The Perfect Mother(45)
Nell rests her forehead on her palm, feeling the relief wash over her. There’s a light tap on her office window. Ian is standing in the hall, pointing at his watch. Nell holds up a finger to indicate she’s on her way.
Francie sounds on the verge of tears. “This keeps getting worse. What are people going to think?”
“Who cares what people think?” Colette says. “We didn’t do anything wrong.”
Nell’s desk phone rings. “Shit. Hang on. Sebastian is calling me. The baby woke up with a fever and he’s home with her.”
He must have seen Patricia Faith’s show. He’ll be so worried.
“Thank god you answered,” he says, his voice strained. “I know you have that meeting, and I was afraid I wouldn’t get you.”
“I know. I have to go now. Did you see it?”
“See it? See what?”
“The photograph. Patricia Faith.”
“No, but—”
“Isn’t that why you’re calling?”
“No, darling, listen.” He lowers his voice, as if someone is listening. “The police are here. They want to speak to you. I think you need to come home.”
Mark Hoyt stands in Nell’s living room, browsing the bookshelf. He’s gotten a haircut since his visit four days earlier.
“Ms. Mackey,” he says, turning to look at her as she closes the door behind her, laying her bag on the floor next to the couch. She can’t tell a thing from his expression. In the taxi on the way home, after telling Ian that Beatrice’s fever had spiked and she needed to go home, Nell tried to convince herself that everything is fine, reminding herself she’s done nothing wrong. Or at least nothing illegal. And yet she can’t deny the rising sense of dread she feels. Does Mark Hoyt know something about that night? Did he discover something that happened, in the moments Nell can’t remember?
The sound of someone walking down the hall startles her, and she turns to see Sebastian. “Oh good, you’re here,” he says, setting a mug of coffee on the table. “You okay?” He whispers the words, but she can sense the uneasiness in his voice.
“Yes. How’s Beatrice?”
“Good. Her fever broke. She’s sleeping.”
“Why don’t you take a seat, Ms. Mackey?” Hoyt suggests.
Nell reaches for the coffee Sebastian set down, knowing he likely made it for Hoyt, and sits on the couch. “What brings you here, Detective?”
Hoyt walks slowly to the oversize armchair near the window and perches himself on one of the arms. She resists the urge to tell him to sit properly, that he’s going to ruin the frame the way he’s sitting. The chair was a wedding gift from her mother, and Nell knows how many overtime hours at the hospital she worked to pay for it.
“Just a few questions,” Hoyt says, sliding up the sleeves of his gray cotton T-shirt. “Some loose ends you might be able to help us out with.”
“Okay.”
“First, how you doing?”
“I’m fine.”
He stands and returns to the bookshelf. “Yeah? You’re all right?” He lifts a framed photograph from the shelf, one from her wedding day, wiping the dust from the glass with his thumb. “This your dad?”
“Stepdad.”
He nods. “Nice dress.”
Nell points to the bottom shelf, to the large photo album tucked alongside some of Sebastian’s art books. “There’s the full album. Says ‘Wedding Day’ on the binding. If that’s why you’re here, to look at my wedding pictures.”
Hoyt laughs. “No, not quite.”
“That’s too bad. It was a brilliant wedding. Just sixteen people. My mother-in-law made Haitian food.” Hoyt places the photograph on the shelf. His silence feels oppressive. “So, Detective, today was my first day back at work after maternity leave. Not really the ideal time to tell my boss I need to leave early. Plus, my baby came down with her first cold after four hours at a day care. I’m a little knackered. Can we get on with why you’re here?”
“I’m really sorry about that.” He’s shaking his head, his voice tinged with good-cop sympathy. “I thought it would be better for us to go over my questions here, rather than, you know, show up at your office.”
“What questions?”
“Still trying to clear up some of the confusion about that night.” Sebastian enters the room with another cup of coffee, but Hoyt waves it away. “No thanks. Overcaffeinated.” He addresses Nell. “You’ll have to forgive me if we’ve gone over this already. My mind’s not as sharp as it once was. But as I understand it, you’re the one who organized this night out to the Jolly Llama. Correct?”
“Not really. We all—”
“You were pretty adamant that Winnie Ross join you.”
“We all wanted her there.”
“But you sent the e-mail to everyone. You wrote something—what was it—‘Everyone come, and especially Winnie. We won’t take no for an answer.’ Or something to that effect. Am I right?”
“I can’t remember exactly.”
“No?” He takes a notebook from his back pocket and flips it open. “Yes. That was it. Maybe my memory’s not as bad as I thought.”