The Neighbor - Lisa Gardner [84]
“Good day,” she agreed.
“We still haven’t found Sandra Jones, and now we have a third suspect to consider—a thirteen-year-old Romeo.”
“I don’t think Sandra Jones was sleeping with Ethan Hastings. Though it’ll be fun to search his cell phone.”
Miller slanted her a look. “How can you be so sure? You been watching the same national news I have? Seems like all the pretty teachers have eighth grade boyfriends these days.”
“True.” D.D. wrinkled her nose. “And no, it doesn’t make any sense to me. I mean, hell, it’s not like a woman who looks like Sandra Jones would have a problem attracting male interest.”
“It’s a dominance thing,” Miller assured her. “These women don’t want an equal relationship. They want a relationship with a male who will do whatever they say. And since those of us with testosterone aren’t known for our cooperation, they skew to the younger crowd.”
“So the testosterone is to blame?” D.D. arched a brow. “Huh, maybe I should spend more time at the local middle school.” She blew out a puff of air. “I still don’t think Sandy was sleeping with Ethan Hastings. How could she? By all accounts, she always had her child with her.”
Miller considered the matter. “Maybe it was one of those, what do they call it, ‘emotional affairs.’ Sandy basically seduced Ethan via cell phone, e-mail, etc. Then her husband stumbled across some of the messages, and killed her in a fit of jealous rage.”
“Or she mentioned it to the local pervert, Aidan Brewster, and he killed her in a fit of jealous rage. You’re right, we do have too many suspects. But look on the bright side.”
“The bright side?”
“Sandra Jones’s alleged relationship with a student gives us probable cause to seize her computer.”
Miller perked up. “Good day,” he agreed.
| CHAPTER TWENTY |
People go through their lives gearing up for the big moments. We plan blowout celebrations for key benchmarks—the twenty-first-birthday bash, the engagement party, the wedding celebration, the baby shower. We celebrate and hoot and holler and try to honor the big stuff, because, well, it’s the big stuff.
Likewise, we steel ourselves for the major blows. The community that rallies behind the survivors of a deadly house fire. The family that comes together for the funeral of the cancer-stricken young father. The best friend who sticks around for your first weekend as a newly divorced mom. We see the big things coming and we prepare ourselves for the lead roles in our own personal dramas. It makes us feel better about things. Stronger. Look at me, I made it.
Of course, we’re totally missing all the moments in between. The day-to-day life that is what it is. Nothing to celebrate. Nothing to mourn. Just tasks to perform.
I’m convinced these are the moments that ultimately make us or break us. Like a wave lapping against the same boulder day after day, eroding the stone, shaping the line of the shore, the ordinary minutia of our lives holds the real power, and thus all the hidden danger. The daily things we do, or don’t do, without ever understanding the long-term ramification of such minor acts.
For example, I ended the world as I knew it on Saturday, August 30, the day I bought Jason an iPod for his birthday.
Ree and I were shopping together. She needed school clothes, I wanted some supplies to finish setting up my first classroom. We walked into Target, saw the iPods, and I thought immediately of Jason. He loved listening to music, and lately he’d taken up running. With an iPod he could combine two of his favorite activities.
We smuggled the credit card-sized musical masterpiece home by hiding it in my school supplies. Later, when he and Ree were wrestling together in the family room, I stashed the iPod in a kitchen drawer, beneath the stack of oven mitts, where it would be closer to the computer.
Ree and I had already plotted the whole thing out in the car. How we’d secretly set up the iPod for him, downloading tons of rock-n-roll, in lieu of Jason’s beloved classical music. Thanks to the movie Flushed Away, Ree was familiar with the works