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Chapter Forty-One
Grace
Later that afternoon, I am home fixing Toby’s after-school snack when there’s a knock at the door.I’ve just put the baby down, Eleanor is heavy on my heels, and I’m sliding the casserole Darcy left on the porch in the oven when the doorbell rings.
It’s exhausting.The constant intrusion.The reporters haven’t stopped calling, though I don’t know what they expect.How can I explain what happened if I don’t understand it myself?
I take Eleanor by the hand and place her on the couch.“Wait here,” I say.“I need to see who’s at the door.”
She hops down and follows me, my new shadow.
Through the curtain, I see that it’s Officer Sloan.
“Hello,” he says, taking stock of Eleanor.“Mind if I come in?”
“I’m a little busy at the moment,” I say, patting Eleanor’s head.“Maybe you can phone later?”
“This won’t take long,” he tells me with a frown.“It’s important, Grace, that we speak.”
I don’t know what he’s come to tell me, only that I don’t trust him.“We can speak on the phone.”
“I’m afraid this is something you’ll want to hear in person.”
“I doubt it,” I say, opening the door fully.
He follows me through the house to the kitchen.I give Eleanor a banana, and she toddles off to the family room.“How are they doing?”he asks.“The kids?”
“Oh,” I say, waving him off.“They’re fine.You know how kids are.”I open the oven and check the casserole.“She’s mad at me because she can’t go to the neighbors.They haven’t been home.I’ve been trying to thank them for this casserole.The entire neighborhood, they’ve been so kind.”
“And you?”
“Me?”
“How are you, Grace?”
“I’m fine.”After closing the oven, I pick up the dishtowel and wipe my hands.“I got to see Charles this morning.”
“First time?”
“Yeah, he was still getting settled.”
“About that—” Sloan says, his mouth a flat line.“There’s been recent developments in the investigation.”
“Oh?”
“We found Jay Branson’s journals.”
I say nothing.I set the dishtowel aside and lean back against the counter.“Wow.”
“Everything you said… Well, he confirmed it.”
“It’s a little late, though,” I say.“Considering he’s dead.”
“Yes,” he tells me.“But that’s not all.”
“Okay.”
He seems to search for the words he wants to say next, choosing them carefully.“His wife was having an affair with Charles.”
