Chapter 26 Andrea Kendal
Andrea Kendal
The knock on the door sounded official, a battering ram of authority that was rapid enough that Andrea set Ryder down on his play mat.
“What is that?” Cameron asked, his eyes wide.
“There’s someone at the door. Watch Ryder for a moment?”
The boy nodded, taking Andrea’s place and picking up Ryder’s favorite toy—a fire truck with a big crane on top.
Andrea straightened her cream lounge suit into place.
The set was linen, a designer brand that cost way too much and wrinkled way too easily.
It had been picked out by her stylist, along with the rest of her neutrals-focused closet.
Sometimes when she was drinking, she would go into the basement and go through the boxes of Roxanne’s clothes.
They were an explosion of color, and items with history—a threadbare pair of coveralls with paint splatters on them and a faded 49ers sweatshirt with a mustard stain on the front.
She had tried to pull on a sparkly blue evening gown and almost burst into tears when her breasts were too big to zip the back shut.
She’d penguin-walked over to the couch and collapsed there, hugging a bottle of wine like a life preserver.
That was how Eric had found her, the gown bunched around her waist.
He hadn’t understood. He’d offered to buy her a new dress in a size that fit her enhanced build, but he didn’t understood the intense jealousy that Andrea had for Roxanne.
Not that Andrea had called it that, but all the words she’d tried to use hadn’t fit.
Eric didn’t understand the complicated mess of emotions she had for a dead woman.
A woman whose life she lived in but wasn’t a part of.
How could she tell her husband that he didn’t look at her the way he’d looked at Roxanne? That he didn’t love her that way?
Of course, he said he did. A few times, he’d even said that he loved Andrea more.
But that was a lie. She knew it, even if he didn’t.
She checked the peephole, and her stomach dropped at the sight of a police officer standing there. Would it ever feel like it wasn’t about her? Would her fear of the cops ever subside, her guilt and culpability fade away?
She was worried it wouldn’t. That forty years from now, she’d still lose her breath every time a uniform looked at her for a moment too long.
After taking a moment to compose herself, she opened the door with a reserved smile. “Good morning?”
“Hello, Mrs. Kendal. Detective Ted Palentick. Is your husband home? We need to speak to the two of you.”
The two of them. Not a good sign. “Oh, no—he’s at the hospital in surgery. I mean, performing the surgery. He won’t be home for hours.”
“Well, there’s been a development.” Palentick hitched up his belt and stared at the ground, as if deciding what information to share.
“About the body?” Andrea asked. They must have identified it. Or at least, ruled out Roxanne.
“Yes. That’s what we need to talk to you about. Do you think you could come down to the station?”
Andrea stared at him, confused. “What? Why?”
“Well, we need to ask a few questions. Really, we’re interested in speaking with your husband, given that you didn’t live here at the time of the incident.
Is that correct, that you moved in . . .
Well, when did you move in?” He tilted his head.
It may have sounded like an innocent question, but she could see the gleam in his eye.
“About three years ago.” The lie fell out smoothly; she’d said it so often she almost believed it herself.
“And when did you meet Dr. Kendal?” He glanced toward the front yard as if he didn’t really care about the results.
“I’m sorry, do you need me to come to the station or not? Because it sounds like you don’t,” Andrea snapped.
“Maybe better for you to, just to be safe.” He smiled like he was doing her a favor.
“I need to call our attorney and leave a message for my husband. Why don’t you leave me your card, and I’ll call you when I have had a chance to coordinate childcare and will be able to come?
I’d like my attorney to be present. I’m sure you understand that.
” She smiled like she was returning the favor, and he seemed to appreciate the gesture as little as she had.
“Mom!” Cameron called from the living room. “Ryder pooped!”
“I really have to go. Do you have a card?” Andrea half closed the door, hoping the man would take the hint. He sighed, then unbuttoned the front pocket of his shirt and pulled out a small clip of cards. He removed one and held it out to her.
Ted Palentick, Senior Investigator: Homicide.
She gripped the doorframe and tried to stay upright. “Okay, Ted. Thank you. I’ll call you in a bit. Might be a few hours.”
“You can’t avoid this, Mrs. Kendal. This needs to happen today. Same with your husband. His work schedule is not an excuse.”
It wasn’t a work schedule—Eric was saving lives. If this man ever had his heart fail, he wouldn’t want his surgeon skipping out the hospital door to answer some stupid questions about something he wasn’t involved in.
Unless he was involved. The little voice she often drowned with pills and alcohol piped up before she could smother it.
They could hope and pretend this wasn’t about the past, but maybe the police department’s questions were about Roxanne and what happened five years ago.