Page 51 of Playing Along

I realize then that by acting impatient for them to leave I’ve shot myself in the foot. It would be nice to go with Anderson to talk to Frank. I don’t think there’s anything he could say to incriminate Nora, but I’d be more comfortable knowing for sure.

Then again, I also wouldn’t mind going with Montgomery and Stafford to talk to the wife. What if she’s heard about the mystery man who jumped the fence to get out of the neighborhood, leaving his sweatshirt behind? And what’s she going to tell the police about Ian’s car? That it just appeared in her driveway, no Ian inside?

Yeah, actually I’d really, really like to talk to Connie Wharfman, ideally before the police even get their chance to do so.

But how am I going to achieve that? An idea strikes me. It’s not a great one, but it’s all I’ve got.

“You know,” I hedge thoughtfully, “I wonder if that important customer Wharfman was so worried about impressing could have anything to do with this. Why haven’t you heard anything from them about the fact that Wharfman didn’t show up for work?”

I’m genuinely curious about this actually. Maybe they wouldn’t have been alarmed enough by his absence to alert the police, but surely someone at the company would have contacted his wife to see where he was, and she in turn would have reported that he’s been missing since last night. That length of time is usually enough to prompt a loved one to make a phone call to the police. So why hasn’t his wife called?

Unless nobody from work reported his absence to her. What if someone from Nora’s work is the person responsible for moving Ian’s body and therefore chose not to alert the police?

No, that wouldn’t make sense either. If anything, whoever moved the body wants Nora to be caught. Why else would they put his body on her front lawn?

These questions rotate around in my head like the spin cycle of a laundry machine: fast and furious.

“I’ll talk to them too,” Anderson responds to my question with a deep nod.

“Sounds like a lot of people to manage on your own,” I point out.

“Unfortunately my partner chose today of all days to play hooky,” Anderson replies dryly. “I’ll just have to call over someone from the force to come with me and help.”

“Or you could take Montgomery and Stafford,” I suggest. “That would be easier since they’re already briefed on the case. Meanwhile you can send someone back to the Wharfman’s house to check on his wife, make plans to meet up with her after you finish at the company.” I try to make the suggestion sound casual rather than as if I’m eagerly hoping he’ll do as I suggest.

“That makes sense to me,” Montgomery offers. “I’d like to get a read on some of the female employees there anyway. See if perhaps Nora’s experience with him isn’t so unique.”

“Yeah, I agree.” Stafford slaps his hands to his knees and gets up from his chair. “We’ll come with you, Anderson, and send Officer Moore over to the wife’s house.”

Officer Moore. That’s who I was hoping they’d send. Great officer, but the guy recently met someone and I’ve noticed him taking extended lunch breaks a lot lately. At this time of day he’s probably off with his girlfriend feeding each other bites of their food in between kisses. If we hurry, Nora and I should have a head start on him.

“I guess we’ll collect Becca and be on our way,” Emily says, sidling over to Montgomery to give him a kiss goodbye.

Lucy hoists herself up too, patting her bump affectionately as she heads to her husband for a kiss of her own. Mel is already by Anderson; the two of them are exchanging words in a soft whisper. I try to listen, but they might as well be two insects buzzing at each other for all I can make out.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Lucy announces loudly, striding between me and their conversation on her way there.

Giving up on overhearing, I stand and offer Nora a hand up. She takes it then begins clearing away the cups.

“We can take these to the kitchen, but save the cleanup for later,” I murmur to her as Montgomery, Stafford, and Anderson all head toward my front door to leave. “We need to beat Officer Moore to the Wharfman’s house.”

Nora stiffens in surprise, but then nods. Out of the corner of my eye I spot Mel staring at us but then her phone rings and she turns away to answer it.

“Here let me help, Nora,” Emily offers, then, using her former-waitress superpowers, she proceeds to carry the remaining six cups to the kitchen using only her two hands. “Hey, where did Becca go?” she asks as Nora and I follow her inside with our measly one cup each.

I look around in concern. Emily is right, Becca is not in here. There are signs that she was: my dish soap has been moved to the edge of the counter by the sink and her glass of pink water and a wet dishcloth sit next to it. But she’s not in here now.

“Becca?” I call, panic spiking my heart rate. After Mel’s comment about Nora’s dress, I’m no longer just worried about Becca going into the laundry room. What if she went into my guest room and saw Nora’s suitcase? While this wouldn’t be quite as damming as the blood-stained shirt soaking in the laundry room, it would certainly prompt some questions.

“Here I am,” Becca calls back as she steps into the kitchen, her cheeks slightly flushed. Her eyes dart over to Nora then to me then down to her toes. Something’s wrong. She’s nervous. Why is she nervous?

Or is this me being paranoid again? Maybe that’s my life now. Always worrying that the people around me are only one step away from realizing my wife is a murderer.

“You okay, Bex?” Emily asks, debunking the theory that I’m just being paranoid.

“I’m fine,” she squeaks. A giant wet spot has taken the place of the pink stain that initially sent her fleeing to the kitchen. “Anyhoo, uh, are we leaving? Okay, let’s do that. Nora, it was so nice to meet you. You seem so nice and, uh, kind. Yup. Nice and kind. Not at all like a murderer. Not that anyone said you were a murderer. You’re not. Dead body on your front lawn aside. That’s not your fault someone put that there. Nope. Nope. Nope.” On the third nope her rambling finally comes to a stop. There’s silence in the kitchen.

“Becca!” Emily is the one to break the silence. She steps closer to her friend looking appalled. “What are you even talking about?” she whisper-shouts, darting a glance toward the doorway as if worried one of the others will overhear. “Of course Nora isn’t a murderer!”

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