8. Vivian
Chapter eight
Vivian
“Mama, I look like a big kid!” Eloise squeals as she twirls around the living room, showing off her new backpack for preschool this fall.
Thankfully, Shane was able to get Eloise enrolled in Forrest Hills Academy without any issue—and without me needing to call in any favors to Marcie Claire Riley. As soon as we got home and she saw her new backpack had arrived, Eloise insisted on trying it on with her new uniform. She really does look like a big kid, which tugs at my mama heart. When did my baby get so big? She’ll only go to preschool three days a week but it’s still going to be an adjustment for both of us. I’m a little concerned about a change in her schedule but I’m hopeful summer will give us time to prepare and this adjustment will be a good one.
She’s still having regular nightmares and I miss consistent sleep. Between my own insomnia and Eloise’s nightmares, it hasn’t been easy. My mind is hard to turn off at night and it seems like as soon as I fall asleep, I’m jolted awake to my baby crying out for her daddy in her sleep.
“You look great, baby! Now go hang your uniform back up like I showed you, so it doesn’t get wrinkly. We will have to go shopping for school supplies to fill up that cute new backpack sometime this summer too,” I tell her as she scampers upstairs.
My niece Olivia knocks as she walks through the front door of the guest house. “Hey Auntie, I was sent back here to get Eloise. There are some people here to speak with you, so Mama told me to take Eloise up to our playroom,” Olivia says as she gives me a hug.
“Oh really? I wasn’t expecting anyone,” I reply as Eloise comes back downstairs. “Baby, go play with Livy. I’ll come up in a bit.”
“Yes! Livy, can we set up the dream house with the guest house again? But this time, can I have the purple convertible?” Eloise loves playing Barbies lately and makes them have a guest house, just like we live in now. Olivia and Eloise hold hands and skip off to the house, planning out their Barbies’ life stories.
I quickly glance in the mirror and see I look somewhat presentable before making sure I didn’t miss any calls or texts. Back in Chicago, no one ever stopped by without calling or texting first, but I suppose that’s another difference between big city and small-town living. I walk up to the house and open the back door off the kitchen. I hear my sister speaking with people, but I don’t recognize the voices as I walk toward the front sitting room.
Standing in the front room are two strangers. Next to my sister is a gentleman in a well-fitted black suit. He turns toward me as I walk into the room and when our eyes meet, my heart skips a beat. The man is easily six-foot-three if not six-foot-four with broad, muscular shoulders that fill out his suit. I’ve never seen him before; I know I would never forget such a handsome face. His dark hair is shorter on the sides and effortlessly tousled on the top. With a strong jawline that has a hint of stubble, his deep mahogany eyes devour me from head to toe as my breath catches. He not only sees me, he is drinking in every detail, and who am I not to return the favor?
I’m too flustered to even speak right now. Is it hot in here?
Savannah interrupts my observation of the Adonis in her living room and snaps me back to reality. “Vivian, these folks are with the FBI and are here to talk to you about Trent’s case.” I nod as the man extends his hand to me .
“Ma’am, I’m Special Agent Henry Walker Bennett with the Violent Crimes and Major Offenders Division of the FBI, and this is my colleague Special Agent Dr. Harlow Lane,” he says in a deep voice with a Southern accent that’s not from Tennessee but could be from Alabama or Texas.
I put my hand in his, intending to introduce myself but words escape me. As soon as my hand makes contact with his skin, a surprising warmth radiates from my fingertips up my entire arm. My eyes shoot up, colliding with his as they appear to slightly widen. Did he feel that sensation too? Am I imagining this right now? What in the world was that? I try to compose myself quickly, pulling my hand back, but before I reply, his colleague next to him speaks up.
“Hi Mrs. Stone, thank you so much for taking the time to meet with us,” she says in a warm and comforting tone, and I can’t help but notice her kind eyes. Dr. Lane looks too young to be a doctor but her youthful energy is bright and welcoming, much like her dark suit accented with a vivid fuchsia shirt under it. With her straight dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, she’s a few inches shorter than me, which isn’t saying much as I’m only five-foot-seven. I don’t detect a noticeable accent from her, although something about her makes me want to give her a hug.
“Right, of course. Yes, I’m Vivian Stone. How can I help you folks?” I accept Dr. Lane’s extended hand as I glance over and notice Special Agent Bennett flexing the hand I just held.
Savannah tilts her head slightly and looks between me and Special Agent Bennett. I don’t know what she sees but I know nothing gets by my sister. “Vivian, do you want me to stay or do you want to speak with them by yourself, honey?” She’s giving me an out if I don’t want to answer their questions alone—she knows me so well. There have been days where I have needed her physically next to me as I relived the worst days of my life .
“I think I’ll be okay, but I can call you back in here if I need to. Thanks, Sav,” I tell her as she squeezes my arm and nods at the Special Agents before walking out of the room. I also know my sister isn’t going to go far and will still hear everything we say in here.
“Would you like to have a seat, Mrs. Stone?” Special Agent Bennett extends his hand toward one of the taupe couches as he steps toward one of the light gray wingback chairs next to the fireplace. As he moves, I can smell his cologne, and it is dangerous how good it smells.
When was the last time I noticed how good a man smelled, let alone felt an attraction like this to a stranger? I don’t know that I’ve ever felt an immediate attraction like this before in my life.
“Yes, thank you.” I sit at the end of the couch, tucking one leg behind the other at the ankle, bracing myself for whatever brought them here today. He pulls a small notebook out of his suit coat breast pocket and removes an attached pen.
“What can I do for you, Special Agent Bennett and Dr. Lane?”
“Please call me Walker,” he says with a kind smile that reaches his eyes. Daddy always says you could judge someone’s character on whether they had an authentic smile. If someone has a fake smile, it’s likely not the only fake thing about them.
“Oh, my apologies, I thought you said your last name was Bennett,” I reply.
“No ma’am, you are correct. My full name is actually Henry Walker Bennett the third, which is a mouthful for anyone. My father claimed the nickname Hank well before my time, so I’ve always gone by my middle name,” he replies with a gentle shrug and slight smile.
“I suspect you’ve explained that a time or two, back home in … Texas? Or maybe Alabama?” I ask as I start to fidget with the edge of the pillow next to me .
“Back home would be Texas, ma’am.” He nods in agreement as his smile grows the smallest amount.
“And you can call me Harlow, Mrs. Stone,” Dr. Lane jumps in and I had almost forgotten she was in the room too. She exudes a calming presence; I’m not sure what type of doctor she is but I know she has a very peaceful presence and a Zen-like aura. If she works with Walker often, she’s probably used to women being dickmatized around him.
I nod at her request and take a deep breath before asking, “So what can I do for you? Is there an update in Trent’s case? I wasn’t aware the FBI had an interest in this.”
Special Agent Bennett takes the lead in answering, “There is a recent development, and we have worked closely with Detective Johnson and Detective Taylor in Chicago to get up to speed on Trent’s case. I’m in charge of a special task force, and Harlow here is one of the experts on our team.” She nods in agreement as he continues, “We believe there is a possibility that your husband’s case may be connected to other similar cases. My team and I are looking into any and all similarities between the cases. We have both read the notes from your previous interviews, so some of these details may feel repetitive for you but we’re just wondering if you could go through a few things for us.” Walker gives a sympathetic look, but his eyes are still taking in every detail.
“I’m not sure what else I can tell you both that I haven’t already told the police in Chicago, but of course I will help with whatever I can, Special Agent Bennett.” I haven’t decided yet if I want to be on a first name basis with him.
“What can you tell us about that day that may not have been in the initial reports, ma’am?” he asks.
I look out the window and take a deep breath before I begin, “Besides being the worst day of my life? Well, let’s see … I foolishly thought my husband was faithful to me up until the truth was re vealed when he died. I thought my husband was operating at the hospital, but he was actually at a hotel with his mistress, who is a terrible person by the way. Trent was shot as he was leaving the hotel. I don’t know where he was going from the hotel, whether he would have gone back to the hospital or come home to celebrate our daughter’s birthday.” The fact that Trent was killed on Eloise’s birthday still feels exceptionally unfair to both Eloise and me.
I close my eyes before I continue, “I was unaware of his affair until the hospital gave me his personal effects after he died, and I saw incoming text messages from … her.” I am so sick of thinking of their affair and the deceit that had me fooled. I open my eyes to look back up at Special Agent Bennett and Dr. Lane, clearing my throat before proceeding, “Trent didn’t have any enemies that I knew of, we weren’t in financial trouble, his patients all loved him as far as I know, and besides his affair he didn’t have any illicit vices other than an occasional expensive whiskey, preferably neat,” I summarize for what feels like the twentieth time in the last few months.
Special Agent Bennett writes down a few notes as I talk, nodding occasionally, but doesn’t interrupt me. He lets me talk, even though I’m sure he has specific questions to ask me. Dr. Lane doesn’t take any notes; she just sits and listens to every word I say. I tell them about the anonymous poem I received a few weeks ago. He confirms they read it and saw the lab results, and how there were no fingerprints on the poem or envelope when the lab examined it. Like everything else related to Trent’s murder, I have far more questions than answers. Special Agent Bennett said he is having the FBI’s lab take a second look at it just in case, but there haven’t been any poems or letters with the other cases his task force is investigating thus far so they aren’t sure if it is related to the sniper cases or not .
“Like most housewives in our country, I’ve watched the popular crime shows and listened to the popular podcasts. I know the spouse is always an initial suspect so please allow me to be clear about this as you consider every angle in Trent’s murder. Our marriage wasn’t perfect, and was obviously way worse off than I thought, but I had nothing to do with his death. My feelings for Trent aside, I would never do that to our daughter. Whomever did this absolutely broke my daughter’s heart and I will never forgive them for the pain they have caused her.”
“And what about the pain they caused you? Is that why y’all moved back to Tennessee?” Special Agent Bennett asks.
“I’m a mama, Special Agent Bennett, I can handle pain. But my pain has been amplified by the discovery of the reality of my marriage. Pairing the revelation of his affair with the murder of my husband on the same day is why I had to move home.” I shake my head even though I’ve talked through this a thousand times, it’s still so insane that this is my life. “I need my family’s support as my baby and I try to heal from everything and navigate a new reality.” My voice breaks a little at the end as I think of Eloise’s nightmares. “If we have any chance of healing and being whole again, we need to feel safe and loved, and those things were stolen from us in Chicago.”
Dr. Lane speaks up, “I can’t imagine what you have been through, Mrs. Stone. I know you said Trent didn’t have any enemies, but do you have any idea of anyone that could have had a vendetta against him? It could be related to his career, or it could be something in his personal life. Even a wild idea or hunch, there is no theory too out there at this point,” she assures me.
“I’m not sure, but I’m sorry, what kind of doctor did you say you were?” My question comes out harsher than I intended but these people are asking for intimate details about our lives .
“That’s a fair question, Mrs. Stone,” she responds with a gracious and kind smile. “I’m a forensic psychiatrist and criminal profiler with the FBI. So that fancy title just means I bring a unique perspective when it comes to understanding criminals and why they do what they do, which also helps us try to stop them before another crime is committed,” Dr. Lane explains. “At least that’s the goal, anyway.”
“That’s an impressive and big job for someone so young, Dr. Lane,” I observe. Dr. Lane looks like she could maybe be twenty-five years old but would still get carded at any bar.
“Yes, indeed I’m young for my field, but it helps when you graduate high school at twelve years old and have a doctorate before you are eighteen. I also like to think my mother gave me the best genes when it comes to aging well,” Harlow replies with a smile and more kindness than my tone probably deserved.
“That’s all quite remarkable, Dr. Lane. And I’m sorry, but honestly, I have to ask, isn’t there a chance this was all just random?” I ask. I’ve asked the Chicago detectives this before but they never give me a straight answer. “It’s not as though Chicago is a crime free city by any means and random shootings do happen.”
“Of course that’s always a possibility, although at this point, we don’t think it was. While my team and I haven’t connected all the dots yet, I assure you that I’m very good at my job, Mrs. Stone. I also have a very talented, intelligent team,” Special Agent Bennett responds looking over at Dr. Lane. “My gut tends to be right and whatever the reason was, I don’t believe your husband’s murder was an accident and I think it’s somehow related to our other cases.”
A chill runs down my spine. “Are you sure? You don’t think it was random? I just assumed it was another senseless shooting in Chicago,” I say as my heart rate starts accelerating. If it wasn’t by chance, what does that mean? Who would want to kill Trent on purpose?
“Typically, random shootings aren’t committed by a lone bullet from a long-range sniper rifle, ma’am,” he replies softly as he leans forward and shifts in the chair. “The other cases also involved a .300 Winchester magnum shot from a M2010 Enhanced Sniper Rifle. The bullet from Trent’s case matched the forensics of the other cases we are investigating, although there doesn’t appear to be any obvious connections between any of the victims. We are exploring all options at this point, and I will let you know we are also including the possibility that this could have been a professional job.”
My eyes snap up from focusing on the throw pillow on my lap to meet his mahogany eyes. “A professional job? What does that mean? Wait, like a hitman?” My anxiety sweeps through my body and propels me toward a full-blown anxiety attack. “Are we safe? Is this person going to come after me or Eloise next?”
Special Agent Bennett reaches over, places his hand on my arm, and for whatever reason, my panic instantly starts to calm down. “Take a deep breath, Mrs. Stone,” he says as he tries to help soothe me. His touch once again sends a warm feeling up and down my arm. It is the oddest sensation, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt something like it before today.
“Vivian. Call me Vivian,” I say just above a whisper as I close my eyes and try to slow my breath. I guess witnessing me spiraling into a panic attack puts us on a first name basis.
“Okay, Vivian. Try to take another deep breath,” Walker’s deep and calm voice feels like a warm blanket. “There you go, take another one. Okay? Listen, I have no reason to be concerned for your safety or your daughter’s safety, alright? If this is connected to the other cases, they were all single incidents within the cities where they occurred. No other family members or known associates have been involved and whatever the reason Trent was the target, I don’t think it extends to you.”
“Maybe I need to call my brother Liam and keep him included in any developments with the case,” I wonder out loud.
“Does your brother work in law enforcement?” Walker asks.
“In a way, kind of. He works with a variety of law enforcement agencies, and I’m not trying to be evasive, but to be honest, none of us know exactly what he does other than he knows a lot of people in law enforcement leadership,” I explain.
“Oh really? What is your brother’s name?” Harlow asks.
“His name is Liam Callahan and his company’s is LC & Associates,” I respond.
The corners of Harlow’s lips slightly turn up as she responds, “What a small world. That’s interesting, Vivian. I actually know Liam Callahan but didn’t make the connection with your married name.” She turns and gives Walker a look that I don’t understand. “I think the team would be comfortable keeping him in the loop whenever we have updates for you, but of course that is ultimately up to Walker. Our team agrees if this was a professional hit, the victims were the only targets to our knowledge thus far, not their loved ones or surrounding community. We don’t believe there is a threat to the general public at this time,” Harlow says.
My heart rate starts to calm down a little at that. “But if that changes, you would let me know, right? The detectives in Chicago didn’t say anything about us being in danger, but maybe they just don’t know what the hell is going on.” I’ve always felt like I had more questions for them than they did for me, which rubs me the wrong way when they are the ones investigating Trent’s murder.
“Absolutely. In fact, my team and I are based in Nashville so if anything comes up, I can be here relatively quickly but honestly, Vivian, I don’t expect there to be any reason for me to come back to Forrest Falls other than to interview you further or share any significant updates about the case,” Walker assures me. I look over to the doorway and see my sister blatantly listening to our conversation and no longer trying to stay hidden. I give her a slight nod and Savannah takes a few steps into the room to make her presence known to the agents as well.
“In the meantime, if you have any details or information that you recall, even if it seems insignificant, we would appreciate it if you let us know. Sometimes the subconscious can pick funny times to remember things. If anything comes to mind relating to your husband’s life or social circles that you haven’t already discussed with either the detectives in Chicago or with us, it could be helpful. You might do something that triggers a memory or makes a connection you didn’t think of previously,” Harlow adds. “I do have one more question for you before we let you get on with your day, and it may seem random, but I’m wondering when the last time was you or your husband traveled anywhere on the East Coast?”
My eyes shutter as I realize what she may be asking about. I open my eyes, muster my courage, hold my head high, and push my shoulders back as I answer, “Trent regularly traveled to Boston for what I thought at the time were medical conferences, but in light of his involvement with Dr. Bishop, I don’t know if that’s why he was really visiting or if he was just there to see her.”
How many times did I call expecting him to be in his hotel room and not be able to reach him while he was traveling? How many times did Eloise try to video chat with her daddy only to have her call declined? Was he in a hotel room with Bianca Fucking Bishop or were they on a romantic dinner date? Did he ever have a conference in Boston or was it all a lie every time he flew out there?
How many times did he pick her over us? Even in his death, Trent’s affair keeps adding to my humiliation .
“And outside of Boston, did either of you travel anywhere else on the East Coast in the last few years?” Harlow asks.
I don’t understand what our travel history has to do with anything, but I try to think of any trips that may have been to the East Coast. My eyebrows furrow together as I rack my brain. “I think Trent had a conference in New York City last fall maybe in September or October, or at least that’s what he told me at the time. We were both back at Georgetown with our daughter for an alumni fundraiser event last summer, but otherwise I don’t think I’ve been to any other cities on the East Coast since I lived in DC, or not that I can recall right now anyway,” I reply.
Harlow looks over and gives a small nod to Walker who takes the cue and stands from the chair.
Walker takes a card out of his pocket and writes something down on the back before handing it to me. “This is my card, and I put my direct cell on the back. If you think of anything, or anything else strange happens, even as minor as someone mentioning Trent’s murder in a weird way, I would like you to let me know. If your gut thinks it sounds off, I would appreciate you telling us. It may seem like a minor detail, but I’ve found sometimes the biggest breaks come from the smallest tips.”
I take the card and look at his handwritten cell number. His penmanship is bold, uniform in size, and slightly slanted to the right. “Thank you, Agent Bennett.”
“Walker, please. Call me Walker, Vivian,” he insists. His small smile is far more comforting to me than it should be for someone I just met let alone someone I’m discussing the details of my husband’s murder and affair with. But there’s something about Walker that puts me at ease and makes me feel safe. Harlow’s presence only added to my comfort, and I wonder if that was the point in her coming with him all along .
“Okay then, Walker. And I’ll call you if I think of anything. Do you both have my contact information in case y’all don’t want to drive all the way out here next time?” I ask as I try not to focus on how good Walker smells now that I’m standing closer to him again.
“Honestly, I don’t mind the drive but if you wouldn’t mind sending me a text real quick so I have your cell number too in case anything else comes up, that would be helpful,” he says. I reach into my pocket and pull out my cell, sending a simple text that says Vivian Stone’s cell number . I hold my phone up to show him as his cell vibrates.
“Thank you, ma’am. We will let you get on with your day, but like Harlow said, please let us know if anything else comes up. I’ll be in touch with any other significant developments in the case as well.” Walker reaches out to shake my hand, and once again I feel that same distinctive but nice, warm sensation encompass and expand up my arm. Walker’s head tilts slightly to the right as he looks down at our hands and then back up to me. I can’t be sure, but I think the corners of his lips twitched ever so slightly in a smile.
“Thank you for talking with us, Vivian. I know it’s never easy to discuss such private details, but we appreciate your candor with us,” Harlow adds as she shakes my hand after Walker. She hands me a card as she continues, “My cell is listed on there as well so please ?call with anything I can help with or if you can’t reach Walker?.” I nod and see her long title is listed on the card as well: Dr. Harlow G. Lane, Senior Clinical Forensic Psychiatrist and Behavioral Analyst.
“Thank you, Walker and Harlow. I appreciate that,” I say as my sister clears her throat turning attention to her. “It would be my pleasure to walk y’all out, Special Agent Bennett and Dr. Lane,” Savannah says with a smile as she gestures with her extended hand to the foyer, ever the perfect hostess.
Walker peers intently at me, as if he can see into my soul. “I will be in touch, ma’am.” I inhale deeply and he nods, apparently finding whatever he was looking for. Harlow gives me a small wave as they follow Savannah out the door.
The view of Walker leaving the room makes me wonder if his suits are bespoke because they fit his body like a glove.
And that glove is tight perfection.
I don’t know what it is about this man. I understand blatantly checking out the Special Agent’s assets may seem inappropriate when he’s investigating my husband’s murder, but clearly my marriage was over before Trent’s death—I was just unaware of the fact. One would be blind not to notice how captivatingly handsome Walker is and I can’t ignore the delightful, warming tingle on my skin the few times we touched. I’ve never experienced an electric touch like that, nor how quickly my body responded to it.
I walk over to the front window and watch my sister visit with Walker and Harlow as they walk toward a large, fancy truck. My sister can make anyone feel welcome, so I suspect it’s small talk and I appreciate the additional moment to observe my unexpected visitors.
My sister continues talking to Harlow as Walker suddenly stops and turns to look back at the house. As if homing missiles, his eyes immediately lock in on mine, and I take a step back away from the window in embarrassment. I can’t believe he just caught me watching him and my face heats as a blush rises from my chest.
Attraction aside, I can’t help but wonder what this all means.
If the FBI is involved in Trent’s murder, that changes things. I cannot think of a single person who would be that mad at him to want to intentionally kill him. Even if I had found out about his affair, the worst I would have done is allow my brothers and maybe Daddy to have a conversation with him. Trent definitely would’ve had a few bruises afterwards but Eloise would still have her daddy. If it wasn’t random like I had assumed, what really happened that morning and why?