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“Please don’t involve my mother in this,” I repeated. “I only got in touch with Jeb because I’ve been thinking so much about family now that we’re expecting. You gentlemen must understand.”
The detectives nodded appreciatively.
“I don’t know what’s become of Jeb, but Adrian and I will let you know anything we find out,” I promised. “Just please don’t go upsetting my mother over any of this.”
“No, no. There’s no need to get her involved,” said Detective Stoller. “Well, you’ve been helpful. Let us know if you hear from Mr. Wilde,” he said, handing Adrian a card. Then he scratched his head and said, “Hey, you’re that artist I read about in the paper, aren’t you?”
“That’s me,” said Adrian.
“Love your work. I hear Salma Hayek has your paintings in her living room. Did you ever meet her?”
“Just a couple times. She’s really down-to-earth.”
“I could drink that woman’s bathwater.”
Adrian nodded and winked, man-to-man, while I dabbed at my face with the back of my hand.
“We’ll let you folks get back to your day off now. Thanks, y’all,” said Detective Heinz.
We waved goodbye.
“Why, if you work at home, does everyone always assume you have the day off?” asked Adrian, as they drove away.
“That’s great that you’re finding this so amusing,” I said, straightening the porch furniture.
“You handled it all quite calmly yourself. It was a great performance. I’m… with… child…” he mocked.
“You’re the one who told them about my condition.”
“I was going for the sympathy vote.”
“You think you can charm your way out of anything, but sometimes, Adrian, charm isn’t enough. That’s really fabulous that this little encounter has left you feeling so confident, but I’m not. Not at all. I’m… rattled.”
“Relax,” he said, reaching out to embrace me.
I marched inside, slamming the door behind me. He followed behind me, reaching for me, but I jerked my shoulder out of his reach. I stomped over to Shabby Chic for Modern Homes and shook it out on the kitchen table. I grabbed the contents and edged them up into a reasonably tidy pile, holding the letters and photos to my chest. I felt a little crazy.
“What do you have there?” asked Adrian.
“Uh uh,” I said, shaking my head. “Stay away from me.” I lit a candle and began by burning the photo of Jeb. Next I took the envelopes, first removing the photos, and lit them all on fire. They made an enormous flame which I held as long as possible before tossing them in the kitchen sink and dousing them with water.
I threw down the pictures of Adrian with the mystery woman. “Who is this?” I asked. “Not that it really matters. Not that something like a minor infidelity even matters anymore, but tell me, who is she?”
He picked up one of the photos and squinted a little. “A woman named Jane Gilligan. She owns a gallery in Charleston and I met with her last winter. It’s just a picture meant as a… threat, I suppose. I already told you I got mail like this. So you’ve been opening everything and hiding it from me? Why would you do this when I already told you I was getting things like this?”
“Because by the time you told me that, I knew it wasn’t just some stupid stalker. How could you have gone to the police? What happened to ‘the police aren’t God, don’t get the police involved.’ Huh? What happened to that?”
“I thought this was something else back then,” he said.
“We need to tell each other what we know, Adrian. Because it’s obvious you knew who John Spade was, and I want to know how.”
“I didn’t know him.”
“How is the handwriting and postmark on the letter with you and this woman the same as the letter with Jeb’s picture?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“Adrian, please! We are in serious trouble.”
