Portman stood up. “I think that’s about it, Ms.
Atwell
—
Paige. We’ll let you go collect your children
now.”

“Right,” I said, having momentarily forgotten I had any.
“Yes, well, I hope I helped… at least a little.”

“One more thing,” said Conroy, still seated, said. “Can you
think of anyone who may have wanted to hurt Karen Sutherland? For any reason?”
His eyes bore into mine, and I felt the heat of panic rise into my cheeks. Was
he on to me? Could he see that I knew more than I was telling?

“No,” I said, eyes darting nervously from one detective to
the other. “Everyone loved her.” There was an awkward pause while Detective
Conroy continued to sit motionless on my couch. This must have been some sort
of “bad cop” tactic, like the pressure of his gaze would cause me to blurt out,
“Okay, okay… Her secret lover might have killed her, or, possibly,
her-low-sperm count husband.”

But I held my tongue, and soon was following the detectives
to their unmarked car and placing my digits on a small scanner. Before
departing, Portman turned to me. “If you think of anything else that we should
know about…”
—
he proffered a business card between his
index and middle fingers
—
“give me a call. My direct
line is on the card.”

“Okay.” I took his number. “I will.”

“Thanks for your cooperation.”

“You’re welcome.” I smiled at him, thankful that he had been
there to buffer his cold and somewhat abrasive partner. Detective Portman
smiled back. He had such an attractive face, despite being a bit heavy. And, I
had to admit, cops were sort of sexy. I guess it was the power thing, I mean…
he was carrying a gun and everything. I was still smiling. He was still
smiling. What were we doing? Were we flirting… just a little bit? “Bye,” I
said, my voice sounding ridiculously seductive.

“Have a nice day,” he said, eyes still connected to mine.

God, I really needed to have sex with my husband.

Half an hour later, I had gathered the children and taken
them to their swimming lessons. I sat in the bleachers, giving the appropriate
thumbs-up signals to their aquatic endeavors, but my mind was fixed on the
case. The police interview was concerning me, and not just my slight flirtation
with Detective Portman. I was almost getting used to my lack of self-control
around attractive men. But their presence on my doorstep obviously meant there
were suspicions surrounding Karen’s death. I knew it couldn’t have been as
simple as an accidental fall. But now, I was afraid I could be in trouble. I
was withholding evidence—or withholding
motive
, or something… Whatever
the proper term was, if the cops found out that I knew about Karen’s affair,
they would be angry. They’d probably want to see me prosecuted for obstructing
the course of justice—or something like that. What if they put me in jail? The
kids would have to visit me at the state pen, wearing one of those hideous
orange jumpsuits. I didn’t want to put them through that trauma.

When we arrived home, I sent Chloe to the guest bathroom to
shower the chlorine off, and drew a bath for Spencer. With the sounds of my son
happily splashing in the background, I sat down in the hall holding the
cordless phone. I had to talk to someone about my police interview today, but
who? After a few moments’ contemplation, I dialed Carly.

“Hello?”

I was relieved when she answered. Lately, both Carly and
Trudy had been so busy catering to Doug’s needs and working on Karen’s
charitable foundation, that they had been largely unavailable. “Hi,” I said.
“It’s Paige.”

“Oh, hi. How are you?” She sounded upbeat.

“Fine… fine… And you?”

“Busy.” She launched into an explanation of the banking
processes involved in setting up a memorial trust. I half listened to her, the
other ear trained on the bathroom to ensure Spencer wasn’t drowning. “So…” she
finally said. “What’s new with you? How are the kids?”

“They’re good.” I paused briefly. “The police were here
today, to talk about Karen’s… death.”

“They came to see me, too,” she said, casually.

“Really? What did they ask you?”

“Oh, it was just a routine visit
—
something
about fingerprints in Karen’s attached garage.”

“They took my prints. They’re eliminating possible
suspects.”

“Mine, too. That’s right. They said they were eliminating
suspects.”

“Which means,” I said, my voice escalating. “That they are
looking for someone.” I lowered my voice to a hiss. “A
suspect
.”

“I wouldn’t read too much into it,” she said. “They have to
do this whenever there’s an unexplained death.”

I continued, my voice hushed, “But if everything had checked
out with the autopsy… If it had simply been an accident or the result of some
pre-existing condition that caused her to fall and hit her head, why would they
care who was in her garage?”

“You’ve been watching too much
CSI
!” Carly laughed.
“It was a routine procedure.”

I felt defensive. Carly obviously thought I was on some kind
of insane witch-hunt. If only she knew Karen’s secrets, too, then she would see
the validity of my suspicions. If she knew, we could commiserate, hypothesize
and brainstorm together. Once again, I felt the overwhelming urge to spill my guts,
but something stopped me. I wasn’t sure how Carly would react to the
information. She was still so hurt by her ex-husband’s infidelity that she
might feel betrayed by Karen. She might think that Doug deserved to know what
kind of woman he had been married to. She might put a halt to the Alternative
Infertility Clinic trust, thus prompting a number of questions from Trudy and
others—not to mention all the barren women who needed her help!. No, Carly was
not an ideal confidante. And, I had to admit, I did watch a lot of
CSI
.

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” I said. “I guess I’m still
having a little trouble believing that Karen just fell over and died in her
attached garage.”

“Well, she did,” Carly stated, factually. “There were no
signs of forced entry, no signs of a struggle, Doug has an airtight alibi
—
”

“He does?”

“The coroner set the time of death between 11:15 A.M. and
1:00 P.M. Doug was on a flight back from Chicago that didn’t land until 1:45.
There’s no way he could have done it.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I was there when the police called to tell him he wouldn’t
be considered a suspect.” Why hadn’t I thought to ask Carly all this stuff
before? If Doug was out of the equation, it made it all the more imperative
that I speak to Javier. He was definitely the prime suspect now. Carly
interrupted my reverie. “It was an accident, Paige. That’s all. Let it go.”

I laughed, awkwardly. “I know. I know. I’d better lay off
the prime-time dramas.”

“I’ve got to go,” Carly said. “Trudy and I are getting
together to discuss having a celebrity golf tournament with proceeds going to
Karen’s charity.”

But of course, getting my mind off of Karen’s death wasn’t
as easy as forcing myself to watch
Everybody Loves Raymond
. I had to
admit that Carly made some sense, but I couldn’t let go of my suspicions that
easily. Until I spoke to Javier on Wednesday, I would be stuck living with a
pervasive uncertainty. I was still obsessing when Paul got home from work at
eight.

“How was your day?” he asked, kissing me quickly as he entered
the kitchen.

“Fine,” I said. “I made us some chicken curry. I hope you’re
hungry.”

“Starving! I’ll go kiss the kids and be right down.”

When we were alone, seated at the kitchen nook, I spoke.
“How’s the curry?”

“Good,” he replied, taking a large drink of milk. “Hot.”

“So…” I began casually, forking a piece of chicken. “The
police were here today.”

“The police? What for?”

“They had some questions about Karen’s death.”

Paul dropped his fork. “What kind of questions?”

“Routine,” I shrugged, adopting Carly’s casual manner.
“Apparently, they have to ask certain things when there’s an unexplained
death.”

“So, what did they ask?”

“They asked who would have had a legitimate reason to be in
Karen’s garage. They found a lot of prints in there.”

“What did you tell them?” Paul was staring at me intensely.

“Well… I said: me, Carly, Jane, Trudy…”

“I don’t like this,” Paul said, standing and moving to the
fridge to refill his milk glass.

“Is it too spicy? I could add some more yoghurt?”

“Not the curry, Paige. I don’t like the police nosing around
asking questions when you’re here alone.”

“They weren’t
nosing
. They were asking routine
questions.”

“There was a death across the road. You placed yourself at
the scene.”

“I
was
at the scene,” I said, my voice rising in frustration.
“I used to go to Karen’s place all the time. My prints would be all over the
place. They were eliminating me as a suspect.”

He returned to the table. “Next time the cops come around, I
want you to call me.”

“Why? What’s the big deal?”

“Just call me next time, okay?” He said, forcefully.

“Okay,” I snapped.

“We have to be careful. Things get misconstrued. People can
be falsely incriminated.” Now who was watching too many prime-time dramas? “If
they come around again, we should call a lawyer.”

“They won’t be coming around again,” I fumed. “You’re the
one who said it was just a freak accident.”

“And what do you think?” He growled. “That there’s some
murderer on the loose in Aberdeen Mists?”

“I never said that.”

He put his fork down. “Do you think it was Doug?”

I hesitated. “Why, do you?”

“No! Christ, Paige. All you have to do is look at him to see
that he couldn’t possibly have done it. He’s devastated.”

I took a mouthful of food and chewed in silence for a few
moments. Paul obviously hadn’t noticed Doug’s cool aloofness and detached air,
but now wasn’t the time to bring it up. “He has an airtight alibi, anyway,” I
said.

“How do you know that?”

“Carly told me. She was there when the police cleared him.”

“Well…” Paul said, scooping up some curry. “That settles it
then. There was nothing sinister about Karen’s death. Can we please just drop
the subject?”

“Fine.”

“But if the police come around again, call me.”

“Fine!”

We finished our meal in angry silence, until Paul excused
himself and went to his study. I loaded the dishwasher noisily, banging dishes
and slamming cupboards with frustration. It annoyed me that Paul wouldn’t even
entertain the possibility that Karen’s death was anything more than an
accident. And even more annoying was his attitude toward my police interview.
Next time the cops come around, I want you to call me.” Did he think I was such
a bumbling fool that I would somehow implicate myself in Karen’s death? Ha! He
obviously didn’t realize what a savvy woman he was married to. I was fast becoming
a master at keeping secrets and feigning innocence. And in a couple of days, I
could very well be taking my wealth of knowledge to the police. After my
meeting with Javier, I would decide whether he needed to be turned over to the
law. Paul would be eating his words when the police thanked me for my
contribution to the case. I might even get an award or citation of some sort.

With the kitchen clean, I decided a long, soothing soak in
the tub was in order. As I headed for the stairs, I poked my head briefly into
my husband’s office. “I’m going to have a bath,” I said shortly then turned to
go.

“Hey,” he called, his voice conciliatory.

I stuck my head back inside. “What?” I was not ready to
forgive him yet.

“I’m sorry. I just… I just worry about you, that’s all.”

“Worry about what?”

He sighed heavily and rubbed his eyebrows with his fingers.
“This whole thing with Karen… I don’t know… you’ve been acting strangely ever
since it happened.”

“Of course I have. She was one of my best friends!”

“But it’s like you’re obsessed with the way…” he trailed
off. “… With the way she… passed away.”

“I’m not obsessed. I’m not. I just think…” Suddenly, my
words were blocked by a lump of emotion, and tears obscured my vision.

“Hey…” Paul said gently, moving toward me and enveloping me
in a warm embrace. “It’s okay, babe… It’s okay.”

I cried for a little while, soothed by my husband’s soft
words and warm hands on my back. When I had spent some of the sadness in me, I
nuzzled into his neck. “Thank you,” I murmured. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Our faces turned inward and our mouths found each other. We
kissed for a while
—
at first small, comforting pecks
that eventually grew in intensity and passion. “Let’s go upstairs,” Paul
whispered into my hair.

It was only Monday, a night before I had planned our session
of earth-moving sex. But hey—just like Jane said, sometimes you had to be
spontaneous. “Let’s go,” I whispered back.

The sex was great, really, really great. It had been ages
since Paul and I had had an encounter like that. It had been ages since we’d
had any sort of encounter at all. My earlier attempts at resexualizing had all
failed miserably, and since the tragedy across the street, I hadn’t been in the
mood. Paul had tried once, shortly after Karen died, but I had called him an
insensitive prick and he had been fearful to approach me again. I had been so
absorbed in my loss and the mystery surrounding my friend’s demise, that
fucking had dropped dramatically on my list of priorities.

But now… well, now any sexual hunger I’d had had been sated.
How could it not be? We had done it for an hour and a half—which, in case you
have not been married for twelve years—is a very long time. We did it all:
fellatio, cunnilingus, even sixty-nine! We tried all the positions: missionary,
girl on top, doggy-style, spoons… It was incredible! Crazy even! It was just
what I had needed. There was only one problem. The entire time, I had been
thinking about Javier.