The Golden Couple(71)
Polly starts the engine and a Britney Spears song blares. She quickly reaches for a knob and turns off the radio.
I wait for her to begin the conversation. A moment later, she does: “What did you want to talk to me about?”
“I know strange things have been happening around Coco. Like the creepy note you found. I need you to tell me what else is going on.”
I speak with authority, hoping Polly will succumb to it, as she did when I searched Coco. But maybe she learned from that experience.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not really sure I can tell you anything. I mean, not without permission.”
“Marissa’s permission? Polly, she is in danger. Matthew told me you called him to say you were worried about her. Do you really think I’d be here if the Bishops didn’t want my help?”
“He told you that?” Polly looks surprised.
“Yes, he also told me you drove all the way down to Giovanni’s restaurant to try to see him.”
“Okay.” Polly shifts in her seat. “So, I didn’t think it was a big deal at first, but twice in the past week a guy has called and asked for Marissa. When I asked who it was—Marissa taught me to do that before handing the phone to her—he hung up.”
“Any idea who it could have been?”
“No, I didn’t recognize his voice. And there have been a few hang-ups, too. Like someone keeps calling because they hope she’ll answer instead of me.”
I play the devil’s advocate: “Could be a telemarketer.”
“I don’t think so.” Polly is practically bristling; she has a lot invested in her role in Marissa’s life, and Polly doesn’t like me downplaying the drama she feels she’s a central part of.
“Is that all?” I keep my tone a little bored.
Polly takes the bait: “There’s actually video footage from the store that night when someone put that note under the door.…”
“There is?” I can’t believe I didn’t think to ask the Bishops about this. Or that they hadn’t mentioned it.
“Yes, and here’s the thing. I asked Marissa about it, and she told me she checked the footage, but the camera angle was off and it was too blurry to see anything.”
I reflexively glance at the purse on Polly’s lap, wondering if the note is still tucked inside.
“But…” Polly’s voice drops and she leans closer to me. I suddenly have an image of her as a young girl in a school classroom, whispering into the ears of other children, spreading rumors and sowing discord before smiling innocently up at the teacher and offering to wipe down the cafeteria tables after lunch. “I checked the video, too. I called the company and asked them to email us a copy of the recording from that night. They sent it over to the store’s account, which of course I check every day. Anyway, I thought maybe I’d see something Marissa missed.… And I did. I saw the guy who left the note.”
“Did you recognize him?” I ask urgently.
Polly nods proudly. “At first I couldn’t place him, but then I realized who he was.”
Get to the point, Polly! I want to scream.
“He’s this homeless man, Ray, who usually sits on a bench down the street from our shop. He always has these funny signs. Do you think he’s the one who is obsessed with Marissa? I know she buys sandwiches for him sometimes.”
I blink hard, trying to sort and categorize what I’ve just learned. If I trust the information Polly has given me—and it should be easy enough to verify—I’ve just learned something crucial: Matthew and I aren’t the only people Marissa has lied to; she blatantly deceived Polly about the contents of the video camera. Marissa must have known for days who put the note under the door.
Anger sweeps through me; she conned me. Again.
The theory I’ve been playing around with—that Marissa never actually had an affair—could be bolstered by this new information.
Perhaps Marissa asked the homeless man to leave the note. Maybe she is arranging for the calls Polly has been answering at Coco. Marissa could even have sent herself flowers, timing their arrival so that Matthew and I would be there to witness it.
If Marissa created this elaborate scenario to try to cast herself as a victim and get attention from her husband—or for some other, more sinister reason—she has succeeded, I think, remembering how Matthew held his arm around her protectively during our last session.
One percent of the population is composed of psychopaths, and most of them aren’t the homicidal criminals we envision. We’ve all encountered them: people who seem charming and charismatic, but who lie without remorse and manipulate and deceive. And female psychopaths can be particularly adept at manipulation.
I think back to the moment the Bishops first entered my home, looking like the couple who had everything. I’ve spent the past few weeks trying to get to know them intimately, yet they still feel like strangers.
Then I look over at Polly. “Have you told Marissa you saw the footage?”
Polly shakes her head.
“But you drove all the way downtown to tell Matthew?”
“He’s worried about her. Like really worried … I just felt like I should tell him.”
Polly is studying my face, nakedly eager for our conversation to continue now.
“Is that all?”