Chapter 13 Andrea Kendal
Andrea Kendal
“I think she’s too young for Eric, personally. I mean, Roxanne was his age. Maybe four or five years younger. But Andrea? She’s, like, late twenties, tops. He’s in his fifties. It’s ridiculous.”
It was the app for the front-door camera, and she tapped on the notification to view the video.
On the front porch was a heavyset woman, her dark hair pulled back in a severe bun.
Even through the small video, Andrea could see the bright-red smear of her lips, the crook of her large nose.
Andrea’s fingers slipped and the sleek phone dropped, skittering off her knee and underneath the vehicle.
She swore, her eyes pinching shut against the pain in her kneecap.
Hissing out a breath, she slowly straightened her leg, the joint smarting in protest.
From inside the SUV, Ryder shrieked and kicked his legs, anxious to get to the frozen yogurt place.
He would want Superman flavor, and Cameron would want chocolate.
Their verbal contract was signed, the yogurt restaurant the first stop on their itinerary, a reward for them behaving during the forty-five-minute-long book club discussion that Andrea had attended via Zoom.
But she couldn’t pull out of the garage right now, not with Patrizia on the front porch.
Her car was probably in their driveway, which was ridiculous.
What was the point of having a security gate and paying an ungodly amount each month for them to guard the entrance if they were then going to let someone through?
But she knew the answer to that. They let Patrizia through because she was on the list. Her driver’s license was on file, her name and phone number in the database, their address beside it.
Each home was allowed six permanent guest passes, and Roxanne had completed the paperwork for Patrizia.
Paperwork that Andrea had never considered revising.
The deletion felt like a cruel move to a woman who had lost a daughter.
Even now, with the mistake darkening their front porch, the thought was too taboo.
She crouched and felt along the floor, trying to reach the phone. It was too far, and she had to lie on her stomach and inch underneath the car before she could reach it. Her fingers nudged the phone, then closed on it, and when she rolled upright and looked at the display, she froze.
The drop had answered the doorbell, Andrea’s microphone recording, their connection live. She held her breath, hoping Ryder’s babbles from inside the car weren’t audible.
Cameron opened the car door and stuck his head out.
Andrea held up her hand in warning, then put a finger to her lips in the be quiet gesture.
The boy obeyed, his eyes widening at the expression on Andrea’s face.
So smart, that little one. He suspected, even at his age, how terrible the world could be.
Her forefinger shaking, Andrea reached out and pressed the end button on the connection. The video disappeared, but if anything, her anxiety spiked further with the woman out of sight. Who knew what she was doing on their property. What window she was looking in. What door she was trying.
Tony must have called her and had her drive up from San Diego.
An infection spread quickly, and that was what this police investigation was.
A fresh infection that would dominate their lives for a period of time.
Maybe Andrea should take the kids and go to their home in Florida.
Ride out the investigation there, let Eric handle it all, and come back once the dust had settled.
Eric had done it before. He’d dodged a murder investigation and emerged unscathed, ready for love and with an engagement ring in hand, one that was three times bigger than the one he had given Roxanne.
This was ridiculous. Andrea shouldn’t have to hide in her driveway, on the verge of a panic attack, her heart hammering in her chest, all because of a woman who was over sixty years old.
Patrizia may have ruled Roxanne’s and Eric’s lives, but she was no threat to Andrea. Intimidating, yes. Dangerous, no.
Still, Andrea waited in the garage, slipping quietly into the SUV and sitting with Cameron and Ryder for almost ten minutes before she felt brave enough to open the garage and start the car.
The driveway was empty, with no sign of Patrizia’s car. Andrea gripped the steering wheel tightly and drove slowly down their drive and through the front gates.
That was close. She stopped at the end of the drive and looked to the left, waiting as a Mercedes convertible eased by. Letting off the pedal, she rolled forward, then slammed on her brakes at the sight of the woman standing in front of her car, blocking her exit.
Patrizia.
Patrizia hadn’t changed since the last time Andrea saw her, three years ago.
She had Roxanne’s heavy build and a bitch face that was permanently in place.
Holding her palm up like a traffic cop, she stared Andrea down and circled around to the driver’s-side window, rapping on the glass with her knuckles, then making the universal roll down sign with her hand.
Andrea considered, for the briefest of moments, not rolling down the window.
She could, in theory, just drive off. Patrizia was on the side of her car, wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop her if Andrea just stomped on the pedal and zoomed forward.
The woman already hated her, so it wasn’t as if she needed to preserve their relationship.
Andrea lowered her sunglasses and pressed the button on her door. The window hummed downward. “Hello,” she said as sweetly as possible.
“You know that it’s her they found, right? My daughter?” Patrizia gripped the window frame with both hands and leaned in, her breath smelling of cigarettes. “That’s who they’ve found. I told them. I’ve told them for five years that he’s a killer. You’re married to a killer.”
“Hi, Patrizia.” Andrea pressed her lips together, a move that accentuated the lip injections she received every six months. “I’m sorry, I’m late to an appointment and can’t talk.”
“Listen here, sweetie. Tell Eric that he can’t ignore me and Tony. We both know that story about his business trip is bullshit, and he’s going to pay for what he did to her.”
The words sent a chord of unease through Andrea and she hesitated, unsure of how to respond.
He’s going to pay for what he did. We both know that story is bullshit.
Everyone seemed so sure of Eric’s culpability, but his timelines were watertight.
He had been six hours away, at an event with dozens of witnesses.
It was impossible for him to be Roxanne’s killer. Plus, there was no motive.
Patrizia’s eyes roamed over the car’s red interior. “She had a car just like this one, you know.”
Not just like this. Roxanne had driven an Audi SUV, which was why Andrea had chosen a Volvo.
She pushed aside the thought of the Audi, the blood splatters and smears well documented in the crime scene photos.
The police had said that she had likely been stabbed once or twice before she tried to return to the car, and possibly a third time after she was pulled out, according to the blood pool on the ground.
They’d said she’d likely fought off her attacker with her hands and gotten them cut up in the process, hence the blood on the steering wheel, gearshift, and center console.
“I’m very sorry about Roxanne,” Andrea said carefully, letting her Jersey accent slip a little. “But I promise that Eric doesn’t have anything to do with it.”
“She was going to leave him,” Patrizia hissed. “You know that, right? I’ve told you that?”
Yes, Patrizia had told her that. Andrea had received all the letters Roxanne’s mother had sent and had listened to all the voicemails.
She understood Patrizia and Tony’s stance on the matter, but she knew the truth.
Patrizia and Tony had been leeches, two members of a family who had sucked the life out of Roxanne.
Patrizia’s gaze roamed to the back seat, and her expression soured a little at the sight of the two boys.
Andrea took her foot off the brake pedal and the car rolled forward a little, pulling Patrizia off-balance. “I’m sorry, I’m late to an appointment,” she repeated.
The woman said nothing, and Andrea pressed the gas and left her behind, standing in the middle of their street, her face pinched in anger.