However Many More

by Bo Thunboe

  Statistics, experience, and protocol all said Lynn, as Henry’s ex-wife, was a person of interest. But statistics were for politicians and actuaries. Only facts mattered. And Jake had been close enough to Henry to have a solid feel for his relationship with Lynn. The two got along well and still spent a lot of time together, supporting April in marching band and gymnastics and environmental club. Jake also doubted Lynn would benefit from Henry’s death; in fact, she’d likely be hurt by it because child support payments would stop. Plus she was short and slight and not capable of the massive blow that killed Henry.

  No motive. No means. These were objective facts not clouded by bias. They held more weight than any statistic.

  * * *

  Lynn Fox tried not to think about her problems, but raking leaves was so boring it left her entire mind free to wallow in them. Utility bills and mortgage payments and the car loan and gas and even food for Christ’s sake. And now she had to pay a penalty to the government because she didn’t have health insurance. If she couldn’t afford health insurance, how could she afford the penalty?

  She pulled the rake toward the street, the tines scratching through the thin grass, moving a fat mound of leaves. How had this happened to her? She was a good person. She didn’t steal and she didn’t lie. Not any more than everyone else. She kicked at the leaves, sending a wad of them against the tree trunk.

  “I thought we were supposed to rake them,” April said.

  Lynn smiled. April was the one thing Lynn felt good about. The only person in her life who cared whether she lived or died. Or used to, anyway. Now all she cared about was Connor and college.

  “Are you talking to me again?” Lynn asked, trying for a playful tone.

  April had been pouting about something all morning. Most likely boyfriend trouble, which was okay with Lynn. April could do better than Conner.

  April shrugged.

  “Why don’t you wear that Paget Community College sweatshirt I got you? With the cool bird on it?”

  April had on the Northwestern hoodie Conner had given her. Lynn kept telling her purple was not her color, but April didn’t listen to her mother anymore.

  “I don’t like green, and no one wears those things. Not even at school.”

  “But you go there.”

  “And if I wear it everyone will know that. And I’m going to transfer to Northwestern.”

  Lynn let that go. Henry’s promise to send April there had turned out to be worthless. No surprise, really. The man could barely pay April’s community college tuition, much less fifty grand for Northwestern.

  Lynn’s hands got back to her raking, her mind back to her bills. She needed a man with money. Money would solve every single one of her problems.

  “Who’s that?” April asked.

  A car was coming down the street, slowing as it approached. It was big, and black, and didn’t look familiar. As it turned into their driveway, she lifted a hand to block the sun shining in her eyes. It was Jake.

  Lynn straightened her flannel shirt and ran a hand through her hair. She hoped she had a flush in her cheeks from the cold. Jake was single and decent-looking. Not handsome, exactly, but he was still slim and had his hair and never looked grungy. Not even when she saw him out running.

  She smiled as he got out of the car.

  “It’s Mr. Houser,” April said.

  “Hey, Jake.”

  “Lynn,” Jake said. He looked toward April. “Hey, kiddo. I’m going to borrow your mom for a minute, okay?”

  “Sure.” April pulled her hood up and got back to raking. She wasn’t a very good worker, but every little bit helped.

  As Jake walked toward Lynn, his eyes flitted over hers but didn’t hold. That wasn’t like him. He was an eye contact guy. Always looking deep inside of her like he could see something there. But his face was always so still, and she could never tell if he liked what he saw or not. He had on the same gray pants, white shirt, and black blazer that he’d once told April’s Girl Scout troop was his “detective uniform,” which got a laugh. She took another look at the car. It was his detective car.

  Shit. “What is it, Jake?”

  He stopped in front of her but didn’t say anything. She squinted against the sun setting behind him. His eyes drifted away, then came back and settled on her forehead. Finally, he smiled, but it wasn’t a real smile.

  “How about we go inside for a cup of coffee?”

  Lynn swallowed a lump in her throat. “April? We’re going inside for a minute.” She dropped her rake and wiped her hands on her shirt. “You keep at it.”

  “Okay, Mom.”

  Lynn wondered what April had done this time. Her boyfriend was away at college, so she couldn’t have been caught bumping uglies again. Whatever it was, she just hoped it wasn’t too serious.

  Or too expensive.

  She had enough problems already.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Jake’s heart had risen into his throat when he saw April out front, raking. She’d been a cute kid—curly blond hair and chubby cheeks and an amazing dimpled smile. Teenage angst had burned the smile away, but lately it had been coming back.

  He hoped Henry’s death didn’t kill it.

  He followed Lynn around the side of the house. Jake had helped Henry remodel the little two-bedroom bungalow when he bought it fifteen years before. When Lynn divorced him, Henry insisted she get the house because he wanted April growing up there. Henry moved into a tiny apartment above the chocolate shop, where he’d lived for years until his uncle died and left him the house by the river.

  As they rounded the back corner, Jake focused on Lynn. She wore a form-fitting flannel shirt over a pair of tight jeans tucked into green rubber boots. She’d married Henry when his handyman business was booming—that was back during the growing economy, when upwardly mobile junior executives were spending freely to get their old houses ready for sale and to put their own touches on their bigger and newer places. Things were so good back then, Henry even had some employees. But when the economy slowed down and the business shrank, Lynn divorced Henry because—so she’d told him—she aspired to being more than a handyman’s wife. Lynn still hadn’t found her Mr. Right, though the rumor mill said she tried out a lot of prospects she met while waitressing at the country club.

  Jake followed Lynn inside. The back door opened into a utility room crammed with a washer and dryer. A row of coats on hooks hung above a jumble of shoes and boots. A narrow archway led into the kitchen, which smelled of coffee and popcorn.

  Lynn pushed together a scatter of newspapers to clear space at the table, and pointed at a chair. Jake sat and waited while Lynn poured him a cup of coffee from her drip machine.

  “I already had this going,” she said. Her voice shook, and the mug rattled against the table as she set it in front of him. Apparently she’d figured out this wasn’t a social call.

  He took her hands and guided her into the chair next to him. Her hands were cold from being outside. “Lynn, I’m sorry to—” His phone pinged, announcing a text message.

  “Do you need to check that?”

  “It’ll keep.”

  “Is April in trouble again?” Lynn pulled her hands away and clutched her thighs, rocking slightly. “She’s been tricky since, I don’t know, I guess when this college thing came up.”

  “I’m here about Henry. He’s dead.” Jake got it out fast, because it was easier for him—and, he hoped, easier for her.

  She paled. Her eyes squeezed shut and she covered her face with her hands. Genuine emotion, he was almost sure.

  “What… how did it happen?” She pulled her hands down and fought off a sob.

  “He was murdered last night. That’s all I can tell you right now.”

  Lynn gasped. “Nobody would—that can’t be. That just can’t be.” Her head shook gently back and forth.


  Jake fought the urge to offer an empty platitude. He’d assembled an arsenal of them over the years, but after his wife’s murder he’d stopped using them. Because then he got it. The idea that someone had deliberately killed a loved one was too sickening for a worn-out cliché to provide any comfort. It was better to simply deliver the news and then wait, giving the person some time to absorb the shock before asking questions.

  He picked up the coffee mug and took a sip. The bitter brew was too hot to drink, so he blew on it, the long deep breaths also helping settle his own nerves.

  “People loved that man.” Lynn covered her face again and turned away, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

  That man. Her phrasing implied disapproval—like she didn’t understand the love or thought Henry didn’t deserve it. Or maybe that was just her way of subconsciously putting some emotional distance between her and Henry, to lessen her pain.

  Jake kept quiet and got up to get Lynn a glass of water. He opened cabinets until he found a glass, then ran water in the sink, hand under the stream, waiting for it to get cold. He took the opportunity to look around. A stack of bills on the counter; several of them showing the red of a late payment notice. A calendar on the fridge noting her work schedule, with a penciled-in dollar amount for every day already passed. Tips, maybe. Not big amounts. And on the fifth of the month, “CS—Pay Bills” with a red X through it.

  Jake knew from his days serving warrants on deadbeat dads that child support collected through the court system was paid out on the fifth. The “CS” and “Pay Bills” paired together implied Lynn used the money to pay her bills. The red X could mean Henry missed the payment.

  But April was eighteen and out of high school, so Henry’s child support obligation might be over. Which would explain the past due notices if Lynn needed Henry’s payments to cover her bills. Of course, none of that was motive: Henry’s death wouldn’t start the payments again.

  He filled the glass, shut off the water, then paused before rejoining Lynn at the table. The first wave of grief had passed through her, and she was wiping her face with a sleeve. But it would hit her again. Soon, and then later, and years from now when a sight or sound or smell pulled up a memory.

  He checked the message on his phone. It was from Deputy Coroner Chen: BFT. 1. TOD 12+-2

  Henry died from blunt force trauma. The killing blow had been delivered at midnight, plus or minus two hours. Jake forwarded the text to Diggs with a request that she begin canvassing the neighbors as soon as she got back to town from the task force meeting. He got an immediate response that she had obtained the warrant for Coogan’s records and was now on her way. Jake adjusted his settings so the phone would vibrate with future messages and put it back in his pocket.

  As he set the water down next to Lynn, she turned and reached for him. He knelt, wrapped an arm around her, and stroked her shoulder. Heat poured from her. She shuddered and buried her face in his shoulder, and her sobs started again, her body trembling with each new onslaught. Her emotion strummed Jake’s heartstrings, and he had to fight a swell of sentiment. He chewed his lips and blinked back a tear and held her until the sobbing wore her out. Then she pulled back and said she was okay, patting him on the shoulder.

  “I need to tell April.” She grabbed a paper napkin from a basket on the table and wiped her eyes. She grabbed another and blew her nose. “Someone will tweet it or instant message it. I…”

  “I’ll do it,” Jake said. April was an adult, and protocol required he personally notify all adult family members when possible.

  “No.” Lynn barked the word, then her voice softened. “I’ll tell her. I’m her mother. And we only have each other, now.”

  Jake opened his mouth to insist, but then closed it. He owed his goddaughter that much sensitivity. “I will need to talk with April,” he said. “When she’s ready.”

  “Okay.”

  Jake stood to go. He was through the utility room and had his hand on the doorknob before he realized his bias was getting in the way. He turned back. “Can I ask you a few questions before I leave? About Henry and who might have done this?”

  “Who might have done this?” She had followed him into the laundry room and stood with her fists clenched, the napkin between them, twisting it. Her voice high and shaky. “No one. Henry is the nicest man in town. Undercharges all his clients. Doesn’t even charge some of them. Even ones that can pay. Some of those ladies take complete advantage. He—” She stopped and twisted the napkin, bits of paper falling to the floor.

  “Did he mention a recent problem with anyone?”

  Lynn shook her head.

  “Lynn, please consider this carefully. Would Henry have told you if he had a problem with anyone?”

  “I don’t know. At one time… probably. But now, I just don’t know.”

  “What’s different now?”

  She shifted her feet and her eyes cut away. “We are divorced, you know. We argue about money and about what’s best for April.”

  “Okay.” She was leaving something out. He would talk to her again when he knew more about the child support situation. He pulled the door open. “The killer searched Henry’s house. Any idea what he might have been looking for?”

  She shook her head. “I really have to talk to April. She’s always on that damn phone. I can’t let her find out about her dad from the damn Twitter.”

  He put a hand on her shoulder. “Call me if you need anything or remember someone giving Henry trouble.”

  Lynn nodded and wiped her eyes with the crushed napkin. “April’s going to be so…” She choked back a sob. “They were so close.”

  Jake nodded but could think of nothing else to say, so he left her there, twisting her napkin.

  As he stepped out from between the houses the cold wind whipped against him. April had given up on raking and sat on the front stoop holding her phone. He worried she might have already heard about her dad through social media, but when she looked up her eyes were dry. He gave her a wave, and her face pulled into a grimace. The kid was smart and knew something was off. But Lynn was probably right—it was best for her to get this news from her mom.

  Or was he just being a coward?

  CHAPTER SIX

  Conner Bowen couldn’t stop looking at the photo April had sent him. It showed her wearing the Northwestern hoodie he’d bought her, and her hair was messy and her smile was a little crooked. She had a million different smiles, and he wanted to spend the rest of his life getting to know every one of them. God, he missed her. If she transferred to Northwestern everything would be perfect. She would so love the total spectacle around the football games. Conner even went to them, though he had no idea what was going on. Football was his dad’s obsession, and at home Conner stayed as far away from it as he did from the old man himself.

  He stuck the phone back in his pocket and stretched out on his bed with his laptop on his stomach. One of his courses, The Journalism of Empathy, was taking up a lot of his time, but he loved it. They were writing nonfiction narratives about marginalized people. He’d barely known what that meant when he started the semester, and now he was writing stories about these interesting communities. He was constantly blown away by how poorly his white-bread suburban upbringing had prepared him for this. Professor K told them to imagine the ideal reader as they wrote. Conner imagined himself a year ago. The only child of a perfect suburban family attending one of the best public high schools in the state, with an acceptance letter from Northwestern tacked to his bulletin board. Completely ignorant of things outside his easy, sheltered existence.

  Some of that was a lie, of course. His family only looked perfect from the outside. In reality his dad was an asshole and his parents didn’t talk to each other. But Conner didn’t write to the real him. He wrote to the other guy; the one other people saw.

  His cell phone vibrated. A text from April. Conner!


  He smiled. She liked to grab his attention then send a fast string of short texts. People he’d met at school didn’t think their long-distance romance would survive, but they didn’t know April—or him, really. They were perfectly and exactly right for each other.

  The little bubble popped up with the dots. She was texting him right now. He felt the connection opening between them as a bloom of heat in his heart.

  * * *

  Lynn stood in the kitchen, arms wrapped tight around herself, eyes tearing. Henry was the only good man she’d ever loved. She’d tried to love other men since their divorce, but none of them was as good as Henry. He was the one who’d gotten away even though she knew that was all her fault; she’d pushed him away, then got so angry with herself for doing it she pushed even harder to prove she’d been right.

  She wiped her eyes, then walked through the house and cracked open the front door. April sat on the front stoop staring at her phone. The girl had so many friends she was always texting. And why shouldn’t she? Lynn had had a lot of friends when she was younger, too. Back before everyone got married or obsessed with their careers or moved away. She had friends now, but they were mostly men she met at the club. And they didn’t text. Which was a blessing really. Who wants to be bothered every minute?

  She pushed the storm door open, wincing at the long squeak. Now Henry wasn’t going to be around to fix such things. Who would do it? April’s boyfriend was useless. The least manly man Lynn had ever met.

  “Honey?”

  April pulled her eyes from her phone and turned. “Yeah?”

  “Come inside for a minute. I need to tell you something.” Lynn pushed the door farther open.

  “I just need to finish this text to Conner, okay?”

  “But just that one, okay?” April’s texting sessions could go on forever.

  Lynn waited with the door open, the breeze catching it and almost pulling it out of her hand. A rattling swirl of leaves jumped the stoop, and Lynn kicked at them, the cold wind that carried them slapping against her face.