Page 68 of The Housekeeper

Chapter Twenty-eight

The police arrivedat dinnertime.

We were just sitting down to a Kraft dinner of macaroni and cheese—“Really, Jodi?” Harrison had remarked. “You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.”—when we heard the patrol car pull into our driveway. “Who the hell is that?” my husband asked, as if the unexpected intrusion was somehow my fault. “Your sister, no doubt,” he said, answering his own question.

“It’s the police,” I told him, looking out our front window as I walked toward the door.

“The police?” he repeated, following after me, Sam and Daphne behind him. “What are they doing here? Kids, go back to the table,” he directed.

“Are they going to arrest you, Daddy?” Sam asked.

“Of course not. They’ve obviously got the wrong house.”

They had the right house.

“Jodi Bishop?” the older of the two officers standing on my doorstep asked.

“Yes?”

“I’m Officer Stankowski, and this is Officer Lewis,” he said, introducing his younger partner, who was as dark-skinned as Officer Stankowski was pale. “May we come in?”

My first thought was that there’d been an accident, that my father and mother had been seriously injured—or worse—while out for their morning drive to view nature’s changing colors. My father had never been the world’s best driver. He was a bullyonthe road as well as off, rarely yielding the right of way. Coupled with his love of speed, it was a recipe for disaster, although he often boasted of never having received so much as a speeding ticket in his more than sixty years of driving. Had his luck run out? “Has there been an accident?”

“No,” Officer Lewis responded. “No accident. May we come in?”

“What seems to be the problem?” Harrison asked as we backed up to allow the men entry.

Officer Stankowski looked toward the dining room, where Sam and Daphne sat, wide-eyed and watching. “Hello, there,” he said, waving in their direction.

“Are you going to arrest us?” Sam asked.

“Have you done something wrong?”

“No,” Sam said, although his tone indicated he wasn’t entirely sure.

“What about you, young lady?” Officer Lewis asked. “You look like trouble to me.”

“I’m not trouble,” Daphne protested. “I’m a cupcake of cuteness.”

Both officers laughed. “You certainly are.”

“She won’t eat her vegetables,” Sam offered.

“Okay, kids. That’s enough. Finish your food and go upstairs,” Harrison directed, ushering the policemen into the living room. “What’s this about?”

The officers declined the invitation to sit down. “Sorry to disturb you at dinnertime, but we’ve received a complaint,” Officer Stankowski said.

“A complaint?” I looked from the officers to my husband and back again. “What kind of complaint?” Had I “ruffled the feathers” of any of our neighbors? “About what? From whom?”

“Are you acquainted with a Mr. Victor Dundas?” Officer Lewis asked, checking his notes.

“Yes. He’s my father. You said there wasn’t an accident. Is he all right?”

“He’s fine.”

“I don’t understand.”

“He says that you were over there this morning. Is that true?”

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