‘Except that one of the people whose house you broke into came knocking on our front door today,’ Paul says. ‘And your mother got nervous and may have made the woman suspicious.’
Raleigh looks like he’s about to be sick.
‘So it’s not necessarily over yet,’ Paul says.
Olivia forces herself to say it. ‘The other house that Raleigh broke into was the Pierces’.’
Paul looks back and forth between the two of them, his face showing disbelief. ‘And you’re just telling me this now?’
‘I didn’t think it mattered,’ Olivia says lamely.
‘You didn’t think – Jesus Christ! The police have been all over that house!’
‘I know,’ Olivia says.
‘I don’t suppose you wore gloves, Raleigh?’ Paul says, turning to his son.
Raleigh shakes his head, looking frightened, and says, ‘I’m not a criminal.’
‘Oh, Christ,’ Paul says.
‘The police don’t have Raleigh’s prints on file,’ Olivia says, her voice tense. ‘They can’t connect Raleigh to the break-ins.’ Surely they can’t prove anything against Raleigh?
‘What if this woman goes to the police and accuses him?’ Paul asks. ‘What if they take his prints? They’ll know he was in both of those damn houses!’
Olivia sends a desperate, pleading look for forgiveness at her son, but he turns and flees upstairs, before he bursts into tears again.
Raleigh returns to his bedroom and slams the door behind him. He throws himself down on his bed and puts his headphones on and turns his music up loud. He wants to blot the scene downstairs from his mind, but he can’t. He keeps thinking about it. How could his mother have been so stupid? He’d wanted to yell at her, but he didn’t dare. And his dad – his dad is still furious with him, he can tell. And now his dad is furious with his mom, too.
Raleigh’s angry with everyone, but he knows deep down that it’s mostly his own fault.
He lies on his bed, heart pounding, wondering if he’s going to be arrested. He will have to see that horrible lawyer again. He feels bad at how much money this might cost his parents. He will make it up to them. He’ll be a better son. He’ll start doing chores, work harder in school.
Raleigh is sick with fear. Every time someone knocks at the door, he’s going to think it’s the police, coming for him.
Becky rattles around in her empty house, which is far too big for just one person. It’s Wednesday night. Her husband has been away on business all week, on the West Coast, although they have been in touch by phone. He’ll be home tomorrow evening. She’s proud of her husband, Larry, and grateful that he’s been successful – she doesn’t need to work – but sometimes it’s lonely. With the long hours and travel, he missed so much of the kids growing up. She didn’t really mind it when the kids were here, but since the twins went off to college, she’s missed him. Working from home wasn’t her first choice; she’d rather be out of the house. But she wanted to get back into bookkeeping, and the only work she could find was freelance. Now she’s made such a mess of things that she wonders if she should just find a full-time job at a shop somewhere. Something that will get her out of the house. She needs to keep herself busy. Because she’d been thinking far too much about Robert Pierce, alone next door, and what they were like together.
She thinks uneasily about him now. He did suspect his wife was having an affair. It makes her uncomfortable, what he said to her, telling her what to do. He’s lying, and he wants her to lie, too. He’s clearly afraid of the police. She can understand that. He doesn’t want her telling the detectives that he knew his wife was cheating. Well, she won’t tell them. He doesn’t have to worry about her.
Now she remembers something else – a night in the summer. It was before Becky slept with Robert the first time, but she was already hopelessly attracted to him, devoting far too much of her time to thinking about him.
Becky didn’t mean to spy on them. But it was a hot night, and she had the upstairs windows open and she heard music coming from their backyard. Some slow jazz piece filtering across the sweet summer air, something romantic. She looked out a window, taking care not to be seen. Robert and Amanda were on the back lawn, wrapped in each other’s arms. She felt an immediate stab of jealousy. Oh, to be young and in love again – dancing in the moonlight! Becky couldn’t see their faces, but after watching them for a minute, she realized something was wrong. Something about the way they were holding each other. Amanda wasn’t relaxing into her husband; she seemed to be moving stiffly as they danced, as if she were unwilling, almost as if she were being forced.
After a moment, Becky saw Amanda’s shoulders convulsing. She was sobbing, her face buried in her husband’s chest.
Now Becky wonders again about what she saw. She’d romanticized Robert, she knows that. What had been going on that night in the dark?
Robert couldn’t have killed Amanda, Becky tells herself again, staring into the dark. Surely she would know if someone she’d had sex with was a killer? Surely she would be able to tell?
Chapter Sixteen
CARMINE IS LINGERING on her front path on Thursday morning when she sees Zoe come out of the house and head for her car.
‘Hey, Zoe!’ she calls, and makes her way over to her next-door neighbour’s driveway.
‘Hi, Carmine,’ Zoe calls. ‘How are you?’
‘Good.’ She reaches the driveway. ‘Have you heard anything more about that woman who was killed?’
Zoe shakes her head. ‘It’s too awful. To have somebody murdered who lived so close.’ Her expression is solemn. She adds, ‘I’m sure the police will find out who did it.’ She pauses with her hand on the door of the car. ‘Any luck finding out who broke into your house?’
‘I think so,’ Carmine says. ‘Do you know the Sharpes? On Sparrow? They have a teenage boy, right?’
‘Yes, Raleigh.’ Zoe frowns and narrows her eyes, catching her meaning. ‘You can’t think it’s him.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, why would you? He’s Olivia and Paul’s boy. He would never do something like that. I know Olivia. She’s in my book club.’
Carmine remains quiet, watching Zoe.
‘Why do you think it’s him?’ Zoe asks finally.
‘I went by there yesterday afternoon,’ Carmine says. ‘The way she reacted, I’d swear she knew exactly what I was talking about. She looked very nervous, and guilty. I’d bet a hundred dollars she wrote that letter.’
Zoe bristles. ‘I don’t think so.’ She pauses. ‘We were talking about it at book club, and I didn’t notice anything.’
‘Maybe you could talk to her?’ Carmine suggests.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Find out if it was her son, and if she wrote the letter?’ Carmine says.
‘I’m not going to ask her that!’
‘Okay,’ Carmine says, turning away.
‘Wait!’ Zoe calls. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know yet,’ Carmine says and heads back inside.