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“What happened this week?”
Her lips tightened. “Nothing at all, according to one way of looking at it. I told my daughter, and she told me I was making mountains out of molehills.”
“But that’s not how you see it.”
She shook her head.
“Why don’t you tell me in your own words what happened?”
Rita settled herself in her chair and crossed her arms. The rhythm of her speech changed. In her mind, it seemed, they’d reached the formal part of the interview. The part that mattered.
“I went to the Jordans’ house at ten A.M. last Saturday morning. I went in through the downstairs doors, straight to the laundry, like I always do. There were clothes in the washing machine.” She leaned forward and held Matthew’s gaze. She wanted him to understand that this was important. “I never leave wet clothes in a machine overnight, and definitely not for two nights. Wet clothes left in the machine smell, even if you air them out. It’s a very bad idea. When I left the house on Thursday, the machine was empty. You understand?”
Matthew nodded. “I do.”
“The clothes that I found in the machine belonged to Simon. A pair of jeans, a blue T-shirt, and a cream wool sweater. Also, some socks.” She paused again to make sure that he was paying attention. “Everything had been boiled, virtually. He’d put it through a hot wash, and the sweater was shrunk to nothing.”
“Does Simon typically do his own laundry?”
“No!” she said, triumphantly. “That’s what I tried to tell my daughter. I worked in that house for twelve years, and not once did anyone but me put so much as a pair of pants in that machine. I said to her, don’t you think it’s a little too much of a coincidence that the first time in twelve years that boy takes it into his head to wash his own clothes is the morning after his girlfriend disappears? When he was the last one to see her alive?”
She drew in a long breath and let it out. Satisfied that she had made her point. Pleased that he was taking her seriously.
“I never liked that boy, you know. Or the husband neither. Jamie, I liked. She has some fight to her. She’d need it too, with that husband. He looks right through you, you know? Like you’re not even a person.”
“Why didn’t you like Simon?”
She thought about it. “Not because I always thought he was a killer. I’d be lying if I said that. But I did think he was dangerous. You know, he looked at his father, at all the stuff his father had, and he thought, that’s mine. I don’t like Rory Jordan, but I won’t deny the man worked for what he has. Simon thought he should have everything his father had without lifting a finger. And he had a temper.” Rita blew out a breath. “Hoo boy, yes.”
“Ms. Gallo—”
“Rita, please.”
“Rita, then. Did you notice anything else different in the laundry room that morning?”
She looked at him blankly for a moment. “Nothing. I mean, there were no drops of blood or anything, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“That’s okay. Thank you.”
“Everything was just the same as usual.” She nodded. And then said, as an afterthought, “There was a bottle of detergent that I didn’t buy. Not my usual brand. But I don’t suppose you’d be interested in that.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Jamie
On Friday Rory went to work. I envied him the option. I’ve always regretted not having a job of my own, but when we married the only thing I was qualified to do was waitressing, and Rory would not have been okay with his wife serving people. And waitressing was a job I was more than happy to leave behind. If I’d been a different kind of person, maybe I could have tried again after Simon started school. But I’d never been bookish. Going to college wasn’t an option for me. What I’d really like now is a little business of my own. I could be a stylist, or a personal shopper. Maybe, when all this is over and Simon moves on with his life, when Rory finally ends things between us, that’s exactly what I’ll do.
Rory sent over two assistants to pick up Leanne Fraser’s car, which was still sitting in our driveway, and deliver it back to their home. I felt better when it was gone. Leanne was falling apart. Andrew had had to pick her up and carry her to their car. How much of that was due to what we’d done by setting the trolls on her family? I know she started it, and I know we really had no choice if we were going to protect Simon, but guilt nagged at me. I needed distraction. I thought about going online—I had offers from buyers for my clothes that I needed to respond to—but my heart wasn’t in it. If I went online at all I would probably feel the pull to check social media, and I didn’t want to see that stuff. Besides, I didn’t want to work on my side hustle while Simon was under suspicion. Most of the time, going behind Rory’s back and selling my stuff had seemed not only justified, but actually, in a fucked-up way, good for our marriage. The existence of my secret nest egg made me confident. I didn’t get needy or clingy. I didn’t try to convince Rory to transfer a house into my name, or to give me expensive jewelry, both of which are, in my book, fatal errors. And my side hustle kept my interest in clothes and grooming alive, which meant that I looked good, which he liked. All in all, I felt just fine about what I was doing. But since Nina disappeared, I had no heart for it anymore. It all seemed so petty and pointless, in the face of what was coming for us. Also, Rory was so completely committed, completely focused on keeping Simon safe. It would have been cheap of me to be anything less.
Putting the shop on hiatus meant that I had nothing to do. I worked out in the gym, but that only took an hour. I showered and cleaned rooms that didn’t need cleaning, and the minutes ticked by like hours. Simon was buried in his bedroom. I didn’t want to talk to him. Andy Fraser said that Simon had tried to kiss Grace. That scared me. I didn’t want to think that it could be true, but I believed that Simon had gone to meet Grace when I’d begged him not to. Simon had never liked being told what to do, and it would be like him to do the exact opposite of what I’d asked.
But trying to kiss Grace? If that was true, it was something different from a demonstration of independence. Something bigger and darker. Maybe Grace had misread a hug or some other attempt to comfort her. Which wouldn’t have happened if he’d stayed away from her like I’d asked.
Just before lunchtime, Rory called me.
“Can you bring Simon to Burlington? His lawyer wants a meeting. Two o’clock.”
“Is everything okay?” It was such a stupid question. Of course, nothing was okay. By asking the question, I was asking him to treat me like a child. To reassure me. To make me feel better. “Never mind,” I said.
