getting a runaround.”
“Why?”
“No one returns our phone calls. Or when they do, well, they start talking about the sniper. Whether we know someone who wanted to harm Daria. Which we’ve answered a zillion times.”
“One of the State Police detectives has called me a few times. He’s—”
“I don’t mean the Illinois cops.” Kim’s expression hardened. I wondered who she meant and was about to ask when she went on. “But that doesn’t matter. It’s not what we came for.”
“Are you sure she didn’t say anything else…at the end?” A note of pleading crept into Irene’s voice. “Anything at all?”
“Nothing I haven’t told you.” I stood up. “Could I offer you some tea?” When in doubt, play hostess. They didn’t object, so I started toward the kitchen, glad for the opportunity to break the rhythm. “I’ll just be a minute.”
I filled the kettle and turned on the flame, wondering how much of Irene’s story to believe. The Flynns were three adult women. No matter how close they were, there had to be some friction. And what Irene said about not approving of a boyfriend was odd. Had there been boyfriends in the past of whom she
had
disapproved? It did raise the question whether Daria might have been hiding her boyfriend, at least from her mother. I got out tea bags and mugs, then started back to the living room, nearly colliding with Kim.
“Oh—sorry,” I said. “Um, would you like iced tea or hot? I can make either.”
“Mother usually drinks hot,” Kim answered.
“What about you?”
“What I’d really like is a—oh, never mind.”
“I have some scotch,” I offered.
“No, I’m driving. But let me help you with the tea.” She ran a hand through her hair. “If you don’t mind.”
“Sure.”
“I’ll just be a minute, Mother,” she called over her shoulder.
Irene nodded and turned her gaze to a framed poster on the wall. Her back was erect, but her eyes were unfocused. I didn’t think she was admiring my artwork.
“Is she going to be okay?” I asked Kim.
She followed me back into the kitchen. “Oh, don’t let her fool you. She’s strong. Ironsides, Daria and I used to call her.”
“A stroke can be pretty devastating.” I thought about Marv, one of my father’s closest friends, who had suffered a stroke last October and passed away after Thanksgiving. Add to that the unbearable grief of losing a child. It wasn’t an enviable situation.
“I’m not going to tell you it hasn’t been tough. We’ve had a shitty year. Health problems. Money problems. Now this. But we’ll make it.” Kim gazed around the room.
How do you recover from the death of a daughter? Or a sister? A knot of tension tightened my stomach. Where was Rachel? As I took out spoons, I spotted the note propped up in its usual spot.
Babysitting at Julia’s. Back by dinner. R.
The knot in my stomach loosened. I turned around. Kim was watching me. I realized she must have been saying something. “I’m sorry. What was that?”
“I said, what do you really think?”
“About the sniper?”
“No. About Daria’s boyfriend.”
I frowned. I’d told them what I knew. “What do you mean?”
“It’s just—just that Daria never said anything to me about a man.”
I pulled out a tray.
“Then again, she doesn’t—didn’t always tell me everything. It’s possible she was seeing someone. Maybe he worked at the hotel. Or was a customer—excuse me—a patron.” She made a sound in the back of her throat. “Isn’t that what upscale restaurants call them?”
I got out milk, sugar, and lemon and put them on the tray. Where was she going with this?
“Look.” She perched on the counter opposite the stove and rubbed her hands up and down her thighs. “I didn’t want to put you in an awkward position with Mother in the room. But—well—since it’s just us two, did she say
anything
? Give you a name? A profession?”
The kettle started to whistle. I poured hot water into
“Why?”
“No one returns our phone calls. Or when they do, well, they start talking about the sniper. Whether we know someone who wanted to harm Daria. Which we’ve answered a zillion times.”
“One of the State Police detectives has called me a few times. He’s—”
“I don’t mean the Illinois cops.” Kim’s expression hardened. I wondered who she meant and was about to ask when she went on. “But that doesn’t matter. It’s not what we came for.”
“Are you sure she didn’t say anything else…at the end?” A note of pleading crept into Irene’s voice. “Anything at all?”
“Nothing I haven’t told you.” I stood up. “Could I offer you some tea?” When in doubt, play hostess. They didn’t object, so I started toward the kitchen, glad for the opportunity to break the rhythm. “I’ll just be a minute.”
I filled the kettle and turned on the flame, wondering how much of Irene’s story to believe. The Flynns were three adult women. No matter how close they were, there had to be some friction. And what Irene said about not approving of a boyfriend was odd. Had there been boyfriends in the past of whom she
had
disapproved? It did raise the question whether Daria might have been hiding her boyfriend, at least from her mother. I got out tea bags and mugs, then started back to the living room, nearly colliding with Kim.
“Oh—sorry,” I said. “Um, would you like iced tea or hot? I can make either.”
“Mother usually drinks hot,” Kim answered.
“What about you?”
“What I’d really like is a—oh, never mind.”
“I have some scotch,” I offered.
“No, I’m driving. But let me help you with the tea.” She ran a hand through her hair. “If you don’t mind.”
“Sure.”
“I’ll just be a minute, Mother,” she called over her shoulder.
Irene nodded and turned her gaze to a framed poster on the wall. Her back was erect, but her eyes were unfocused. I didn’t think she was admiring my artwork.
“Is she going to be okay?” I asked Kim.
She followed me back into the kitchen. “Oh, don’t let her fool you. She’s strong. Ironsides, Daria and I used to call her.”
“A stroke can be pretty devastating.” I thought about Marv, one of my father’s closest friends, who had suffered a stroke last October and passed away after Thanksgiving. Add to that the unbearable grief of losing a child. It wasn’t an enviable situation.
“I’m not going to tell you it hasn’t been tough. We’ve had a shitty year. Health problems. Money problems. Now this. But we’ll make it.” Kim gazed around the room.
How do you recover from the death of a daughter? Or a sister? A knot of tension tightened my stomach. Where was Rachel? As I took out spoons, I spotted the note propped up in its usual spot.
Babysitting at Julia’s. Back by dinner. R.
The knot in my stomach loosened. I turned around. Kim was watching me. I realized she must have been saying something. “I’m sorry. What was that?”
“I said, what do you really think?”
“About the sniper?”
“No. About Daria’s boyfriend.”
I frowned. I’d told them what I knew. “What do you mean?”
“It’s just—just that Daria never said anything to me about a man.”
I pulled out a tray.
“Then again, she doesn’t—didn’t always tell me everything. It’s possible she was seeing someone. Maybe he worked at the hotel. Or was a customer—excuse me—a patron.” She made a sound in the back of her throat. “Isn’t that what upscale restaurants call them?”
I got out milk, sugar, and lemon and put them on the tray. Where was she going with this?
“Look.” She perched on the counter opposite the stove and rubbed her hands up and down her thighs. “I didn’t want to put you in an awkward position with Mother in the room. But—well—since it’s just us two, did she say
anything
? Give you a name? A profession?”
The kettle started to whistle. I poured hot water into
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