What Happened to the Bennetts(53)

“You don’t know him. A lawyer in Philly.”

“Who? I can’t wait to look him up.”

“Paul Hart.”

I gasped. I recognized the name instantly. “Not the Paul Hart who represents Milo?”

Lucinda frowned, taken aback. “No, of course not. He’s a partner at Lattimore. They don’t represent people like Milo.”

“Yes, they do. A lawyer at Lattimore named Paul Hart represents Milo. He represents Big George, Junior, and GVO.” I met her eye, each of us absolutely aghast.

“That can’t be!”

“I read the pleadings. He’s represented GVO for years.” I felt sick to my stomach. She had slept with the man responsible for Milo being free to kill our daughter.

“No, that can’t be true!”

I couldn’t say another word. I couldn’t stay in the room with her.

“Jason, wait.” Lucinda rose and came after me. “It can’t be the same one!”

“Leave me alone.” I hurried from the room, hustled downstairs, and crossed to the screen door, but I stopped on the threshold. If I went out, Dom or Wiki could see me on the security cameras or on patrol. I didn’t want to answer questions about what was going on.

I rested my hand on the doorknob, steadying myself. I felt shocked, blown out of my shoes, like a percussive wave following a blast.

I inhaled again and again. The driveway was still and silent. Night cloaked the marsh. The lights burned through a sheer mist. It had been raining, and the air off the marsh smelled more ripe than usual. I couldn’t see a single star in the sky, only a cloud cover, impenetrably black.

Tears stung my eyes. I felt a betrayal that went deep, cutting profoundly to the core.

I feel betrayed, I heard a voice say out of nowhere, and I realized it was a memory surfacing. It was Lucinda, and we were in our apartment in Carlisle. I had just finished my first year at Dickinson Law. I had been in the Law Review office all day, checking cites and doing legal scutwork. I had come home and told her I was dropping out.

Why do you feel betrayed? I asked her. I’d expected she would be unhappy, but not like this.

You can’t drop out. You’re doing great. You just made Law Review.

I can’t afford to stay. It’s no way to start a life, a hundred thousand dollars more in debt.

The big firms will recruit you. You’ll make it back in no time.

I won’t be able to pay off the loans for ages. It keeps me up every night. I hate debt.

You sound like your father.

That’s not why, I shot back, but she was right. They were my father’s words coming out of my own mouth. He hated debt. He didn’t trust banks. He knew dairymen who had been foreclosed on. He squirreled away cash in the house.

Let me ask my father, Jason. He’d be happy to help.

I can support my own family.

If you could, you wouldn’t drop out.

I blinked, pained. This isn’t who you wanted me to be, is it? You wanted me to be a lawyer, and you’d be the wife of a lawyer.

Lucinda wiped a tear away. That was our plan.

Plans change, honey.

Not this one. Not without a fight.

I’m still me. I promise you, I’ll take care of you. I took her in my arms, but Lucinda didn’t lean against me the way she always did.

I could almost feel her now, even as I stood at the door, looking out into the darkness. It struck me that I hadn’t asked her why she’d had an affair, maybe because I knew, at some level. It all went back to that stifling afternoon, to an apartment in Carlisle.

That’s the way marriage was, I realized in that moment. There was a thing you always worried about, barely a crack, running down the middle between the two of you, and you hope it will go away, but it can widen like a tectonic plate, break open beneath your feet, and swallow you whole.

Suddenly headlights appeared in the driveway, and a black Tahoe pulled in and parked beside the van. It must be the replacement agent that Dom had told me about, since he, Wiki, and the rest of The Babysitters Club were going to Allison’s funeral tomorrow. The agent’s name was Matt Reilly, and he was from the investigative team. I was going to pick his brain tomorrow, but I was in no mood tonight.

I stepped out of view. Luckily, the downstairs lights were off.

Special Agent Reilly emerged from the driver’s seat, talking on the phone. He looked about my age and dressed FBI-casual, in a white polo and khaki pants. He fetched a duffel from the Tahoe while he kept talking.

I was too far away to hear what he was saying.

But when he walked past our front door, I read his lips.





Chapter Twenty-Nine



I stood stunned, replaying what Special Agent Reilly had said:

Milo is a psycho. You couldn’t pay me enough to run him, but if he delivers Big George, he’s worth it.

It was beyond belief.

I watched as Special Agent Reilly crossed the driveway and walked to the agents’ apartment. I waited for the sound of his footsteps on the stairway, a muted thumping that disappeared after a moment. The night returned to its heavy silence, the air weighed with humidity.

I exhaled. I hadn’t realized I had been holding my breath. I went over the words again, visualizing his lips moving. I was sure I read them correctly. The driveway was well-lit.

Milo is a psycho. You couldn’t pay me enough to run him, but if he delivers Big George, he’s worth it.