The Almost Moon - Alice Sebold [83]
“Not recently,” I said.
“Mrs. Castle mentioned an incident in the house not too long ago,” he prodded.
I looked back up at him.
“I found a condom in my old room.”
“And?”
“We all assumed it had to be the boy who ran errands for my mother and sometimes did things around the house that she couldn’t manage herself.”
He referred to his notebook. “Manny Zavros?”
“Correct.”
“Fifteen twenty-five Watson Road?”
“That’s his mother’s house,” I said. “He disappeared after Mrs. Castle put the congregation on him.”
“Disappeared?”
“Do you think it was him?”
“We’re following every lead.”
“I don’t want to get Manny in trouble, but . . .”
“Yes?”
“There’s something else that I didn’t share with anyone.”
“I’m the person to share things with,” he said.
I knew this was the moment to plant the seed. As I spoke, I felt my face flush.
“Around the same time, the contents of my mother’s jewelry box went missing.”
“You didn’t report it to the police?”
“I didn’t notice it for a few weeks, and by that time Manny was gone and I’d had the locks changed. Anyway, I didn’t want to upset my mother. She hadn’t worn most of the jewelry for years.”
“I see. By the way, your mother isn’t the only one who died in the neighborhood in the past twenty-four hours.”
I knew what he was going to tell me and tried quickly to hide any expression that might indicate this.
“It wasn’t Mr. Forrest, was it?”
“Why do you ask about him?”
“Because I’m very fond of him,” I said. “I’ve known him since I was small.”
“And Mrs. Leverton?”
I drew a quick inhalation of breath and covered my mouth with my hand. The action—too calculated—made me immediately self-conscious.
“She was found in her bedroom this morning by a cleaning woman.”
Though I knew what I had seen—Mrs. Leverton alive and leaving in an ambulance—I couldn’t help thinking that at least I’d been present when my mother died.
“How did they die, exactly?” I asked. I felt a light layer of perspiration spread beneath my sweater. My hands grew clammy. Why hadn’t I asked this at the start?
“Very differently. Mrs. Leverton was unconscious but breathing when the maid found her. She died in the back of the ambulance on the way to the hospital.”
“And my mother?”
“What time did you leave your mother’s house last night?”
I sat up straighter and looked for signs that he was on the verge of accusing me. But he glanced at me mildly and pulled at the crease of his right trouser leg with the same hand that held his pen.
I remembered a phrase Sarah had taught me. Weak Handsome. It was a show-business term that stood for men who were shadows of truly handsome men. They held all the proportions and qualities—hair color, height, etc.—but there was just enough flat or off about them that they were never cast as leads. A weak chin, eyes a bit too far apart, ears that stood out from the sides of their heads. I decided that Robert Broumas was Weak Handsome.
“I want to know how she died,” I said.
“I’ll answer that in a moment. What time did you leave your mother’s house?”
“Shortly after six,” I said. I stopped short of flinching. Mrs. Castle had said she’d seen me at seven.
Detective Broumas flipped back a few pages in his notes. He adjusted himself in the chair, cleared his throat.
“Did you go straight home?”
“No.”
“Where did you go?”
“Mrs. Castle may have told you how badly off my mother was,” I said. “That she hadn’t recognized her yesterday.”
“She did.”
“I knew I would have to call the hospice. That once they took her away, she would never see her house again.”
I found myself crying now. Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I wiped them with the sleeve of my sweater. She never had to leave her house, I wanted to say. Do you realize how important that was to her?
“I drove around a lot,” I said. “I went to a spot I go to, to think.”
“Where is that?”
“It’s near farmland up near Yellow Springs Road. You