Slice (28 page)

S
IXTY-EIGHT

“
W
ell, you're going to have to see each other eventually,” Paulette said, her voice hard and on the edge of anger. “You're sisters and you live next door to one another.”

Paulette had marched over to Monica's house after talking with Jessie. Her niece stood in her sleek, modern kitchen, with all its spun glass and shiny aluminum. The late-morning sun reflected off the polished granite of the countertops. The place was so large and cavernous that their voices echoed.

“No,” Monica said firmly. “I can't see her yet.”

Paulette took a deep breath and calmed herself. “Where's Todd?” she asked.

“He's left me! Don't you
understand
, Aunt Paulette? Todd has left me because of Jessie!”

The older woman folded her arms across her chest. “Karma's a bitch.”

Monica laughed bitterly, and a little crazily. “Just like all the others, you take Jessie's side! Just like Mom, you've always preferred Jessie!”

“Damn it, Monica, I love you both. I just want to bring peace to this family.”

“I can't see her,” Monica whimpered, covering her face now with her hands.

“Where did Todd go?”

“I don't know,” Monica mumbled. “When I came home, he was gone. He'd packed up most of his clothes. He hasn't called me at all.”

“Odd that he should do that,” Paulette said, her voice edged with sarcasm. “Why should he be angry with you? Hm? Have any idea, Monica?”

“Jessie must have told him something!” Monica poured herself a glass of wine—her second since Paulette had arrived. “She must have told him a lie about me! Something that would make him angry at me!”

“No, I think it was the other way around, Monica,” Paulette said. “I think he told
her
the truth, and then her reaction told him everything he needed to know.”

Monica took a long sip from her glass. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“I think you do, Monica. You were never pregnant, were you?”

Monica said nothing.

“You lied to Todd that you were in order to win him away from your sister. And then you lied again, telling him that you had told her and that she had asked you never to raise the issue again. That's why Todd acted as if Jessie already knew, and why he seemed so flabbergasted when it appeared that, in fact, she did not.”

Monica set her wineglass down and looked Paulette directly in the eyes. “I
was
pregnant,” she said forcefully. “I lost the baby.”

“Oh, come on, Monica, I was with you when you went to the doctor a few years ago! Have you forgotten that? You asked me to go with you when you were starting your fertility treatments. I saw the reports that came back. I saw that you had never been pregnant—ever! In your entire life!”

Monica covered her ears with her hands.

“And I was there when you told the doctor that he must never share all the details of the report with Todd. I was curious then as to why, but you just said it was too difficult for Todd to talk about. Now I've figured out why you didn't want Todd to see the reports. Oh, yes, I can see your lie very clearly in my mind's eye!”

“Oh, please, spare me your mind's-eye supernatural hocus pocus!”

“I can see it, Monica! Deny it all you want, but I know what you did.”

Monica stalked out of the kitchen. Paulette followed, close on her heels.

“Right now, at this very moment, Jessie is down at the police station, answering more questions about Bryan Pierce's disappearance. Ever since she's come back to town, she has faced crises and accusations, one right after another! She needs your support!”

“Goddamn it, Aunt Paulette!” Monica spun on her. “You're right that ever since she's returned, Jessie has faced crises! But they're all of her own making! It's all because of the bad choices she made when she took up with Emil Deetz!”

“Isn't it time you forgave her for that? And maybe in time she could forgive you about Todd.”

Monica closed her eyes and turned away from Paulette.

“You think about it, my dear niece,” Paulette told her, heading out of the house. “You think about how you want to put things rights—with your sister
and
your husband.”

She left Monica standing there in the middle of the living room, the younger woman's eyes closed and her fists clenched tightly at her side.

S
IXTY-NINE

“
B
ryan was drunk,” Jessie told Chief Walters plainly. “Very drunk and very aggressive and no, he didn't give me any indication that he might be going away or leaving his wife.”

She sat stiffly in a chair in front of the chief 's desk. Sitting next to her was a calm, mostly silent John Manning. When she'd walked in to Walters's office and seen John already there, she'd given him only a small nod in greeting. They'd both been called down for further questioning about Bryan's disappearance, but so far it had only been Jessie on the receiving end of Walters's questions. She suspected the chief had already questioned John; she was trying to determine if their stories were the same.

Walters appeared to be satisfied, at least for the moment. “Given the recent murders in town,” the chief said, “the state's attorney's office in Stamford is investigating Mr. Pierce's disappearance for any connections. I'm trying to gather as much information as I can to share with them. Don't be surprised if you hear from them. I'm certain they'll want to hear what you have to say about this, as well as the three murders.”

“Are we still under suspicion for those?” John asked with a sigh.

Chief Walters leveled her steely blue eyes at him. “As far as I'm concerned, Mr. Manning, everyone is under suspicion until definitively proven innocent.”

“I defer to your investigative prowess,” John said, seeming to enjoy the sarcasm.

“The reason I've asked the two of you here at the same time,” Walters said, ignoring the comment, “is to inquire what Ms. Clarkson thinks about you, Mr. Manning, keeping a dossier on Emil Deetz and the murder of Screech Solek.”

“Oh, yes, I meant to thank you for your discretion, Chief,” John said. More sarcasm.

Jessie felt her cheeks burn. “We've already discussed this,” she told Walters.

“No,” the chief corrected her. “You reacted with disbelief when I told you. I assume you've confirmed it with Mr. Manning?”

“Yes,” Jessie admitted. “I confirmed it.”

“And what were your feelings about his literary endeavor ?”

“I wasn't pleased.”

“Let me ask you another question. Do you believe he's writing a book?”

“Well, that's what he said . . .” Jessie's voice trailed off. Suddenly she wasn't sure what she believed. She could sense John beside her, feel his eyes on her, but she wouldn't look at him. Was the chief insinuating that John might have been gathering information on Emil not because he was writing a book, but because he was in cahoots with him?

“Well?” the chief asked again. “Do you believe that he's writing a book?”

“Yes,” Jessie said finally, in a small voice. “I believe him.”

The chief wrote something down in a notebook.

“But this is just a side show,” Jessie said, sitting forward in her chair. “I might be angry at John for my own reasons, but he didn't kill all those people. What I want to know, Chief, is have you found any trace of Emil?”

Walters dropped her eyes to the desk, not meeting Jessie's gaze. “No,” she said. “We haven't.”

“Have you even
looked
?”

“I'm not at liberty to share all the details of our investigation, Ms. Clarkson, especially now with the state's attorney involved.”

Jessie shook her head. “Emil is the only one who could have done these killings.”

“The only one?” Now Walters looked up and found Jessie's eyes. “I've been a police officer for a long time. I've learned that anyone is capable of murder.”

“Including yourself?” John asked her.

The chief smiled defiantly. “Under the right circumstances, anyone could commit murder.”

“Please keep looking for Emil,” Jessie said. “At first when my aunt told me she'd seen him, I was inclined to disbelieve her. But now, with so many dead, all of them with their throats slit, I can only believe that Emil is alive, and he is doing this to terrorize me.”

The chief closed a file on her desk. “Thank you for your suggestion, Ms. Clarkson. But for now the next step is in the hands of the state's attorney. I appreciate you both coming in today. That's all for now. You can go.”

John stood, but Jessie stayed seated. “Chief,” she said. “I wonder if you could answer a question for me now.”

Walters lifted an eyebrow in her direction. “If I can.”

“Is there a family named Smelt living in town?”

“Smelt?” Walters repeated. “I've never heard the name. Why do you ask?”

“Abby has a little friend by the name of Aaron Smelt. He doesn't go to school, and I'm not sure where he lives. I looked in the phone book and online, but I found no one by that name in Sayer's Brook, or any surrounding town, in fact. I just wondered if you knew anything about the family.”

“No,” Walters told her. “Never heard the name before.”

Jessie sighed. “Well, it was worth a shot.”

“All right then,” the chief said. “Thank you both for coming in.”

Jessie stood, and only then was she aware of how intently John was looking at her. As she filed out of the chief 's office, she felt John's eyes on her. She tried to move quickly down the hallway, but suddenly John's hand was on her shoulder. Jessie stopped walking.

“I don't blame you for being angry,” John said.

“Good. Because I am.”

“Please, Jessie. Would you have coffee with me? Just a few minutes, so we could talk?”

“I have to get back home.”

“Fifteen minutes.”

Jessie turned and looked up at him. “John, I told you. I need some time—”

“Does the child trouble you somehow?”

“The child?”

“This boy. Abby's friend. The one named Smelt.”

Jessie hesitated. “It was just that I was curious about him.”

“Have coffee with me,” John said. “I think there's something you should know.”

S
EVENTY

M
axine sat on the back porch watching Abby play on her swings. She'd gotten a call from Jessie saying she'd be a little late getting back from town. Could Maxine stay and watch Abby for just a little longer? She'd pay her overtime. Maxine had told her not to worry about that. She was glad to stay.

It was a lovely autumn day to sit on the porch. There wouldn't be many more days like this with winter waiting just around the corner. The sun was high and warm and felt good on Maxine's face. After she and Abby had finished their lessons, Maxine had told the little girl she could play in the backyard until her mother got home. The tutor settled into the wicker rocking chair and enjoyed an unexpected bit of relaxation in the middle of the day. Watching Abby swing up and down, her little feet pointing out in front of her, her blond pigtails flying in the wind, almost lulled Maxine to sleep.

But then suddenly Abby shouted out in excitement. “My friend! My friend!”

The little girl jumped off the swing, her face lit up with joy. Through the tall yellow grass a small boy came walking. Maxine watched him closely. He was a dark-haired, dark-eyed child whose gaze was fixed on Abby. He wore a dirty T-shirt and a pair of dungarees, and he was barefoot.

“Aaron!” Abby was shouting. “You've come back!”

She ran through the grass to meet him. Maxine stood, watching. She saw Abby take the boy's hand and lead him back toward the swing set.

“Abby!” Maxine called. “Don't leave the yard.”

“I won't,” she called back. “Maxine, this is my friend Aaron. Can he play on the swings with me?”

“
May
he play on the swings with you,” Maxine corrected, smiling.

“May he play?” Abby tried again.

“I don't see why not,” Maxine replied. “Hello, Aaron.”

“Hello,” he called over, lifting his little hand to wave at Maxine.

What an adorable little boy
, Maxine thought. She settled back into her rocking chair. Although she recalled Jessie's uneasy expression when she'd heard the boy's name, Maxine thought no one could object to the children playing together when Abby looked so happy. And after all, Maxine reasoned, they were only swinging. Surely no harm could come from that.

S
EVENTY-ONE

A
s they headed out of the front door of the police station, Jessie and John ran straight into Heather Pierce. Her face looked as if she'd been sucking on a lemon.

“Well, well,” Heather said, glancing at the two of them. “Fancy meeting the two of you here at police headquarters.”

“Hello, Heather,” Jessie said.

John remained silent.

“What were you here for?” Heather asked, a mock smile spreading across her face. “The police still questioning you about Bryan's disappearance?”

“I've told them everything I know,” Jessie said. “I'm sorry that it had to come to this, Heather. As I told you on the phone, I didn't want to go to the police.”

“Bullshit,” Heather snarled. “Why don't you admit the truth, Jessie? You were having an affair with Bryan. You came back here and went after him the first moment you could—at that party you threw, in fact. I saw it!”

“That's absurd, Heather.”

“Is it?” She suddenly snapped open the purse that hung over her shoulder and whipped out a pair of silk panties, tossing them at Jessie. “Those are yours! Don't deny it! I found them in our room! With naked photos of you!”

“Naked photos?” Jessie was horrified.

“Oh, yes, very naked.” Heather now produced an old Polaroid from her purse, flashing it in front of Jessie. “You see, I have evidence!”

“Let me see that!” Jessie exclaimed.

“No!” Heather retorted, holding the photo out of reach like a taunting schoolgirl on the playground.

“If that's me, then it's from a very long time ago. I haven't had hair that long since . . .” Her voice trailed off. “Since college . . .”

The likelihood that the photo was, indeed, her struck Jessie like a body blow.

“Bryan must have taken it when I was asleep,” she said, the horror creeping over her. “Give that to me!”

“Nope,” Heather said, replacing the Polaroid in her purse. “As I said, evidence.”

“Now I really
will
press charges against Bryan!” Jessie declared. “Taking obscene pictures of me without my consent!”

“And the panties?” Heather asked. “How do you explain them? They're
yours
, aren't they? And it doesn't look like
they're
from college.”

“Someone broke into my house and went through my drawers.”

“Hah! Likely story!”

“I was
not
having an affair with Bryan,” Jessie said severely.

“Come on, let's get out of here,” John said, putting his arm around Jessie.

Heather saw the gesture, and exploded. “Oh, now I get it! You're sleeping with John, too!” Her face twisted in rage. “Now I understand everything! Now I understand why you wouldn't see me anymore, John!” She returned her focus to Jessie. “You really wanted revenge on me, didn't you, Jessie Clarkson? You goddamn tramp!”

“Now, that's enough!” John said, stepping in between the two women. “Heather, you're completely out of line.”

Heather turned a pair of burning eyes in his direction. “Out of line? I'll tell you who's out of line, Mr. Manning.” She jabbed her finger against John's chest. “Maybe when you found out Jessie was sleeping with Bryan,
you
killed him! Just like you killed your wife and that German girl!”

“Let's get out of here,” John said, taking Jessie by the arm and hurrying her down the street. “We don't need to listen to the rantings of a crazy woman.”

“Crazy, am I?” Heather called after them. “We'll see how crazy I am when I give the state's attorney this evidence !”

John and Jessie hurried down the street.