The 20th Victim (Women's Murder Club #20)(13)

I opened the door to our apartment and saw that Joe was across the room in his big leather chair. He lifted a hand in greeting, but I could tell he was deep in conversation.

Martha waggled and shimmied into the foyer, yelping her joy that I was home. I ruffled her ears and called her pet names. Everything about this old doggy is precious to me. We’ve been together for so long. I talked to her as I put my gun in the safe that Dave Channing had given us, and she followed along as I went to find Julie.

She was barefoot, still in the school clothes I’d dressed her in this morning, sitting on her bed with a book in her lap. She looked up and said, “Mommy. Martha peed on the floor.”

“Oh. Did someone forget to walk her?”

She shrugged, not willing to implicate her dad, too young to do the chore herself.

“Wanna go for a walk?” I asked Martha.

This is every dog’s favorite question, and ours responded with a loud, emphatic bark. Yes. Yes, she did want to go for a walk.

We went out to the foyer, where I slipped a collar and leash onto Martha, zipped Julie into a coat, and tied her shoes. I got Joe’s attention, and he put his hand to the phone and said, “Just take a quick walk, okay?”

I nodded and the three of us girls took the elevator down to Lake Street. Martha sniffed around the sidewalk, relieved herself for show, and then herded me and Julie together as border collies, even old ones, do.

Back in Julie’s room, I found clean pj’s and asked her to tell me about her day. She was willing. I brushed the thick, dark curls she’d inherited from her dad, and I thought about Claire. My eyes watered. I heard Julie say, “Mommmmmy, are you listening? That was funny!”

I hadn’t heard a word.

“I’m sorry, Julie. Tell me again. Please.”

“No,” she said.

I asked her if she’d like me to read to her, and she said, “Not yet.” She wanted to tell me about a rabbit a classmate had brought to school, and kept talking until Joe came to the doorway and said, “How about a hug good night, Bugs?”

She said, “Dad, Mommy is out to lunch.”

“Then, I’ll make her some dinner.”

We hugged and kissed our little girl, told her it was okay to sleep with Martha for a little while, and shut off her light.

We were crossing the main room when Joe’s phone rang.

He picked up and said, “I will, Dave. Of course. I’ll call you in the morning. You, too. Good night.”

When he’d hung up the phone, we sat together on the sofa. He looked sad. In pain. I asked, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Ray. Dave’s father. He just died.”

“Oh, no.”

“Dave thinks Ray was murdered.”

“What?”

“I have to go back to Napa Valley. I have to be there to help him.”





CHAPTER 22





JOE AND I sat together on the sofa, our arms around each other.

Joe spoke haltingly about himself and Dave when they were roommates.

And he told me that he wondered if Dave was in such a bad place that the only way he could accept his father’s death was to create a fantasy that Ray had been murdered.

“It doesn’t make any sense otherwise,” Joe said. “Why would anyone kill Ray Channing inside a hospital?”

I didn’t want to break into Joe’s thoughts, but I was also grieving. Moments with Claire were flashing through my mind, starting with the look on her face as she told me about the cancer diagnosis, then back to her smiling at me when she painted my toenails the day Joe and I got married. She was Julie’s godmother and I was Rosie’s. Each of us was the go-to person for the other whenever we needed advice, love, support, and the truth.

I couldn’t imagine my life without Claire. And I didn’t want her to go.

Joe was holding me, and my body started shaking and I just couldn’t stop it. He turned me so that I was looking into his face, gripped my shoulders, and asked me, “Lindsay. What’s going on?”

I blurted out, “I said … I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

My voice cracked. He was alarmed and he tightened his grip on me.

“Tell me,” he said.

“Claire has cancer.”

I cried. Joe consoled me until he cried, too. Second time I ever saw Joe cry. I was so grateful that Julie was in bed, but Martha felt the sadness, came out of Julie’s room, and put her nose on the couch between us.

“Keep talking,” Joe said.

“She said it’s nothing to worry about, but she was lying.”

Joe held me tight. I thought about what Claire must be going through.

“She hasn’t told Edmund.”

“She will.”

“I can’t bear this, Joe.”

“You can. You will. You’ll be strong for Claire.”

We went into the bedroom and got in bed, under the blankets, and held hands.

The last time I looked at the clock, it was 3:40 in the morning. The big paw that had once caught footballs enclosed my hand, and when Joe squeezed my fingers, it was gentle. A hug.

I slept hard after that, and when I woke up a short time later, Joe was dressed.

He leaned over and kissed me.

“I made coffee and walked Martha. Julie’s still sleeping. Mrs. Rose will take her to the pre-K bus, and she’ll pick her up, make her dinner. I’ll call you after I see Dave.”