by Karen White
“I know you enough. I also know Sugar Prescott and I trust her judgment. She doesn’t like many people, as you know. And the fact that she does like you is enough for me. Not to mention I like you. It’s not every woman who can deal with what you’ve had to face in the last year or so and not be a crumbling mess.”
“Who said I’m not a crumbling mess?”
Lindi’s face was serious. “You’re a lot stronger and braver than you give yourself credit for.”
“I said the same thing to Sugar. After she’d told me a story from her past. It nearly broke my heart to hear it.”
“Yes, well, you and Sugar have a lot in common—not that I’d ever let her hear me say that out loud. There’s a resiliency about you two that I hope I can teach to my daughter. Although I will say you’re sniveling a little bit now—but I’m sure it’s temporary.”
Merilee tried to look stern but ended up laughing instead. “I hope you’re right about this being temporary. Sugar’s going to wear out her lips the way she presses them together in disapproval every time she sees me.”
“Yes, well, she has a point.” She reached down and slid something out of the outside pocket of her computer bag. “Before I forget, here’s the business card of my friend I was telling you about, Cynthia Turlington. She’s a criminal defense attorney. She’s very nice, but very, very good at what she does. You need to call her today.” She tapped her pencil against the notebook. “I don’t like any of this. It’s all circumstantial, but Daniel was a very prominent man. I know they must be itching for an arrest to be made.”
Merilee took the card and stared at it without really seeing it. “I feel so stupid, allowing myself to be interviewed by the police without an attorney. I knew better—I’ve been through this before with John. I had no idea where their questioning was headed—I thought I was just one of the many partygoers who were being interviewed. Just following procedures. Besides, wouldn’t asking for an attorney at that point have made me look guilty?”
“No. It would have made you look smart.”
Merilee sighed. “Okay. I’ll call her. But first I want to head over to Heather’s house and speak with her face-to-face. If I just talk with her, ask her to tell the police everything to clarify all these . . . misunderstandings—”
“No,” Lindi said, cutting her off. “Absolutely not. I’m not your lawyer, so you can do anything you want. But I am your friend, and I think that’s the stupidest idea I’ve heard since my husband—and father of our young children, I might add—said he’d like to try skydiving. You told me that the police had already questioned her and that her side of things didn’t exactly mesh with yours. I want to give her the benefit of the doubt right now, seeing as how her husband was just found murdered, but I’ve known her too long to believe that she doesn’t know exactly what she’s saying and doing at all times. Even in the throes of grief. You need to be very careful around her is all I’m saying.”
Maybe that was the thought that had been bothering Merilee. The fact that the police had already talked to Heather, and yet her story was different from Merilee’s. There had to be a reason. Weren’t guilt and anger two parts of the grieving process? Maybe Heather was going through those stages now. Still, it shouldn’t be affecting Heather’s memory, especially when what she wasn’t remembering correctly skewed the truth of actual events that involved Merilee.
Lindi bounced the eraser end of her pencil on the notebook. “Oh, one more thing.” She reached down into her large bag, and pulled out a small laptop. “You should shut down all your social media accounts until all this has blown over. Even in family law, I advise my clients to do this. Warring parties usually end up taking the ugly accusations and barbs online for the world to see, and that doesn’t help anybody’s case. Rest assured the detectives in charge of your case are checking out your social media to see what’s there and what people are saying.”
“Oh, well, that should be easy. The only thing I have is a Facebook account, and I haven’t put anything on it except for a profile picture of the kids.”
“I know—I saw that when I friended you. Cute pic. Anyway, we should still shut it down. Trust me—people think Facebook is like picking your nose while driving in your car. You might think you’re alone and anonymous, but you’re not. We can still see you. It’s really amazing what people think is okay to post on someone’s Facebook page.”
She opened up the laptop and typed something onto the keyboard, then waited a moment. She squinted as a page popped up, then moved back. “Are you sure you only have one Facebook account?”
“Yes. I barely use one, so I certainly don’t need more than that.”
“Wellll,” Lindi said slowly, “it appears you have what’s called a ‘fan page,’ too. There’s a link to it right on your personal page. It’s a public page, so anybody can view your photos and posts without you knowing they were there.”
“Are you sure it’s me?”
“Oh, yeah. It’s you.” She placed the laptop on Merilee’s lap and tilted the lid to give Merilee a better view. Merilee stared at the page for a long moment, trying to remember when she’d taken these photos. And when she might have posted them. But she hadn’t.
There were dozens of photos of her at the beginning of the school party at Heather’s lake house, at various school functions, assemblies, and class trips, and at the gala party—all of them with Dan. The last one was of them dancing, her hand on his shoulder and his at her waist, their foreheads almost touching as they talked and smiled, close so they could hear each other on the crowded dance floor. At least that’s what she remembered. But the angles of these photos were much more . . . intimate. It embarrassed her to look at them, to know them for the lie they were, but she was still unable to glance away. There were photos, too, at the Pilates group class. She remembered several people taking photos with the disposable cameras Heather had handed out at the beginning of the year. But she didn’t remember any of these being taken—especially the one of her on her back where she was doing some horrendous ab exercise. The photo was cropped to concentrate on her pained expression. Merilee wondered for a moment why this one had been posted, then realized to her horror it appeared she was in the throes of passion. There were more of her in the carpool line wearing a private smile that looked more like a smirk, and on the school trip to the dairy farm, where Dan had also been a chaperone. A photo of the two of them looking under a cow at each other. She’d remembered that, recalled that Dan had said something funny about nice calves, and she’d laughed. But in the photo, it appeared to be two people flirting.
“Dear Lord,” she said, pushing the laptop toward Lindi, unable to look at any more. “Who would have done this?”
“I’d like to say some random person hacked into your account, but I think it’s clear it’s someone who knows you. Who knows you well. Do you remember someone snapping pictures of you?”
Merilee shook her head, still stunned. “Heather gave all of us moms disposable cameras at the beginning of the year, remember? We were supposed to take pictures at every event and then give her the cameras so she would have the photos for the end-of-year albums she makes for the children and the teachers. I think my first camera is still in the car because I always forgot to use it. It’s enough I remember my purse and my phone and don’t leave a child in the car. But everybody was always snapping pictures. I just never noticed anybody taking pictures of . . . me.”
Lindi was studying her closely. “Who else knew your Facebook password?”
“No one. I mean, I had no reason to give it out—I barely remembered that I had an account. Except . . .” The thought was so bizarre that she held back.
“Except what?”
Merilee focused on the girls, now practicing backbends and walkovers, and tried to clear her mind. To clarify if what she was about to say was the truth.
“Heather. Heather knows my account password because
she’s the one who set up my page. She told me I should change my password to keep it private, but I didn’t. I hate passwords because I never remember them.”
“Heather knew that, too, I bet.”
Merilee jerked her attention back to Lindi. “What are you getting at?”
“Don’t you find all of this a little too . . . coincidental? I mean, think about it. Heather knew your Facebook password. If you didn’t post these photos, then who else?” She glanced back down at her notebook. “And these texts that you don’t remember sending or receiving—did Heather ever have access to your phone? Would she have known that password, too?”
Merilee thought she might be suffocating. She was breathing in but no air seemed to be going into her lungs.
“And of course she had access to Dan’s phone, too,” Lindi added.
Merilee remembered giving Heather her phone to hold when she was trying on gowns for the gala. And all the other times—at committee meetings and coffee meetings at Cups where she’d left her purse and phone in plain view. Even at the Pilates class. It never occurred to her that she should have kept them both more secure.
“But anybody could have taken my phone without me knowing.”
“But does anybody else know your password?” Lindi said steadily.
“I don’t understand. My phone never showed me receiving any texts from Dan. Surely I would notice if I had a number next to my ‘message’ button on my screen.”
Lindi picked up her phone, used her thumbprint to unlock it, and then showed Merilee her screen. Clicking on the “message” button, she pulled up a message, then swiped her thumb to the left, and then hit the big “delete” button. “Pretty easy, huh? And if she had Dan’s phone, she could do the same.”
“But that’s crazy. Why on earth would she—or anyone, for that matter—do that? What could they possibly hope to gain? Especially Heather. There is nothing that I have that she could possibly want. Nothing.”
Lindi studied Merilee carefully. “Don’t sell yourself so short. I don’t think any of us really know Heather or what it is she really wants. Or thinks she wants.” She thumped her pencil against the pad again. “What about Michael and his girlfriend? Was it an amicable divorce? Are you fighting for custody and he wants to discredit you?”
“As much as I’d like to paint Michael as the villain, he wouldn’t do that. He’s done a lot of crappy things to me, but he’d never do something like this. We had a pretty civil divorce and we split custody—very amicably. Besides, his brain appears to be located below his belt. If that’s not what’s guiding him, then I see no connection to any of this.”
“Did he have one of Heather’s cameras?” Lindi asked.
Merilee thought for a moment, remembered Lily bringing home two cameras and saying she was giving one to Michael. “Yes, but . . .”
Lindi raised her eyebrows. “Being in the business I am, I’ve seen seemingly normal people do out-of-character and outrageous things for the pettiest of reasons. Nothing would surprise me.” She was silent for a moment, her pencil tapping out a regular rhythm on the notepad. “Is there anything since you met Heather at the beginning of the school year that sticks out as something she might be upset about?”
Merilee shook her head.
“All right. Then is there any chance you might have met Heather in the past? Maybe said something to her that she might have taken offense to?”
“No,” Merilee answered quickly, sure of her answer. “I’d remember Heather. She’d be pretty hard to forget, don’t you think?”
“True,” Lindi said slowly, tapping the pencil in a furious motion. Merilee reached out and placed her hand on the pencil to get her to stop. “Sorry,” Lindi said. “It helps me think. Not now, apparently, because it looks like we have lots of roads on the map, but none of them seem to intersect.” She paused and met Merilee’s gaze. “Were you having an affair with Dan Blackford?”
Merilee pulled back. “Absolutely not. I could never do that—you know my feelings about infidelity. Do you think Heather thinks I was? And that’s why she’s not talking to me?” She put her head in her hands. “Is that what everyone’s saying?”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Lindi said, her voice soothing. “Let’s just look at the facts. You weren’t having an affair with Dan; we know that for a fact. The rest is just coincidental.” Lindi scribbled something in her notebook. “You need to understand something, though. If the police are calling this a homicide, they’re going to be looking for suspects with a motive. And if they believe that you were having an affair with Dan, that could be something they’ll pay special attention to.”
Merilee started shaking, and Lindi took her hand. “There’s no hard evidence that indicates an affair or your involvement in Dan’s death because there isn’t any. Keep reminding yourself of that, okay?” Lindi squeezed her hand. “I’ve got your back.”
Merilee nodded as Lindi let go of her hand and sat back. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to come with you when you meet with Cynthia. We’ve known each other since law school and she was always telling me I should be in criminal law because I like solving puzzles and figuring out who’s really telling the truth. Not that I don’t get enough practice with that in family law, but you know what I mean. Anyway, I’d like to share my thoughts with her, along with all of my notes. And then I promise to leave her to what she does best, and that’s to be your legal counsel.” She thumped her pencil against the notebook a couple more times before abruptly stopping. “Sorry. I just want to help. Call Cynthia today, all right?”
“You’re making me nervous, Lindi.”
“I’m sorry. That’s not my intention. I’m just trying to make you prepared for a worst-case scenario.”
“Now I actually am nervous.”
“Please, don’t be. You’ve done nothing wrong. And you’re not alone in this. I know it’s not been your experience to open yourself up to others—and I understand why. Your trust has been shaken by your parents and your husband, the people who should have protected you. I know it’s asking a lot, but I want you to trust me. As your friend. Not because you might need my help as someone who knows the law. But as someone who can maybe lighten your load a bit. Here.” She pressed her palm against her heart. “My mother used to say that to me. And maybe you need a little mothering right now.”
Merilee glanced away, embarrassed to have Lindi see the tears forming in her eyes. “I wouldn’t know what that’s like.”
Lindi squeezed her hand. “Then maybe it’s time you find out.”
“Thanks,” Merilee said, squeezing back. A cold wind struck them from the side, making Merilee shiver. “I can’t understand this weather. It’s November, and we’re getting alternating seasons all in the same day, it seems.”
Lindi looked up at the sky, a mixture of cobalt blue and odd streaks of grayish clouds. “I agree—something’s up, I think. Hurricane season doesn’t officially end until November thirtieth, you know. Maybe there’s a storm brewing somewhere.”
“It’s fixin’ to come up a bad cloud,” Merilee said.
Lindi laughed. “From that blog, right?” She shook her head slowly. “As much as I hate to admit it, there are a lot of pearls of wisdom that can be found in it.”
Lindi packed up her notebook and laptop and called over to the girls, while Merilee went to extricate Colin and gather all of his shoes and clothes—he’d discarded everything except for his pants—from the playground. His binoculars had been carefully stored in Merilee’s purse. At least there was one thing in his life he could keep track of.
As they walked toward the parking lot, Merilee thanked Lindi again and gave her an impromptu hug. “Thanks. I do feel better and not so alone anymore.”
“You never were, Merilee. Sugar’s got your back. And so does Wade. It’s not a sin to trust people, all right? You just need to make sure you know which ones.”
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br /> “Thanks again. I’ll let you know when my appointment with Cynthia is.”
Lindi gave her a thumbs-up as she helped Jenna into their Prius, then slid behind the steering wheel. Merilee waved good-bye as they drove away, waiting for Lily and Colin to haul themselves into the backseat of the minivan.
As Merilee drove home, she occupied her mind with thoughts of how she’d finagle a midday bath for a very reluctant Colin, weighing the merits of cleaning up dirty footprints and clods of mud all day as she followed him around, or just figuring out a way for a surprise attack so that he was immersed in the tub before he knew what was happening.
“Mom?” Lily said from the backseat.
Merilee met her daughter’s eyes in the rearview mirror, dark circles under her eyes accentuating the perpetual frown of worry. “Yes, sweetie?”
“Are you going to jail?”
The minivan jerked as her foot accidentally hit the brake. “No, honey. I’ve done nothing wrong, and they don’t put innocent people in jail.” She hoped lightning wouldn’t strike her, because anybody who read the news or watched the hundreds of crime shows on TV knew this to be an absolute lie. But she had to believe it. Just as much as Lily needed to.
Apparently mollified, Lily sat back in her seat, complaining that Colin was sitting too close and Colin complaining that she was breathing on him. Merilee couldn’t bear to scold them, so relieved to be experiencing something normal.
Merilee parked the minivan in front of the house and waited as they got out, still arguing. She paused for a moment, looking up again at the sky, which mimicked her conflicted emotions: calm yet cloudy, a balmy temperature with cold winds behind it. She set her feet on the ground as a strong wind blew the last leaves from a hickory tree on the side of the house. “It’s fixin’ to come up a bad cloud,” she said to no one as she shut the minivan door and headed up the steps.
