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“He did that,” she protested, if weakly.
Matt’s laugh was hateful. “When Mom insisted? Get real. He was useless as a parent.”
“He made a good living. One that paid for your sports equipment, and your first car and college tuition for both of us.”
“I’ll bet Mom would have made more if she’d worked full time.”
“Well, she didn’t.”
“There wouldn’t have been any tuition money if Mom hadn’t set it up so part of his income went straight into a separate account.”
That was undoubtedly true, but Beth argued anyway. “The money would still have been there. He’d never buy anything new if I didn’t make him.”
“Do you buy his Jockey shorts, too?” he asked nastily.
She stayed prudently silent, except of course that was answer enough. Sometimes when she was here at the house, she’d throw a load into the washer for her father. When she noticed his clothes looking shabby, she bought what she thought he’d like in the same sizes and replaced the ratty socks or chinos or whatever with new.
Because that’s what Mom always did.
So? Was that so bad? She’d taken Emily shopping for new clothes, too, and helped Matt with his college applications. And, yes, she’d taken over bill paying, as young as she’d been, except for getting Dad’s signature on checks. Including checks for Matt’s college tuition.
“Why do you care what I do to help Dad out?” she asked in real puzzlement. “I don’t expect you to do a thing.”
“Except clean out the damn garage,” he sneered.
“Once. When is the last time I asked you to help?”
Silence of a different kind, before Matt burst out, “Who else could have killed Mom? Tell me that! Who else had any reason?”
“What are you talking about? He didn’t have any reason. Mom was the one who was always mad!”
“Oh, he had reason, and you’d know it if you weren’t so good at turning away from anything you don’t want to see. Just like him.”
“Why do you despise him?” She was back to staring at the closed garage. A better question might be Why do you despise me?
“Oh, for God’s sake—” He broke off. “I have an appointment. I’ve got to go. Just…let Dad deal with something on his own, for once. Is that too much to ask?”
She heard voices in the background, and her brother was gone.
* * *
TONY FELT LIKE a bully by the time he’d finished asking his questions, even though he hadn’t exactly used a baton to beat answers out of the guy. In fact, he thought he’d been admirably considerate and soft-spoken. Ochoa hadn’t interrupted often, which meant he agreed.
Looking into those eyes, Tony saw the same bewilderment and distress he had from the beginning. This was like kicking an old, defenseless dog. He pushed himself to his feet and said, “Thank you for your time again, Mr. Marshall. It’s my hope we can figure out what happened to your wife.”
“I hope you can, too,” he said, standing as well. “I don’t understand why anybody would have hurt her. And why leave her here in the house?”
“Getting her out of the house unseen would have been a lot riskier,” he pointed out. “Did you have neighbors then who would have been home during a working day? Maybe peeking out their front windows?”
John’s brow crinkled. “Christine used to say Mrs. Powell must sit at her window with binoculars.”
Tony loved neighbors who saw all. “Where does she live?”
“She had the blue house across the street, but she died a few years ago. There must be new people in there now,” he added, seeming surprised by the idea.
“All right, Mr. Marshall. I’ll be in touch if—” when “—I have other questions.”
He nodded and seemed grateful when the attorney offered to see Tony out. On the porch, Tony said, “Interesting client you have.”
Phil Ochoa smiled crookedly. “He doesn’t have twenty-five barbells poking through every loose bit of flesh on his face, or a shaved head with a swastika tattoo on his scalp. Interesting is all relative.”
“I’ll give you that.” Tony saw that Beth was watching them anxiously from her car. “You’ll be wanting to reassure his daughter that I didn’t use thumbscrews to compel a confession.”
