For Better and Worse
Page 20
I could feel my phone vibrate in my pocket, alerting me to a text. I surreptitiously pulled it out, and—keeping the phone under the table—checked the text.
It was from Jaime:
Can you talk?
I quickly texted back:
No.
Her response pinged back a second later:
I need to talk to you soon.
I glanced up and saw that Nat was looking at me. I slid the phone back in my pocket.
Lauren was still talking. “Bret isn’t at all religious, so he wasn’t sure about sending the boys to a Catholic school. But I went to Catholic school. I just think that kids who have religious upbringings end up having better characters.” Then, as if just realizing that there were four parents sitting at the table who had chosen a nonparochial education for their children, she quickly added, “Not that Franklin isn’t a great school. Although I still can’t believe what happened with your principal.” She lowered her voice to a dramatic whisper. “What’s everyone at the school saying about that? It’s crazy, isn’t it?”
I noticed Nat look at Mandy and Mandy’s eyes widen in response. I wondered what that was about.
“No one knows what to think,” Mandy said. “We don’t even know how he died or if the police are investigating it.”
“You seriously don’t?” Lauren exclaimed. She leaned forward, clasping her hands together, looking absolutely delighted.
“We’ve heard almost nothing,” Nat said.
“You are totally going to totally freak out when I tell you this.” Lauren put up her hands, her fingers spread wide. “Daddy told me that there is absolutely an active investigation into his death. And they’ve uncovered all sorts of stuff already!”
I looked at Lauren, back at Nat and Mandy, who had both leaned forward, paying rapt attention to the vapid blonde. I had a feeling I’d missed something important.
“Your father?” I asked.
“Lauren’s father is Garland Nolan,” Mandy said. “The sheriff.”
“That’s right! My daddy’s the sheriff,” Lauren confirmed. “He’s gearing up for his reelection campaign. The twins are going to be in one of the commercials. Isn’t that cute?”
I caught Nat glancing outside at the twins and knew that she was thinking. Cute?
“Anyway,” Lauren continued, blithely unaware, “Daddy told me that he thinks this investigation is going to totally heat up.”
“Why, what happened?” Mandy asked.
“I can’t believe y’all really haven’t heard about this,” Lauren trilled. She looked over at her lumpen husband, who was still silently eating, showing no sign that he was even listening to the conversation. “Can you believe they haven’t heard about this, honey?” This time, Bret didn’t even bother to respond. “Anyway, Daddy told me that the principal...wait, what was his name again?”
“Robert Gibbons,” Nat and Mandy said in unison.
“Oh, right. I’m terrible with names. They think he was a—” Lauren lowered her voice to a whisper, as if the kids might be able to hear her from outside “—drug addict.”
“What?” Mandy exclaimed. “That can’t be right! I cannot picture Robert Gibbons doing drugs of any kind!”
“Actually, it would explain quite a lot,” Dan said. “Forty-six-year-old men don’t usually just keel over dead. Does anyone want more wine?”
“They’re also looking into reports that his drug dealer was at his house the night he died,” Lauren said.
“Robert had a drug dealer?” Mandy shook her head. “This is just getting crazier and crazier.”
“I’ll have some more wine,” I said, holding out my glass to Dan, who tipped some pinot noir into it. I took a gulp of the wine, then another, before glancing at Nat. She was looking back at me, a slight frown on her face. I took another large sip.
“If his drug dealer was at his house, is it possible that he was...well.” Mandy stopped, and looked sheepish. “I don’t mean to sound dramatic, but...is it possible that he was murdered? I mean, do the police know what the cause of death was yet?”
“I’m not sure about that, but...” Lauren paused for dramatic effect “...I do know that they got the results back from his tox screen.”
“Do you really think you should be talking about this?” Bret asked mildly. It was practically the first thing he’d said all evening, but then, he had finally finished his dinner. He stacked his fork and knife onto his empty plate. “Since they haven’t officially released the results.”
“Oh, it’s fine.” Lauren waved an airy hand. “It’s not like anyone here was involved.” She frowned at her husband. “Anyway, I can tell you, he had a lot of drugs in his system. I mean, a lot of drugs. So it was probably an overdose, intentional or otherwise. But y’all knew him. Would it surprise you if he were suicidal?”
This was how the gossip game worked, I thought. Lauren was more than happy to divulge information she really probably shouldn’t be sharing, just as long as we made it worth her while. She wanted to add more facts to her story, like this was all a really interesting miniseries on Netflix, rather than a hideous real-life nightmare.
“No,” Nat said firmly. “It wouldn’t surprise me at all.”
Mandy gave Nat a curious look but then shrugged. “I guess I can see Nat’s point. Robert had been accused of doing a terrible thing.” She turned to Lauren. “I’m assuming you know about that part.”
“That he’d been accused of molesting a student at the school?” Lauren said this with such breathless excitement that I began to actively hate her. “Yes, everyone in town knows that. It’s all anyone could talk about, or at least it was right up until his body was found!”
“There were some issues with the student’s claims, and I know a lot of people weren’t inclined to believe him,” Mandy added. “Not without a further investigation. Which, I guess, probably won’t happen now.” She looked at Nat. “Is that right?”
“Not a criminal investigation,” Nat confirmed. “But there could always be a civil case against the school.”
“Oh, my God, really?” Lauren leaned forward. “The student’s parents are suing the school?”
“No, I didn’t say that,” Nat said quickly. “I have no idea if they plan to take any legal action.”
“So, go back to what you were saying before about his drug dealer being in the neighborhood on the night of his death?” I asked. I wondered if my voice sounded oddly high-pitched as I thought it might. I cleared my throat. “How do the police know that?”
“Oh, well, one of his neighbors reported seeing a black sedan drive by on Friday night. She said she didn’t recognize the car, but that she saw it drive down the street, then drive by again a little later,” Lauren said. “She said she’d seen the car around before, that the driver looked like a thug. Lots of tattoos, mean face. That sort of thing.”
A black sedan. Nat drove a silver Honda Pilot. I had a blue Jeep. That meant it wasn’t either of us the neighbor had seen.
“How did she know the car was going to Robert’s house?” Nat asked. “His neighborhood is pretty secluded.”
“You’ve been to his house?” Lauren exclaimed.
“Will and I knew Robert for years. We used to occasionally have dinner with him and his wife, back when they were still married,” Nat said casually. “I don’t think he even has any neighbors within sight of his driveway.”
Her ability to remain unruffled during this topic of conversation amazed me. It was as though she had completely detached herself from the fact that she had drugged Robert with enough oxycodone to kill him. If he hadn’t been an oxycodone addict...and, really, wasn’t that something she should have thought about ahead of time? In fact, why hadn’t Nat, the smartest, most organized woman in the world, considered that as a possibility? It’s just fucking careless, I thought. I realized I was getting drunk.
“I do remember that,” Mandy said, smiling.
“Daddy told me that the whole thing was supersilly. He said if anyone saw anything suspicious, we should just call him and he’d send a deputy out right away to take care of it,” Lauren continued. “What was the ex-wife like?”
“Venetia? I liked her,” Nat said. “She was funny, nice. And she loved the beach. I was surprised when she moved away from Florida.”
“Where did she move to?” Mandy asked.
“Oregon, I think. We lost touch after she left.”
“She probably knows something,” Lauren said confidently. “The wife always knows.”
“Uh-oh,” Dan said. He reached out and squeezed Mandy’s hand. “I hope I never get on Mandy’s bad side. She knows all my darkest secrets.”
“It’s true.” Mandy laughed. “I could burn you so badly.”
“It’s probably why Robert’s ex moved so far away,” Lauren exclaimed. “I’m sure Daddy’s investigators will want to talk to her.”
The woman never seemed to tire of talking, I thought, lifting my wineglass again. I was surprised to find out that it was empty.
“More, Will?” Dan asked, picking up the bottle of wine.
I could feel Nat’s eyes on me, flinty blue. I resolutely ignored her gaze and held out my glass for another refill.
* * *
Nat ended up having to drive us home. Charlie was in the back seat, chatting away about the movie he and Beatrice had gotten halfway through before we had to leave.
“There was this great chase scene where the good guys were riding motorcycles and the bad guys were driving monster trucks. Then there was a huge explosion. It was awesome,” Charlie enthused happily. “When can I go back to Bea’s house to finish the movie?”
“I don’t know, honey,” Nat said. “I’ll talk to Mrs. Breen, and we’ll find a time when they’re free.”
“The bad guys kidnapped a kid,” Charlie said.
“What bad guys?” I asked. In my wine-fogged state, I was having a hard time following his chatter.
“In the movie,” Charlie said. “They kidnapped the president’s son. And Bea said she heard that’s what Principal Gibbons did. That’s why he was fired.”
“Who told her that?”
“Some kids at school have been saying it,” Charlie said. The excitement had suddenly disappeared from his voice, leaving it heartbreakingly flat. “I wanted to tell her that’s not what happened. But I didn’t.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because Mom told me not to.”
I looked over at Nat. “You told him he couldn’t talk to his friends?” I wasn’t sure what about this made me so indignant—the pain in Charlie’s voice, my latent anger with my wife. Or the five large glasses of red wine I’d consumed that night. But almost immediately, I realized that Nat had probably made the right call. But still. She should have talked about it with me first.
“I told him that what happened is private. That it would be best keeping it that way.” Nat’s voice was calm, but I could tell by the clip of her words that she wasn’t pleased with me. “If he needs to talk to someone, he can always talk to one of us. Or Camilla.”
Charlie kicked the back of my seat. “But no one knows the truth, so they’re just making stuff up.” I’d never heard him like this—fretful, angry, resentful. He’d always been such a good-natured, sunny child.
“I know that’s frustrating,” Nat said.
“I think it’s okay for you to say that you don’t think that’s what happened. But maybe just not go into detail.”
“Never mind,” Charlie muttered.
“Why don’t you talk about it with Camilla when you see her next time.”
“I said, never mind.”
“Okay,” Nat said. She nodded to herself. “Okay.”
We drove the rest of the way home in silence.
The next day, the police showed up at our house.
Chapter 24
I woke up the next morning feeling like death and wondered why red wine hangovers were always so much more brutal than run-of-the-mill hangovers. I stood in the kitchen, one hand braced against the island countertop, not entirely sure the water and painkillers I was bravely trying to swallow were going to stay down. My phone beeped at me. I pulled it out of my pocket and saw that Jaime had sent me yet another text.
Can you get away sometime today? Need to talk.
I wondered what the hell was going on with her. She knew that my weekends were normally off-limits. Between Charlie’s soccer games, our regular family beach outing, my basketball league and the never-ending march of errands and chores that went along with typical suburban life, I didn’t have the time. There were always trips to the hardware store, an oil change, or Charlie yet again needing a new pair of sneakers, having already outgrown the ones we’d bought him two months earlier. Jaime and I had agreed early on in the affair that we should be careful about how much we talked or even texted when we were with our families. Although she and her husband, Thomas—whose interests included Thai food and hot yoga—didn’t have children together, Jaime had a college-age daughter from a previous marriage. Her weekends were never quite as jam-packed as mine. Maybe because of that, we’d never stuck too closely to the no-contact rule—we often texted back and forth on the weekends, in the evenings, even when we weren’t alone and it was risky to do so. But insisting I meet her on a Saturday was unprecedented.
I’m not sure I can, I typed. I’ll let you know if I can get away.
Her response pinged back almost immediately.
It’s important.
The doorbell rang before I could respond.
“Nat?” I called out. “Can you get the door?”
Nat didn’t answer. I wondered where she was. I’d been too hungover to do more than grunt good morning when I finally staggered out of bed. The doorbell rang again.
I sighed, pocketed my phone and headed toward the front door, wondering who could possibly be on our doorstep at eight thirty in the morning on a Saturday. I opened the door, squinting into the painfully bright sunlight, which seemed intent on drilling its way into my hangover.
“Mr. Clarke?”
I blinked a few times, trying to clear the sunspots from my vision. There were two men standing there, both wearing suits, which seemed odd for a Saturday morning. One of the men was older, probably in his late forties, with a thick build and a truly impressive head of dark hair that he wore swept back from his ruddy face. The other man was a lot younger, around thirty, with an angular face and a slight, wiry frame.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m Will Clarke.”
“I’m Detective Mike Monroe,” the older man said. “And this is my partner, Gavin Reddick. We’re from the Calusa County Sheriff’s Office Criminal Investigative Division. We’d like to talk to you for a minute.”
I stared at them mutely, unable to speak. I knew the silence was stretching on for far longer than reasonable, but I couldn’t seem to remember how to talk. My stomach shifted queasily, the acidic hangover suddenly replaced by a feeling of cold liquid terror in my bowels.
“Mr. Clarke?” Detective Monroe looked concerned. “Are you okay?”
Shit, I thought. No, I did not want the police to be concerned about my well-being.
“Y
es. Sorry. I just...had a late night.” I had apparently regained the ability to speak, but just not coherently. “Um. What’s this, um, about?”
“We’d like to come inside and talk to you,” Monroe said. I noticed that he didn’t ask questions, he made statements. It wasn’t may we come in, it was we’d like to come inside. So far his partner, Detective Reddick, was silent, but I could feel his eyes—which were dark and a little on the squinty side—studying me.
“I don’t know if this is a great time,” I said. “Like I said, I had a late night....”
“Hi, I’m Natalie Clarke.” Nat had appeared beside me in the doorway. Her hair was damp, which meant she’d probably just gotten out of the shower. She looked crisp in a polo shirt and khaki shorts. She held out her hand the police officers.
The detectives introduced themselves, each shaking Nat’s hand in turn. If she was at all concerned that the police were at our house, it didn’t show. I was stunned by how utterly self-possessed she seemed.
“We have some questions in connection with an investigation we’re pursuing,” Monroe said. “We were just telling your husband we’d like to come in and talk to you.”
“Of course, please do,” Nat said, opening the door.
I was flabbergasted. Nat had always told me to never, ever talk to the police. Did she think that just because she was a criminal defense attorney, she’d be able to sidestep every trap?
Nat led the detectives into the living room, while I trailed behind.
“Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee, or maybe a soda?” she asked.
“No, thank you,” Monroe said.
“I’m good,” Reddick said. “Thanks.”
Nat and I took seats on the couch. The detectives sat on a pair of gray velvet club chairs, which were more attractive than they were comfortable. Nat and the policemen both seemed perfectly at ease. I was scared shitless and had to press my hands down flat on my thighs to keep them from shaking. The police were here. In our house. I had killed a man and now the police had arrived. It was taking all of my willpower not to keel forward and vomit on our living room carpet.