Page 35 of Luck of the Devil
“What’s the number?”
I grabbed the notepad she kept on the table, then reached for a pencil she kept in a small vase for her crossword puzzle book. My hands were slightly shaky, so I gripped the pencil tightly, hoping Malcolm didn’t notice, then started to lightly scribble over the paper. It revealed writing, but it was her grocery list of coffee, eggs, roast beef, potatoes, and carrots.
“Guess she didn’t write the number there,” he said.
“Agreed. This had to be her grocery list for Sunday lunch since she made a roast with potatoes and carrots, all on her list. She put it in the oven before she went to church, and we ate it after she came home.”
“So, she went to church Sunday morning, did she go anywhere else the rest of the day after lunch?”
“I don’t know when she left for church. I was still asleep.” More like sleeping off my hangover. “But she usually left around 8:30. She always got to church early so she could help set out donuts, muffins, and coffee for people to eat during Sunday School. Last Sunday, she came home around noon, and I came over for lunch. That was her usual time for getting home, so I don’t think she went anywhere between church and home.”
“If she actually went to church,” he said with a pointed look.
“True. Everything fits with her usual schedule, but it’s easy enough to find out. I can call a couple of her friends to make sure she was there.”
He gave a slight nod.
“I came over a few minutes after she got home and helped her finish getting lunch ready. We ate around one, then I watched a movie with her on the TV. Around three or a little after, I told her I was going to head to my apartment for a while. She wasn’t happy about it, but she didn’t fight me on it. I hung out in my apartment the rest of the afternoon, then came over around six-thirty to have sandwiches with her. We watched more TV, and then I left at around nine.”
“You don't think she went anywhere when you were in your apartment?”
“No.” But I couldn’t be one-hundred-percent sure. I’d had a few drinks and napped a bit before my alarm went off, reminding me to go over. “Besides, it would have been out of character for her.”
“So is calling a burner phone, so we can’t rely on her doing things that are in character.”
He was right and I felt foolish for suggesting it. We were looking for actions that weren’t usual for her.
His jacket was slung over the back of his chair, and he reached behind him, into the jacket, then pulled out his flask. After he uncapped it, he handed it to me.
I took it without protest. Between my shaky hands and my comment about my mother’s regular habits, it was clear my brain wasn’t working on all cylinders.
I limited myself to a healthy sip, ignoring the voice in my brain that said I needed to take another one or two or ten. I hated myself for sinking so low that I couldn’t control my drinking, but I’d deal with my self-recrimination later. Right now, I needed to focus.
It took everything in me to hand the metal flask back, but he took it without comment, even though he had to know about the inner battle I was waging.
I leaned back in my chair, letting the whiskey work its magic. The tight muscles of my back and neck began to relax before I focused on what we’d been discussing. “I don’t think she left the house Sunday afternoon,” I said, “but if I’m honest, I can’t be totally sure.”
Should I admit I’d been drinking? But a quick glance over at him suggested he already knew.
“But,” I added, “I don’t think she got the number for the burner during that time. That kind of thing would have made her nervous, and she didn’t seem particularly on edge when I came back over.”
“She might not have known it was a burner,” he said, lifting his mug. “She might have thought it was just a number.”
“True.”
He nodded. “Someone could have given her the number on Monday. Do you know what she was up to that day?”
“Her car was in the driveway when I left for work around 7:45, and I could see a light on in her bathroom window. I have no idea what she did while I was gone, but I got home a little after five, ate dinner with her and watched more TV. She could have easily met someone during the day.”
“And Tuesday?”
“I left for work around the same time, and there was a light on in the kitchen.”
“Was it out of character for her to be up that early?”
I shook my head. “My mother wasn’t a night owl. She was an early riser. If anything, it was unusual that the kitchen light wasn’t on yet when I left for work on Monday.”
“And you were at work on Tuesday morning, so you don’t know what she did before you called her.”
