TMonaghan 12 - Hush Hush

by Laura Lippman

  She heard her own voice coming from far away: “We have to get home. I need to see Alanna. Not call her. I need— She has to hear this from me, not anyone else.”

  Monday

  6:30 A.M.

  Tess Monaghan woke up with the blasphemous, horrible thought: Monday! OH, THANK GOD IT’S MONDAY. It was her morning “off”—Crow had Carla Scout for the day. Monday, Monday, love this day. Everyone in the house liked Monday, the least manic day of the week in their household.

  The second thought was more in keeping with Monday: And I get to go play mind games with a freshly minted widow with a baby. Hooray for me.

  Sunday, the one carefree day the family shared together each week, had been lovely. They had gone to the zoo, where the cool but spring-scented day seemed to energize the animals. Carla Scout had fed a giraffe, giggling with delight, and brushed a goat. They had eaten lunch at Suburban House, an old deli of which Tess was fond, drawn more by nostalgia than by the actual food. They had finished the day with a movie at home, Despicable Me, which Tess and Crow loved. “Did you like it?” they asked Carla Scout. “No,” she said thoughtfully. “That was not my favorite movie.” Tess never loved her daughter more than when she was being her own person, exhausting as that person could be. She didn’t want to raise a mini-me, or even a minion, who parroted back her parents’ preferences and opinions.

  Well, so far, so good, Tess thought, stretching out in bed next to Crow. He and Carla Scout, night owls by nature, would sleep in, have a late breakfast at one of “their” places. Now all I have to do is help Tyner prepare for a criminal case he shouldn’t be trying.

  Melisandre had been charged with homicide and would go before a judge this morning. Tyner was confident that she would be given bail, although it would be a high one, possibly requiring a surety bond on her new home. A flight risk because of her time overseas, she would be required to surrender her passport, although Tess was pretty sure that Melisandre had at least two passports, a consequence of her dual citizenship. Not Tess’s problem if a judge missed that fact at the hearing. The apartment that Tess and Sandy had vetted for security would also be good for avoiding media scrums. Once released, Melisandre would be able to come and go without being observed. She had been photographed when she was transferred to the city jail Saturday night, but that was probably unavoidable. Tess had watched the footage on the news. Harmony had been there, too, looking miserable. Tess had spotted her in the background, but she didn’t even appear to be filming. Was the project dead—or better than ever? At least something was finally happening.

  Not Tess’s problem. Her first order of business was to speak to Felicia Dawes. As Tyner had explained it, they had a seven-hour window to play with. Stephen Dawes had met with his ex-wife in his home on Friday evening. His body was discovered at least seven hours later. What Tyner hoped to establish was that there had been plenty of time for someone, anyone, to enter the house and push Stephen through the glass doors after Melisandre had left. An intruder would be an easy case to make in that part of town—say, a burglar who had assumed the long-vacant house was ripe for picking. And if nothing could be shown to have been taken, then Tyner would argue that the intruder had surprised Stephen Dawes, pushed him in a panic, and fled.

  Time was the one thing that they could manipulate. Time, Tess’s inflexible enemy in day-to-day life, was on their side.

  Time was on their side. Monday, Monday. Just another manic Monday. Jesus, it was as if her fillings were pulling in an oldies station this morning.

  She grabbed a notebook from the nightstand. Once she left her bedroom, the dogs would clamor for their morning walk. Working from memory, she jotted down the established points on the clock. Melisandre arrived at her apartment sometime between 9:00 and 10:00. Her garage and elevator entry would establish the precise time. Felicia called her at 1:47 A.M. That was on the confiscated cell phone; Tess had checked it. However, Felicia had not called the police until almost 4:00 A.M., apparently feeling sheepish for her worry.

  Tess’s job was to go over what Felicia Dawes knew—and determine how confident she was in what she knew. By the time Tess left, she would be a lot less confident. Tess was okay with that.

  Tess wasn’t okay with the secret directive Tyner had given her last night—to try to develop alternative suspects. That wasn’t what defense attorneys did, much less private investigators, and she had argued that point. She might have actually said, “Who are you, Perry Fucking Mason? O.J.?” But Tyner was clinging to the idea that they could find the real killer and spare Melisandre a trial. “I don’t think she’ll survive it. Emotionally, I mean. She can win an acquittal, but at what cost?”

  “Wouldn’t it be better to focus on getting the charge knocked down, go for a plea? I mean, there’s no intent, right? Maybe there was an argument, she shoved him—maybe she was defending herself—maybe—”

  “Tess, Melisandre said she didn’t do it. Can you understand how important it is to her not to be accused of a crime where the mitigating factor would be rage? She wants to be exonerated. If we could do that outside a courtroom, it would be a bonus.”

  It was work. It was groceries, the utility bill, maybe the start of a private school tuition nest egg. Hers was not to question why. Hers was to question Felicia Dawes.

  “I told you,” Felicia Dawes said. “I’m not sure why Melisandre was so adamant about meeting him Friday night, only that Stephen wanted to get it over with.”

  Her voice scaled up. She was young enough that many of her sentences ended as questions. And young enough to be too timid to ask Tess to leave, although she was clearly growing impatient with her presence. The second Mrs. Dawes was younger than Tess by several years, although she didn’t look it, not today. Grief and a young child did not do much for a person’s appearance. The young woman who met with her in this oddly secluded house had a ravaged look.

  “But it was for the film? Are you sure he said that?”

  “He said— We were supposed to be going out and he called. No, I’m sure he said it was about the film.”

  “He told you he was meeting Melisandre about the film. Is there any chance he might not have been forthcoming with you?”

  “No—no. I mean, why? Is there something I don’t know?”

  The monitor at Felicia’s side crackled with a baby’s cries, and she sat up a little straighter, listening. Then a woman’s voice was heard, laughing and cooing, and Felicia relaxed.

  “Do you have a nanny?” Tess asked. She couldn’t help herself. She always wanted to know everyone’s child-care arrangements.

  “I’m a stay-at-home mother,” Felicia said. “My mother and stepfather came to help me, when they heard. But I’m not sure how long they can stay. They both have jobs, the kind from which you can’t take long leaves. They live in Cumberland.”

  The last bit—the mention of the jobs, Cumberland—seemed weirdly defensive, but Tess understood. Felicia was telling her that she wasn’t rich, or to the manner born. As for the proud way she declared herself a stay-at-home mom—well, Tess knew better than to engage in that discussion.

  “Anyway, did Stephen tell you why he felt he had to see Melisandre when she insisted on it?”

  “Why do I even have to talk to you?”

  Not so timid, after all.

  “You don’t. Not now. But you will, eventually, at great length. You’ll be deposed by Melisandre’s lawyer, and you’ll be grateful that you spoke to me when your memory was sharpest. It’s in your best interest.”

  “You work for her lawyer.”

  “I do. But all I care about are the facts, as you remember them.”

  “Facts that you’ll shape to your agenda.”

  “Facts can’t be shaped,” Tess lied. “Facts are inert. Facts are neutral. I just need to know them. My personal opinion? Things look very bad for Melisandre.”

  “Because she had a motive.” Felicia had no problem making that into a declarative sentence.

  “Homicide investigators
care little for motive. She was there, she had the opportunity. But why do you think she had a motive?”

  Ah, good. Felicia looked perplexed by Tess’s dismissal of motive. Perplexed and troubled.

  “Stephen had changed his mind about the girls seeing Melisandre.”

  “About them being in the film?”

  “About everything. The girls didn’t know that, but he had never been comfortable with the idea, and after that thing happened with Silas—he made up his mind. No film, no visits at all.”

  “When did he tell Melisandre this?”

  “He hadn’t, as far as I know. But maybe he told her Friday night. Maybe that’s why—”

  Oh, no, that was unfortunate. But better to know now than later.

  “If that’s the case, why would he participate in the film? Melisandre shot film of him, although no one has reviewed it yet. Why not just tell her on the phone that the deal was off? He was supposed to go out to dinner with you? Why put that off to meet with Melisandre?”

  “He forgot our date.” Felicia stared at the floor, looking as if she was going to cry. Then, to Tess’s horror, she did.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” said Tess. “When my daughter was your son’s age, I pretty much cried every day, and I wasn’t in your circumstances.”

  She hadn’t meant to mention Carla Scout, but it was hard, watching a stranger cry.

  “How old is she now?”

  “Three. Don’t believe what you hear about the terrible twos. It’s all about three. It’s like living with Maria Callas.”

  “What do you do for child care?”

  “Pretty much reinvent the wheel every day. Or at least every week.” That got a semismile from Felicia. “We have a patchwork of day care, babysitters, and parental care. My husband”—there she went again, calling Crow her husband—“works nights, Tuesdays through Saturdays. My hours are unpredictable at best. We have day care three days a week, a babysitter on Fridays, and my parents in emergencies. Don’t you have any help at all?”

  “No. Thank you for asking. Most people assume that it’s a life of leisure, staying home with a child. It’s the hardest job I’ve ever had. Only I’m not supposed to call it a job, am I? And now—” She began crying even harder. Oh dear, Tess had done too well at creating empathy with the widow Dawes. It now seemed awkward to try to steer the conversation back to her memory of Friday night, to ask for precise times and words.

  A young woman who bore an uncanny resemblance to Melisandre, although absent the curls, appeared in the doorway. Tess assumed she had been drawn by the sound of Felicia’s tears, but the girl stood where she was, stone-faced.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “A private detective. I work for your mother.”

  “How do you know who my mother is? I haven’t told you my name.”

  “Well, I—” Tess was floundering. The girl was enjoying it, too. “You look exactly like her.”

  “So some people say. I’ve never seen her.”

  “Never?”

  “Well, not since I was five and she killed our baby sister.”

  “You’re the oldest? Alanna?”

  “Oh, so you’re a math whiz. Yes, twelve plus five equals seventeen equals me, Alanna.”

  “Where’s Ruby?” Felicia asked, trying to gain control of herself.

  A shrug, perfected. Alanna Dawes should patent her shrug, make YouTube instructional videos on shrugging. Watching her, Tess felt as if she had never before seen a human being lift and lower her shoulders in order to communicate her complete lack of interest in something.

  “So if you work for my mother, does that mean you think she’s innocent?”

  “Actually, I work for Tyner Gray, your mother’s attorney,” Tess said, knowing that Alanna would see through that linguistic sidestep. “But when I help him, I need to focus on facts, whether they help or hurt her case. There’s no point in ignoring inconvenient facts, given that the prosecution will find them and use them.”

  “Such as?”

  “Your mother met with your father Friday night. And the meeting might not have been friendly, based on what Felicia tells me.”

  “Really?” Alanna trained her eyes on her stepmother. Tess would not have wanted to be on the receiving end of such a gaze. She probably would be, though, when Carla Scout was an adolescent. “Felicia, you gossip. What family secrets have you been sharing?”

  “I don’t think this is the time to be—a time to be proper,” Felicia said.

  “Proper.” Alanna’s echo managed to convey with admirably controlled mockery that she didn’t think her stepmother had standing to decide what was proper.

  “I’ll probably need to speak to you as well,” Tess said. “And your sister. Not today. I didn’t expect to find you home today.”

  “Why do you want to talk to me?”

  Because you were grounded and can verify what time your stepmother arrived home—and if she went out again at any point. But saying that would be impolitic in Felicia’s presence. Still, Felicia would have to account for her hours, too, from Friday 9:30 P.M. until—well, 1:47 A.M., when she called Melisandre. According to what Felicia had told Tess, Alanna had been asleep when she got home.

  “I’m just trying to rebuild the day, understand where everyone was and what everyone knew. You might have to testify, if it goes to trial.”

  “Yeah,” Alanna said. “They said that last time.” Then, at Tess’s puzzled look, “I think you might have more facts to gather. If you really want to know where everyone was and what everyone did, you might have to go back a ways. Twelve years, to be specific. More math: 2014 minus 12 equals 2002. But if you want it broken down into geometry or calculus, you’ll have to find Ruby. She’s the family brain.”

  The girl walked away. She even moved like her mother, with that cool glide. Tess glanced at Felicia, but she seemed just as confused.

  “Okay,” Tess said. “May I go over the sequence of the evening one last time?”

  2:00 P.M.

  No one would have expected the Dawes girls to attend school that day, but Ruby had lied and told Felicia there was a test she couldn’t miss. She didn’t dare ask Alanna to drive her, because Alanna might actually figure out that Ruby had lied about the test. Ruby had a hard time lying to her sister. No worries, Alanna was in her room, not even bothering to claim a headache. Alanna would never go to school if she could get a day off. It wasn’t that Alanna hated school. But it bored her. She was like a princess in a tiny country where she had long ago exhausted all the perks of her power. She needed to move on.

  So Ruby got a ride from Felicia’s stepfather, essentially a stranger. She couldn’t imagine a better companion for the thirty-five-minute drive. Frank Davidson was a quiet man who kept his opinions to himself. This was in marked contrast to his wife, Roberta, who had a lot of opinions on everything in the Dawes household, which she criticized with feverish admiration. “So big, you must get tired trotting around here all day,” she had said to Felicia. “What a strange layout—the master bedroom on the first floor, the laundry off the kitchen. Don’t you get tired of hearing the dryer rumble? And even if you have a monitor, can you really get to Joey fast enough? I know this pediatric nurse and she always said, bad things don’t happen often, but when they do happen, they happen fast.”

  But Roberta’s critical chatter was preferable to the constant keening of their real grandmother, Glenda Dawes. Grandma Dee’s grief was so large and vocal that it took over the house when she visited. She roamed from room to room, clutching Joey, who was terrified by this sobbing, incoherent woman who had replaced the grandmother he knew. He cried with her until it seemed like some sort of contest. Ruby felt sorry for Felicia. Or did, until she overheard Felicia discussing the guardianship issue with Ruby’s grandmother.

  “Stephen didn’t leave a plan in place for the girls,” Ruby heard Felicia telling her mother-in-law over the moni
tor in Joey’s room. The monitor was great for eavesdropping, although it was tricky for Ruby to linger near the central unit in the master bedroom, as she had no business being there. Those were Felicia’s words: “You have no business here.” Ruby always wanted to reply: “It’s not business. It’s family. This is my father’s room and he would never ban me from it.” But Ruby was not good at fighting people face-to-face. Secrets were her specialty. She had discovered so many secrets, but she didn’t know what to do with them. She still didn’t.

  “So are you going to petition the court to raise them?” Grandma Dee asked.

  “Of course,” Felicia said. “Although I assume Alanna will seek independence at age eighteen. But it makes sense. They are Joey’s sisters, this is their home, I’ll control most of the money. Without a will, that’s the way the law usually works. The spouse receives half, the other half is divided among the children.”

  “I’m sure that Stephen meant to provide for me.” Grandma Dee wasn’t crying then. She sounded hard, angry.

  “I’m sure he did, too, Glenda. And when everything is sorted out, I promise I will, too. To the best of my ability.”

  “Sorted out? What needs to be sorted out?”

  “Stephen kept much of his money in corporate accounts, then transferred cash to cover our expenses on a monthly basis. I have no access to the corporate accounts. I am the beneficiary on his retirement plans, but I need legal advice on what happens if I tap into them now. It’s all really complicated.”

  “Maybe I should be the girls’ guardian. I’m their blood.”

  “Joey is their blood, too, Glenda. Would you really split them up?”

  “What’s splitting? Alanna’s off to college in eighteen months. It might be better for Ruby to live with me.”

  “How so?”

  “Are you telling me that you can love Ruby as you love your own child?”