Live to Tell - Lisa Gardner [54]
“But two fathers independently deciding to kill their wife and kids, using the same three methods, within a day of each other—that makes sense?”
“Coincidences happen.”
“It’s not a coincidence!”
“Then, what?”
“We need more information. I know: We’ll investigate. What a great idea!”
Alex rolled his eyes at her. D.D. moved on to her lemon cake.
“I think we should have our auras cleansed,” she announced.
“Hey,” said Phil. “I’m a family man….”
“Then you can call child services and get everything you can on Oswald Harrington and the Laraquettes. Alex, you’re with me.”
“But I showered just this morning.”
“Not that kind of cleansing. We’re going to tend to our inner beauty.”
“You mean a spa?”
“No, it’s time we call upon Denise Harrington’s favorite shaman, Andrew Lightfoot.”
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
VICTORIA
Evan walked into my room at 4:14 a.m. and demanded to go to the park. He asked again at 4:33, 4:39, 4:43, 4:58, 5:05, and 5:12.
It’s 5:26 now, and we’re walking to the park.
The morning’s beautiful. The rain the night before has washed away the worst of the humidity. The air is warm, but pleasant, like a kiss against our cheeks. We walk the half a dozen blocks, breakfast in hand, and watch the sun paint the horizon. Being at the easternmost edge of the time zone, Massachusetts has one of the first sunrises in the country. I like to think of the early daybreaks as an exclusive treat for people who will spend their lives dropping their “r’s.” Other states have better enunciation. We get this.
“I see purple,” Evan says excitedly, pointing to the horizon and running circles around me. “There’s yellow and orange and fuchsia!”
“Fuchsia” is one of his favorite words. I don’t know why.
The park comes into view. I expected the playground to be empty at this hour. Instead, a small boy waddles around the two swing sets and impressive climbing structure, his mother watching from a nearby bench.
I hesitate. Evan dashes ahead. “A friend! Mommy, Mommy, a new friend!”
By the time I make it to the playground, Evan has already run half a dozen exuberant circles around the toddler. The small boy doesn’t appear overwhelmed, but is grinning at Evan as if meeting a clown for the first time. Encouraged, Evan zips figure 8s all over the playground. The boy toddles after him.
I feel my usual sense of parenting pessimism. Maybe Evan will play nicely with the boy. Maybe they’ll enjoy each other’s company. Evan misses other children so much. Maybe that will give him the incentive to be gentle. Maybe.
I sit down on the bench next to the other mom. It seems the hospitable thing to do.
“Good morning,” she says brightly, a young girl, maybe twenty-two, twenty-three, with long brown hair held back in a ponytail. “I didn’t expect to see anyone else in the park this time of morning.”
“Neither did I,” I agree, trying to summon a smile energetic enough to match her own. Belatedly, I stick out a hand. “I’m Victoria. That’s my son, Evan.”
“Becki,” she says. “That’s Ronald. He’s three.”
“Evan’s eight.”
“Wow, he’s a morning person,” she laughs, watching Evan race up and down the slide. He’s already ditched his flip-flops and is in bare feet. I wonder how long before his dark blue gym shorts and red T-shirt follow suit.
“We just moved here,” Becki offers. “As in, the moving van unloaded yesterday afternoon. We still don’t have all the beds set up, nor the window air conditioners in. By five this morning, it seemed better to get outside. Ronald can run around while it’s still cool out, then maybe I can get him to nap through the heat.”
Next to the playground is a soccer field. Around the soccer field is a wooded fringe that separates the park from the neighboring houses. Evan has veered away from the little boy and is racing up and down the white lines of the soccer field. I allow myself to relax a fraction, take a sip of coffee.
“Where did you move from?” I ask Becki.
“North Carolina.”
“That explains the lovely accent,” I murmur without thinking, and Becki beams