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Just in case Chief Claxton had contacted Reggie about their conversation, Anna had been on guard ever since she’d visited
the police station. She was glad she’d spoken to Claxton; doing so had allayed her fears. But she knew her brother would consider
it another betrayal, and she didn’t want him coming to her house angry like he had before.
She eyed the patch on the wall; Joel had repaired the hole Reggie had made when he put his fist through the Sheetrock, but
it still needed to be painted. Then she checked the clock. Her last appointment at the barbershop had canceled, so she’d had
the chance to come home from work and change, and she needed to pick up the kids from a swim party. But as soon as she scooped
her keys off the counter, she caught sight of Ford and Lucy coming up the walkway and set them down again.
Shoot. Anna hesitated. Claxton must’ve told them about the baseball card collection, and now they were coming to speak to her about
it.
When she answered the door, Ford briefly inclined his head. “Hey, Anna. We’re sorry to bother you, but we have a few questions we were hoping you could answer. Do you have a minute?”
“Sure.” She moved aside so they could enter the house. She could’ve kept them standing at the door, but she didn’t want Reggie
to come by and see that she was talking to them again. He was already mad at her. “Let’s go into the living room,” she said
and led the way.
“We’re sorry to intrude,” Ford said once they’d all sat. “But there’s just so much that doesn’t add up about the murders fifteen
years ago. And now—”
“That may be true, but I’ve done all I can to help,” she broke in, wanting to back away from it all once again.
“We appreciate that,” he said. “But are you aware that your brother was at the trailer park the night the Matteos were killed,
trying to score some drugs?”
She felt her heart sink. She’d just decided the baseball card collection meant nothing—and now this ? “No. Who told you that?”
“Susan Willett. She says he didn’t have any money, so Cary Whitehead refused to sell to him.”
She didn’t want to hear this, didn’t want it to be true. She’d just decided that her brother hadn’t been involved.
“Then he happens to be the one who comes up with a ‘confession’ Mick McBride claims he never gave,” Ford continued. “It’s
all a bit too... coincidental, wouldn’t you say?”
“It might be coincidental, but that’s all it is,” Anna replied, trying to keep her voice steady. “I admit I was worried when
I spoke to Chief Claxton yesterday, but he insists that baseball card collection didn’t come from the Matteos’ trailer.”
“Baseball card collection?” Ford repeated.
Anna looked from one to the other. “I assumed he’d told you. I remember my brother bragging about a baseball card collection that came into his possession around the time the Matteos were killed. Reggie told me he traded a set of tires for it, but the tires were only worth five hundred, and the collection was worth nearly five thousand .”
Ford whistled. “That’s a nice trade.”
“A little too nice,” Anna said. “That’s why I went to Claxton about it. But he insists nothing was stolen—” She stopped talking midsentence;
she’d been so focused on Ford she hadn’t realized the blood had drained from Lucy’s face. “What is it?” she asked.
Ford turned to Lucy, too.
“Tony Matteo did have a baseball card collection,” she said.
No! Anna caught her breath.
“I used to stop by their place every once in a while to see if they needed me to pick up anything from the store,” Lucy explained.
“Tony had arthritis and Lucinda was on oxygen, so it was hard for them to get out, and it gave me something to do, somewhere
to go, and an excuse to say hello. I liked being with them. My dad was hardly ever home, but Lucinda and Tony always were.” She scooted forward. “Anyway, Lucinda would sometimes reward me with a cookie or whatever she was baking, and I would
hang out with them. One day, Tony showed me a baseball card collection. I had no idea it was worth anything, but he said,
since he didn’t have any children or other close relatives, he wanted me to have it after he was gone.”
“How nice of him,” Ford said. “But... you never got it?”
“Of course not,” Lucy replied. “I didn’t even ask about it. How could I expect to get anything after what I thought my father had done?”
“You could’ve sold it,” Ford pointed out. “You needed the money.”
“I didn’t know how much it was worth,” Lucy reiterated. “I wouldn’t have taken it, anyway—didn’t even want to see it.”
Anna sank deeper into the couch. It was looking more and more like her brother could go to prison for the rest of his life, and she’d be responsible for speaking up about the baseball card collection. It was something she’d had to do, but that didn’t make it any easier. “Oh, God,” she muttered.
“Claxton didn’t think the baseball card collection signified anything?” Ford asked.
Knowing she had to see this through, that she no longer had any choice, Anna forced herself to sit up taller. “Claxton believes
nothing was stolen,” she said, attempting to at least formulate an opposing argument.
“If he didn’t know about the baseball card collection—if no one did—and that was all that was taken, it would be easy to assume
nothing was missing,” Lucy said.
“We need to talk to Claxton, tell him Tony did have a baseball card collection,” Ford said and, suddenly in a hurry, they both stood.
After they’d thanked her and she’d shown them out, Anna took another look at the patch on the wall in the entry and felt a
great deal more fear. What kind of man was her brother? And would her mother ever forgive her for the fact that, if he got
caught, it would be because of her?
It was Reggie who’d killed the Matteos. It had to be him. He’d been at the trailer park that night. He’d been desperate to make a drug buy he didn’t have the money for.
He was known to be reckless, have no respect for the law or other people’s rights, and he had an incredible temper. He’d also
had possession of the only item stolen from the Matteos’ home. Except for the DNA under Tony’s fingernails, everything fit.
Could the blood in the sink have been his?
Lucy was so excited and hopeful she could scarcely breathe. She knew Ford was filled with the same expectant energy. His knee
bounced as they waited to speak to Chief Claxton, who was in his office with someone else.
Claxton kept glancing over at them, so he knew they were there. But Lucy was willing to bet he wasn’t eager to give them an audience. He’d been so resistant, so afraid to take another look at the murders that’d occurred fifteen years ago for fear it would make the department look bad. But she and Ford had collected enough evidence that what they had to say should supersede something like that. A man’s life—his freedom—was worth more than the department’s reputation.
“You okay?” Ford murmured as she started to dig at her cuticles.
She clasped her hands together to stop herself from doing any more damage. “Just anxious. And hopeful. I would love to be
able to give my father some good news.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he warned. “You know Claxton’s just going to point to the DNA evidence. That’s all he cares
about.”
“This other stuff should matter, too.”
“Except he’ll say it’s circumstantial, so it isn’t enough to overthrow the case against your father.”
“I just want to know if they tested the DNA evidence from the blood in that sink against Reggie’s DNA. That’s all.”
Ford opened his mouth to respond but jumped up instead, and Lucy followed suit. An officer had approached them to say it was
time to speak to the chief of police.
Claxton glowered at them as they entered his office. Clearly, she’d been right; he wasn’t happy they were there.
“What’s going on now?” he said in lieu of a greeting.
“Reggie’s sister, Anna, came to visit you yesterday.”
He leaned forward, resting on his elbows. “So?”
“The baseball card collection she told you Reggie sold for five thousand dollars around the same time the Matteos were killed—”
“Has no connection to the murders,” he interrupted.
“Except it does,” Lucy insisted. “Tony Matteo owned a baseball card collection from when he was a child. I’m guessing it would’ve
been worth about what Reggie got for it, too.”
He stared at her for several seconds without responding. Finally, he said, “And how would you know this?”
“Because I used to visit the Matteos. They were sort of like grandparents to me—or the closest thing to grandparents I’d ever
had. Tony showed me the collection one day, told me he wanted me to have it after he was gone.”
Claxton started to laugh. “Of course he did.”
Lucy felt like she’d just been kicked in the stomach. They finally had something solid—an item stolen from the trailer that
night in the hands of a known ne’er-do-well—and Claxton still wouldn’t listen. “I’m serious,” she said.
“I have no doubt you are. You want to see your father walk free, but I’m convinced that would create a danger to society.
And convicted killers don’t get out of jail on evidence like this.”
A muscle moved in Ford’s cheek. “You could at least look into it.”
“Why?” he said. “How many times do I have to say the case is closed?”
“What about the blood in the kitchen sink?” Lucy asked. “Has the DNA from that been tested against Reggie’s?”
“You’re forgetting that the DNA evidence points to your father.”
“Only what was underneath Tony’s fingernails.”
“Exactly. You don’t get any closer than that!”
“There’s still so many unanswered questions—” Lucy started to say when a voice called Ford’s name, and they turned to see
Houston standing outside the police chief’s door.
“What are you doing here?” Ford asked his brother.
“Kevin and I are about to go to lunch. Is that okay with you?”
“Didn’t you just have drinks last night?”
“Is there a rule that says I can only see him once?” Houston said with a laugh. “What if I’m lonely? It’s not as if you’ve shown any interest in hanging out with me.”
“This isn’t funny, Houston,” Ford said.
Houston turned up his palms. “It kind of is. You’re letting your emotions draw you into a mess, little brother. I’m guessing it has something to do with what’s going on in your life back home. Coming here, focusing on something else entirely, is a great escape, especially when you get to be the knight charging in on a white horse to make it up to a beautiful woman who became collateral damage fifteen years ago. But you’re wasting your time playing amateur sleuth. Even worse, you’re wasting Kevin’s. Please, bro, give him a break, okay? Why can’t we all just enjoy the summer?”
Ford looked from Claxton to Houston and back again. Then he took Lucy’s hand. “Come on,” he said. “I don’t know why we bothered
to come here. I guess we thought the chief of police would be interested in making sure his department didn’t put an innocent
man in prison, but I guess not.”
“Ouch, go easy!” Houston called after him, but Ford didn’t respond. He didn’t speak until they were outside the building.
Then he paced angrily back and forth at the side of the Land Rover.
“I’m sorry,” Lucy said. “I shouldn’t have dragged you into this.”
“You didn’t drag me. And you’re not the one who should be sorry. They’re both assholes,” he said, flipping off the building.
“I get why they won’t believe us. Maybe we would be better off enjoying the summer. Nothing we find will matter. It all comes down to the DNA evidence in that sink.”
“We haven’t heard from Friedman lately,” he complained.
“I’ve been anxious for him to call, too. But you heard what he said when I asked about the timing—it takes a while to do what
we need him to do.”
He nodded, then his phone buzzed. When he looked down, Lucy automatically did the same and happened to see the name “Christina”
with a picture of a beautiful woman on his screen.
His estranged wife. Suddenly feeling like an interloper, she looked away, and he silenced the call and put the phone in his
pocket.
Ford had to call Christina back. He wasn’t excited about it. He didn’t want to allow her to intrude on the three-month reprieve he’d allowed himself. But he wouldn’t be approaching the future in good faith if he ignored her completely.
“There you are,” she said.
Ford shaded his eyes to see Lucy in the ocean. He wanted to get back in the water with her, loved that she had no fear of
the sea and they could laugh and swim and bodysurf together for hours. But he had to get back to Christina before he let it
go too long, and because he’d returned to where they’d left their towels to finally put on some sunblock, he had a minute.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“That’s it? What’s up? Aren’t you the least bit happy to hear from me? We haven’t talked since you first got to North Hampton Beach.”
He knew she didn’t want to hear his honest answer, so he didn’t give it to her. “I don’t want to play games, Christina,” he
said. “And I’m busy right now. What can I do for you?”
“What can you do for me? You’re not even going to ask about the baby?”
He fought his own impatience. “How is the baby?” he asked.
“Not good.”
Her words hit him like a slap in the face. “What do you mean?”
“The doctor says I’m developing preeclampsia.”
That didn’t sound good. “Which is...”
“Something about high blood pressure and protein in my urine.”
“What does it mean?”
“It could be dangerous for the baby, could mean our child might not get enough oxygen and nutrients.”
He sank onto the hot sand, missing the towel completely. “How do we fix it?”
“Well, since it’s caused by stress, the doctor says I need to relax, which is why I’m hoping you’ll come home and support me like a caring husband should. We need to iron out our marriage—get into counseling and start working together again.”
Ford had thought this would be a quick call, that he’d just take a few minutes to placate her. But this was anything except
superficial. It was the bomb that was going to blow up the greatest happiness he’d ever found.
“Are you there?”
The sand was burning him through his trunks, but he didn’t even move. He didn’t care about that; it didn’t hurt nearly as
much as his heart.
“Ford?”
“I’m here,” he said woodenly.
“Will you come home to me?”
He hated the way she’d added “to me” as if that should have special significance. Returning early felt like he was letting
Lucy down again, abandoning her when she needed him most. But he had to be there for his child, and if his child needed him
now, what choice did he have? “I’ll think about it,” he said and disconnected.
Ford had been subdued all evening. Lucy asked him if something was wrong, but he wouldn’t really say. He just watched her
carefully, would hardly look away, and instead of wanting to talk or watch TV like they usually did in the evening, he wanted
to hold her whenever he could.
When they made love, it was different, too. Sex with Ford had always been good, but this time he took everything so slowly,
as if it was the last time they’d ever be together. And when they were finished, and she’d closed her eyes to drift off to
sleep, he’d whispered, “I love you, Lucy. I will always love you.”
He’d never said those words before. They were momentous. And she would’ve said the same. But she didn’t even open her eyes. She could tell he’d thought she was asleep, so he hadn’t really meant for her to hear them. Something was definitely wrong, and she had a terrible feeling about what it could be. She’d seen that call come in from Christina when they were outside the police station. She’d also seen him on the phone when he got out of the ocean to put on some sunblock while they were at the beach. She feared those two events were related to what was going on with him, and she knew that was the case the next morning.
Although she woke up to a beautiful bouquet of fresh flowers by the bed—which he’d gotten out of the yard he’d groomed so
carefully—and the smell of bacon, she understood Ford was leaving. She could see that he’d taken his suitcase out so he could
pack.
Covering her face with her hands, she tried to absorb the pain without tears. She’d known goodbye was coming. But once she
dropped her hands and looked at the flowers he’d gathered for her again, she felt a warm tear roll across her temple and into
her hair.
A sound drew her attention to the door. Ford was standing there in nothing but a pair of sweat suit shorts, watching her with
a pained expression. “I have to go back to DC,” he said.
She couldn’t speak, so she nodded.
“I don’t want to,” he admitted. “But...”
“I know,” she managed to say.
“Will you have breakfast with me before I go?” he asked.
Again, she nodded.
When he returned to the kitchen, she reached over to pull the pillow he’d used into her body. She could smell his cologne
on the linens, which made the lump in her throat grow that much larger. They were supposed to have had the summer. But she
was willing to bet Christina had made sure it didn’t happen.
With a sniff, she finally climbed out of bed, went to wash her face and pulled on a simple white jersey pool dress before joining him in the kitchen.
“I’m sorry,” he said when he saw her.
She offered him a sad smile. “I know that, too.”
“I wish I could stay—to be with you but also to continue helping with your father’s case. I’ve actually started to believe
he’s innocent, Lucy. I can’t explain his DNA under Tony Matteo’s fingernails, but except for that, everything seems to point
somewhere else when you really look at it.”
“Thank you for keeping an open mind about that. I wish you could stay, too, for that reason... and many others.”
He walked over, pulled her into his arms and rested his chin on her head, and they remained in that embrace, taking solace
in it, for several minutes.
“Do you think Houston called Christina? Had her... had her reach out to you to put some pressure on you to return?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“I hate that your family’s getting in the way again,” she admitted when he let her go. “But I know this isn’t about them.”
“I hate it, too. But you’re right. This isn’t about them. Whether Houston encouraged Christina to try to drag me back or not, she claims she’s developed preeclampsia.
I guess that’s pretty dangerous for the baby, and I can’t make her go through it alone, not if I plan to try to make our marriage
work in the end.”
At least she knew why he was leaving. Preeclampsia. She didn’t know what it was, but it sounded bad. “I hope everything’s
okay.”
He shot her a sad look before going to put the pans in the sink.
She slid onto the stool where he’d put a plate of bacon, eggs and hash browns. “You’ve created quite a feast.”
“I’ve been up for hours.”
She’d been sleeping so soundly she hadn’t realized that. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
“Because I like watching you sleep.”
She didn’t want this to be any harder on him than it had to be. “It’ll be okay,” she said. “ I’ll be okay.”
“I’m afraid to leave you.” He gestured around them. “We still don’t know who broke in here.”
“And we probably won’t, not unless we can get a hit on the DNA. Everything hinges on that—even Aurora’s murder, because if
my father didn’t kill the Matteos, chances are pretty good he didn’t kill her, either.”
“We know he didn’t kill Aurora. Darren saw him clear across town when she was being murdered.”
She took her first bite. The food was probably good, but she couldn’t really taste it, so she just stirred it around her plate.
“I wish I could say I’ll stay in touch,” he said. “But my marriage will never work if I don’t let go.”
“I understand.”
“I’ll continue to pay Friedman for as long as you need him, though. He can let me know when he’s done all he can.”
She put down her fork and picked up her coffee mug. “Okay.”
While she sat at the table, pretending to eat, he went into the bedroom and packed. He came out a few minutes later, dragging
his suitcase. “I figure it’ll be harder if we draw this out, so I’m just going to go.”
She nodded. “I—” She cleared her throat. “I wish you every happiness. Sincerely.”
Dropping his head, he stood silent for several seconds as he stared at his feet. Then he muttered something like “son of a
bitch” and walked out.
Lucy sat like a statue, listening as he started the Land Rover and backed out of the drive. His engine dimmed as he drove
away. Then silence fell and stretched for... she didn’t know how long.
Eventually, she got up, leaving her food where it was, and crawled back into bed.