First Daughter - Eric van Lustbader [88]
Sharon's expression told him that he'd made a terrible mistake.
"Are you insane?" she shouted.
"I tell you I saw her. I heard her—"
She jumped up. "Our daughter's dead, Jack! She's dead!"
"I'm not saying—"
"Oh, you're despicable!" Her brows knit together ominously. "This is your way of trying to weasel out of your responsibility for Emma's death."
"This isn't about responsibility, Shar. It's about trying to understand—"
"I knew you were desperate to crawl out from under your guilt." Her wildly gesticulating hands knocked over her wineglass. Then she deliberately knocked over his. "I just didn't know how desperate."
Jack was on his feet. "Shar, would you calm down a minute? You're not listening to me."
"Get out of here, Jack!"
"C'mon, don't do that."
"I said get out!"
She advanced and he retreated, past the seashells and the colored glass, the postcards Emma had sent to them from school, the photos of her as a child. He scooped up his coat.
"Sharon, you've misunderstood everything."
This, of course, was the worst thing he could have said. She flew at him with raised fists, and he backed out the front door so quickly that he stumbled over the top step. She got to slam the door on him once again. Then all the downstairs lights were extinguished and he knew she was sitting, curled up, fists on thighs, sobbing uncontrollably.
He took a convulsive step up, raised his fist to hammer on the door, but his hand flattened out, palm resting on the door as if by that gesture he could feel her presence. Then he turned, went heavily down the steps, returned to his car.
TWENTY - NINE
JACK THOUGHT he was heading home, but instead he found himself pulling into Egon Schiltz's driveway right behind Candy Schiltz's Audi A4 Avant wagon. He got out, walked to the front door, pushed the bell. If Sharon wouldn't talk to him about Emma, maybe Egon would. Jack checked his watch. It was late enough that he was sure to be home by now.
Schiltz lived in the Olde Sleepy Hollow area of Falls Church. His house was a neat two-story colonial the family had lived in for decades. Schiltz had paid just north of $100,000 for it. Back in the day, that wasn't exactly cheap, but these days it was worth conservatively fifteen times that.
Molly came to the door, gave an excited shriek as he whirled her up and around.
"Molly Maria Schiltz, what is going on!"
Candy came bursting into the entryway, but as soon as she saw Jack, the look of concern on her face changed to a broad smile.
"Jack McClure, well, it's been too long!" she said with genuine pleasure.
He kissed her on the cheek as Taffy, their Irish setter, came bounding in, tongue lolling, tail wagging furiously.
"We've finished dinner," Candy said, "but there's plenty of leftovers."
"I just ate, thanks," Jack said.
While he and Candy went into the family room, Molly trooped upstairs to do her homework.
"I have cherry pie," Candy said with a twinkle in her eye. "Your favorite, if memory serves."
Jack laughed despite his black mood. "Nothing wrong with your memory."
Seeing no way out, he allowed her to bustle around the open kitchen, Taffy happily trotting at her heels. She was a statuesque woman with ash-blond hair and a wide, open face. In her youth, she'd been a real beauty. Now, in later middle age, she possessed a different kind of beauty, as well as an enviable serenity. She cut a slice of pie as generous as her figure, took a bowl of homemade whipped cream out of the refrigerator, piled on a huge dollop.
"Milk or coffee?" she said as she plunked the plate and fork down on the pass-through. Taffy came around, sat on her haunches, her long, clever face turned up to Jack.
"Coffee, please." Jack rubbed Taffy's forehead with his knuckles, and the dog growled in pleasure. He picked up the fork. "How many people is this portion supposed to feed?"
Candy, pouring his coffee into a mug she herself had made in pottery class, giggled. "I can't help it if I still consider you a growing boy, Jack." She padded over with the mug. She remembered he liked his coffee