Page 27 of Again with Feeling

“Making up stories. This whole mess she’s created.”

“What did she make up? I mean, I understand that not all her conclusions were correct, but it seems like what she told me was more or less true.”

“You don’t understand. You’re not part of this family, so you don’t understand. Nobody believes Vivienne killed Richard. I told you: they were like twins. She never would have hurt him, no matter how much they argued. Vivienne loved him more than she ever loved anyone else—”

The door handle rattled, and then the door swung open, and a man stepped into the living room. Today, Neil Carver wore a blue T-shirt with the words ASTORIA FIRE DEPARTMENT on the breast and black utility pants. His hair looked thinner up close, and in that first instant, he carried himself the way Bobbysometimes did at the end of a long shift—like the fatigue went deeper than the bone. Then he saw me.

“What’s he doing here?”

Which was interesting, albeit rude—apparently, everyone in the extended family knew who I was.

“He wanted to talk,” Jane said quietly.

Neil spared her a disbelieving look. Then, to me, he said, “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you need to leave.”

“I understand this is a difficult time for all of you,” I said, “and I also understand this might be hard to believe, but I’m trying to help—”

“You’re snooping around,” Neil said, “playing detective. That’s a job for the police.”

Okay, again, fair, but definitely rude.

I looked at Jane, but her expression was closed off, and I realized she wasn’t going to help. “I was hoping you could tell me about Richard, maybe about the night he disappeared—”

“He didn’t disappear,” Neil said. “He was killed. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? Don’t you have the tiniest bit of decency? He was her husband. Their brother and son.” He swallowed, and his voice wavered. “My best friend.”

“I know, but—”

“If you know, then what are you doing? You’re like a hog, rooting around in our suffering for your own entertainment. What kind of person does that?”

“Vivienne asked me to help—”

“Vivienne.” He scoffed. “Vivienne doesn’t need anyone’s help. She made that perfectly clear when she left.”

“Mr. Carver, do you honestly think she killed Richard?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“The police do. And maybe it doesn’t bother you to have Vivienne convicted of a crime she didn’t commit—”

“Does it botheryou?” He peered at me, and I realized, after a moment, he wanted an answer, but he continued, “What are you doing helping her anyway?”

“Yes, it does bother me. Because if she didn’t kill Richard, then someone else did, and that person is still out there.” I took a breath. “Candy seems to believe—”

“Candy.” Neil pushed a hand through his thinning hair. “Candy is nuts.”

In a soft voice, Jane said, “Neil.”

“She is. He ought to hear that before he makes a fool of himself on her behalf.” Squaring up with me, Neil continued in a more even tone, “All Candy wants is approval, just like Viv, just like Richard. Just like their old man—that’s where they get it from. Can you understand that? Candy’s spent her whole life making a fool out of herself to get people to notice her, running after any guy who would give her the time of day, and half the ones who wouldn’t, myself included. She hates Viv because Viv went and made herself famous. She hated Richard because everyone loved Richard, never mind all the times Richard pulled her bacon out of the fire.”

“Neil,” Jane said again more firmly.

“He did. Not that she ever thanked him for it. You ought to hear her carrying on sometimes, how Richard ruined her life, chasing off that deadbeat. Everything that ever went wrong for Candy happened because Richard wouldn’t let her shack up with Zane Potthof. He’d have had her turning tricks by the end of the week.”

Jane straightened in her chair. “That’s enough.”

“She was thrilled when Richard disappeared. Askherwhere she was the night Richard died.”

“Neil!”

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