She decided to finish the last painting while the rest of the family slept. The paint needed time to dry before Hector came to pick it up. Trudging to the kitchen, she put on the kettle for tea. When it was ready, she filled a carafe and carried it across the damp lawn to her studio.
The last painting stood waiting on the easel, the paint still glossy in the thickest spots. She studied it critically and decided she was pleased with most of it. It was better than she remembered, actually. Just the hair needed more work, and the hands weren’t right.
She set to work, choosing her brushes and mixing the paint. She hummed with contentment as her body warmed to the work, allowing her to tune in to the dance made between brush and canvas. She swirled strands of sunshine into dark curls, stroked shadows along the ridges of the fingers, defined the knuckles with slivers of pink and blue.
Eventually, she stood back and nodded with satisfaction. There were still imperfections, but one of Hector’s most valuable lessons had been to lay the paintbrush down before she nitpicked her way into a mess. The beauty of life was found in imperfections, Hector had said, and so must it be in art.
The sky lightened toward dawn as Eve closed her studio. She felt drained, but satisfied. The house was still quiet, so she tiptoed down the hallway, taking an extra big step to avoid the squeaking floorboard near Gabriel’s room.
Quietly, she eased through her bedroom door and dropped the afghan onto the end of the bed. As she crawled beneath the heavy covers, she saw that she hadn’t needed to worry about waking Gabriel. He lay curled, thumb in mouth, against Leigh’s side.
Sleep took her down on a black wave, and the next thing she knew Gabriel was bouncing on her head.
“Ow!”
“Sorry, Mommy.” Gabriel hopped over to Leigh’s pillow, shouting, “It’s morning. It’s morning, right?”
“It’s early morning,” Leigh said. “Come cuddle.” He pulled Gabriel down between them and tickled him until Gabriel convulsed, squealing.
“Too. Loud.” She rolled away, pressing her face into the pillow.
“Sorry, Mommy,” Leigh and Gabriel said contritely, in unison.
“Were you painting?” Leigh asked. “It reeks of oils in here.”
“Yes,” she said with drowsy satisfaction. “I finished the last painting.”
“That’s great.” Leigh patted his son’s backside. “Hey, buddy, could you make us some pancakes?”
Gabriel giggled. “Daddy, I can’t do that yet.”
“But you made soup last night,” Leigh said.
“Daddy.” Gabriel shook his head. “I can’t make pancakes until I’m at least five. And Mommy hates maple syrup.”
“That’s true,” Leigh said.
“Mommy, your hands are dirty.”
“Hmm?”
“He’s right.” Leigh pulled the covers down. “Holy cow, you’re covered.”
“I am?”
She was, indeed. Silver paint was crusted on her nails and dried into the whorls of her fingertips. It streaked up her arms, making her look like she was turning into the Tin Man.
“Mommy, you’re so messy,” Gabriel said with awe, and then his eyes widened with excitement. “Did you go to the garden I drawed? Do you feel better now?”
“Why don’t you go take a shower?” Leigh said.
“Yes,” she said faintly. “I suppose Hector will make do with nineteen paintings.”
The corners of Leigh’s mouth turned down with grief. “I suppose he’ll have to.”
And so began her second descent into cold confusion, and either two weeks or two years later, Leigh went out for a jog and didn’t come home.
THIRTY
Sara’s Thirteenth Birthday
“I’M THIRSTY,” Eve said into her chest, when Detective Baird had finished with his seemingly endless list of questions.
Though some questions had seemed odd, none had been hard to answer: her name, date of birth, home address, favourite school subject, the name of her third grade teacher, and so on.
There was a notepad and pen beside him, but Baird didn’t use them. Instead of sitting across the table from her, as she’d expected, he’d pulled a chair around so they sat almost knee-to-knee. He rested his hands, unmoving, on his lap.
She’d thrust her hands deep into the pockets of her sweatshirt to hide any shaking, and she did everything in her power not to swing her legs. This was a challenge since her feet didn’t touch the ground. She wondered if they’d given her an extra-tall chair on purpose. She wondered why he’d sat close enough for her to kick.
Detective Baird gave her an easy smile. “Sorry about that. Detective Mathers, please get Ms. Gold a glass of water.”
The other detective nodded and slipped through the door, closing it behind him with a definitive click.
“Eve,” she said.
“Pardon?”
“It sounds weird when you call me Ms. Gold. Like you’re talking about my mom.”
Baird leaned forward in his chair. It squeaked beneath his weight, which was considerable. No matter how bad her current situation was, she thought his chair had it worse. Exhausted and overwrought, she almost giggled.
“Something funny?” he asked.
“Of course not.”
“No,” he said, with a sympathetic downturn of the lips. “When I was your age, the worst thing that had ever happened to me was wetting my sleeping bag on a school camping trip.”
“That’s pretty bad.”
“I thought so at the time,” he agreed. “Eve, I can see that you’re scared, and that’s natural. I’m here to help you get through this, okay?”
“Uh-huh.”
“But I need you to promise me something, and it’s very important.”
“What?”
“Have you ever seen a movie where they hook some guy up to a machine to find out if he’s telling the truth? He’s got those bands around his chest, and wires attached to his fingers?”
“A lie detector?”
“That’s right,” Detective Baird said with a smile. He leaned closer, giving her an earnest look. “I’m like a human version of that lie detector test. I don’t need to hook you up to a machine. I’ll just know.”
She shifted in her seat, her skin prickling with heat.
“I need you to promise me that you’ll tell the truth. And in return, I promise that I’ll do everything I can to help you.” He watched her silently for a moment, and she did her best not to squirm. “Sound good?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Great.” He stood and patted her shoulder. His hand was heavy and warm. “Let me go see what happened to your water. Are you hungry? I could rustle up some crackers, or maybe a chocolate bar.”
“No, thank you.”
At the door, he paused and looked back at her. “Oh. When we brought you in, did you notice all the other rooms just like this one?”
She nodded.
He jabbed a thumb to the right. “Right next door is a woman who saw what happened at the river. Think I’ll go have a chat with her. I’ll be back soon.”
It wasn’t soon. By the time Detective Baird returned, Eve had sweated through her clothes and felt sick to her stomach.
He placed her bottle of water on the table, and settled into the chair across from her. For long minutes, neither spoke. He watched her, the only animation in his eyes. It made her feel hunted, like he’d pounce the moment her guard came down. If she were to draw a picture of the scene, she would make him a bear fattening up for winter, and make herself a rabbit so weary that being his dinner was starting to sound appealing — if only to put an end to the chase.
Tentatively, she asked, “What did that woman say?”
Detective Baird studied her, letting the silence stretch until she felt ready to scream. “Why don’t you tell me?”
She shifted in her seat and shrugged.
“All right. Here’s what I think happened. I think you and Sara had a big fight a couple weeks ago.”
&n
bsp; “How do you know that?”
“And while I don’t know what this argument was about, yet, I can make some guesses.”
She pinned her tongue between her teeth and stared resolutely at her lap.
“Girls your age … it often comes down to boys,” he said. “Maybe you and Sara liked the same boy. Maybe he showed Sara more attention, and that made you angry.”
“Not Sara.”
“What’s that?” He leaned forward and his chair groaned in protest.
“Sara’s not — wasn’t — interested in boys.”
“Hmm.”
She shut her mouth. Told herself to keep it shut.
“Well, you fought about something. And whatever it was, you two stopped talking after that, until your birthday. And then Sara, a girl her parents tell me wasn’t a strong swimmer, decided to play on a log boom. Can you see why I’m having trouble?”
Eve shrugged.
“So I’m thinking, maybe you lured her there.”
“No.”
“Just to scare her, make her think about whatever it was she’d done. And you probably didn’t realize how fast the current was, or how slippery the logs were.”
“No.”
“You didn’t really want anything bad to happen to her. Am I on the right track?”
She shook her head. “So correct me. What were you and Sara doing on that log boom?”
“We were playing a game.”
“How did you get out there?” His voice rumbled like a dog chewing on a tasty bone.
“We climbed down from the pier.”
“You dangled above the middle of the river, where the current is at its most swift.”
“Yeah. No. There’s a ladder.”
“You climbed down the ladder.”
“Right.”
“Walk me through it.”
She pushed her hands even deeper into her pockets and stared at the graffiti etched onto the table. “That’s it.”
“You’re going to have to tell me more than that. Help me to understand. I know you want to help the Adlers. This poor family has lost their youngest, and they just want to know what happened to her. And today is her birthday, isn’t it?” He shook his head, looking sorrowful.
Eve shifted in her seat. “We’d seen those guys walking on top of the logs, attaching them to the tugboats so they could be pulled down the river.”
“Yes.” He nodded understanding.
“Sara thought it looked like fun. She wanted to pretend to be like those guys, walking the logs and chaining them to the boats. She’d brought her camera, and she wanted us to take pictures of each other standing on the logs in the middle of the river. She thought it would make us look cool, maybe impress the kids at school.”
“You’re telling me that it was Sara’s idea, and you just went along?”
“Yeah.”
“That strikes me as odd.”
“Why?”
“Because from what I’ve been told, you’re the daredevil and Sara was the follower.”
Eve was smart enough to know when to stick to the truth. “That’s right. When we go to Playland, she only wants to do the little-kid rides.” Her throat clogged with sudden emotion, and she coughed to clear it.
“But you’re telling me that Sara was the one who decided to climb down to a log boom in the swiftest part of the river, and you were the one who followed.”
“Yeah.”
“How long have you two been friends?”
“Since she moved here when we were six.”
“And had she ever gotten a hare-brained idea like this before?”
“No. I guess there’s a first time for everything.”
“Sara was known around the neighbourhood as not particularly athletic. A little chubby, a little clumsy.”
“I guess.”
“Did you think of her as clumsy?”
“I thought of her as smart and funny and really awesome. And I thought of her as my only real friend.” Her throat threatened to close up again, and she coughed until it cleared.
He tapped her knee. “Hey, look at me. Talk to me.”
“I am.”
“It was your idea, wasn’t it?”
“What? No!”
Detective Baird eyed her with interest.
“No,” she said again, more calmly. “It was an accident. A terrible accident.”
“An accident. That was my initial thought. Just two girls paying a very dear price for their stupidity.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But now that I’m talking to you, I’m not so sure,” Detective Baird said.
“Why?”
“I’m thinking, maybe you did lead Sara onto that log boom. Maybe you even gave her a little push.”
“Maybe I should talk to a lawyer.”
“As I said before, that’s your right. If you feel you need one.”
“You think I did something wrong, so maybe I do. My mom’s whole law firm is probably waiting in the lobby. I’d like to talk to them.”
“There’s no one out there.”
“So they’re on their way. I can wait.”
“You’ve been here for three hours. How long do you think it takes to get here?”
For the first time since the interview started, she reached for a tissue.
“You are entitled to council,” Detective Baird said.
“Your mother gave permission for us to proceed without it, but if you’d like we can contact Legal Aid for you.”
“She didn’t get me a lawyer?”
“No.” The worst part of all was the sympathy she heard in his voice. “Would you like us to get one for you?”
Eve wasn’t sure what to do. She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around her shins, trying to think through the next step.
“Eve?” the detective said after several minutes had passed. “Would you like us to call you a lawyer?”
“No.”
“All right. Let me give you a few minutes to calm down, and then we’ll continue.”
He left the room, closing the door behind him with a noticeable click. She pressed her face into her knees and tried to keep breathing.
THIRTY-ONE
“MRS. ADLER, I’m Detective Mathers. I understand you’re concerned about your husband’s whereabouts?”
Pushing his way behind the desk, he placed a cup of coffee near Eve’s hand. It smelled like a damp mop, and there was an oil slick of fake cream making lazy circles on the surface. She shook her head no, so he lifted it to his lips instead.
The police station’s reception area was a large glass atrium. Eve remembered it well from when she was thirteen. It had been raining then, too. Today, it sounded like they were inside a waterfall.
The building was bone-chillingly damp, and most of the officers in the surrounding warren of desks still wore their jackets. She was dressed in a down parka and thick boots, and she hadn’t removed her wool cap. Nevertheless, every muscle and joint ached with cold.
“So.” The detective put down the cup and pulled the keyboard toward his belly. He looked at her with kind eyes. “Let’s start with some basic information about your husband.”
He took her through a series of questions about Leigh’s age, height, weight, and hair and eye colour. She answered as best she could.
“Do you have a picture of him?”
“I’ve got a bunch of pictures on my phone.” She dug through her purse. Her cellphone wasn’t in its usual spot in the interior pocket.
“Let me just …” She trailed off, searching a second time.
“Mrs. Adler.”
“Just a minute, I know I have it.” Her eyes started to burn with tears.
“If you can’t find it —”
“I know it’s in here somewhere!”
“Why don’t we come back to this later?”
“Where the fuck is it?”
Officers nearby turned to look at her, and one placed a ready hand near his gun holster.
�
�Mrs. Adler, you seem …”
“Confused? Crazy? It’s called brain damage, okay? Because ten or six or eight years ago — I can’t keep it fucking straight — some asshole snorted coke and got behind the wheel of a car.”
“I was going to say you seem distraught.” He waved off the watching officers with a flick of his index finger.
“Yes, I am distraught!” She took a breath, trying to calm down. “My husband is missing. Of course I’m distraught.”
“When did you last see him?” he asked, his fingers ready on the keyboard.
“Yesterday morning. He went for a run before breakfast.”
“What time was this?”
“Just give me a second, let me think.” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Before her, the scene began to unfold. “He was wearing navy blue Nike shorts with a reflective white strip along the side. A grey T-shirt. Umm … Asics. White ones, and he would have had the house key tied to his shoelace.”
She opened her eyes. The detective watched her and tapped on the keyboard at the same time.
“It was about seven in the morning. He’s been jogging every day. His blood pressure is creeping up, and he’s trying to stay off medication. He’s been under a lot of stress lately —”
“Why?” the detective asked, his fingers pausing on the keyboard.
She felt her mouth twist. “It’s not easy being married to me.”
“Did anyone else see him leave?”
“My son. My grandmother.”
“How old is your son?”
Her mind stuttered, and she shook her head.
“You don’t know?”
“I think he’s eight.”
“Did you have him before or after this car accident?”
“Oh, after. Leigh and I didn’t get married until after. But I’ve known him forever. His sister was my best friend.”
“Your son is how old again?”
“He’s four.”
“Uh-huh.” His fingers clacked at the keyboard.
“What?”
“Let’s get back to the last time you saw your husband. What day was it?”
The Day She Died Page 18
