Mrs. Starkweather rousted two children out of a kitchen shiny with stainless steel appliances. The kids were about nine and twelve. The kids clomped down the hall, and Mrs. Starkweather gestured for Tara to take a seat at the kitchen barstool. She scrubbed at a sticky mess left by the kids with a dishcloth. Her left hand was heavy with a diamond setting the size of a bottle cap.
“Your children are beautiful,” Tara said.
Mrs. Starkweather beamed. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks so. The house feels a bit empty, now that Jamie’s off to summer school and Mark’s a college student working an internship in New York this summer …” She trailed off, continued to scrub at the stain on the granite before it set up.
“Thank you for talking with me, Mrs. Starkweather. I really appreciate it.”
She grimaced. “Mrs. Starkweather sounds like Carl’s mother. Please call me Suzanne.”
“Suzanne, can you tell me the last time you saw Carl?”
Suzanne rinsed the dishrag out in the spotless sink. “Two weeks ago, he said he was going to Vegas with some of his old friends. I dropped him off at the airport.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she savagely wrung out the dish-rag. “I kissed him good-bye, and he took his suitcase and went into the terminal.”
“Did Carl travel often?”
Suzanne nodded. “He was always prone … to a kind of wanderlust, I guess.” She carefully arranged the dishcloth over the faucet so that it would dry out. “It’s just the way he is. After he retired, he got restless. I guess he was used to always being on the go.” She looked up at Tara. “Would you like something to drink?” She wandered over to the refrigerator. “I have juice, milk, regular and diet pop, iced tea …”
Tara felt some sympathy for her. She had the impression that Suzanne tried hard to make things perfect for Carl, keeping the perfect house and watching over the children. Her body was well toned and tanned, her hair expertly highlighted. She did her best to make him happy, to support him, and now he was gone. Not by an assassin’s bullet on the job, in a hero’s fall and folded flag. He was simply gone, with no explanation. “Thanks. An iced tea would be great.”
Suzanne pulled a glass out of the cabinet and filled it with ice from the refrigerator door. The iced tea pitcher was full of lemon slices. Tara smiled when she tasted it. It was perfect, sweet but not too sweet, just enough lemon.
“We’re looking into a number of disappearances of people who have worked with Carl,” she said, reaching into her attaché case. “I’m wondering if you know any of them?” She fanned out pictures of Gerald Frost, Carrie Kirkman, and Lena Ivanova. Tara watched how Suzanne’s gaze lingered on Lena’s picture, and how her jaw tightened.
“Carl golfed with Gerald every Sunday, before he went overseas. Carl said he vanished, but suspected he found some Russian girl to keep him company in his old age.” Her collagen-enhanced lips thinned. “I don’t know her.” She pointed at Carrie’s photo.
“What about this one?” Tara slid Lena’s photo across the granite to Suzanne. It wasn’t very current, but still showed the flush of Lena’s exotic beauty, ten years ago.
Suzanne wouldn’t touch it. “She worked with Carl.”
“She’s gone missing, too.” Tara watched the play of emotions crossing Suzanne’s chemically frozen brow.
“That son of a bitch.” Suzanne’s well-manicured hands balled into fists. “Did he run away with her?”
“I don’t know. Were they—?”
Suzanne glared at the photo. “I told him that I never wanted him to have anything to do with her again. I heard all the excuses. He was half a world away, he was lonely …” She shook her head. “I told him that if he dared divorce me, I’d take everything. And I meant it.” Tears glistened on her eyelashes. “I did everything for him. Everything.”
Tara impulsively reached across the counter to pat
“Your children are beautiful,” Tara said.
Mrs. Starkweather beamed. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks so. The house feels a bit empty, now that Jamie’s off to summer school and Mark’s a college student working an internship in New York this summer …” She trailed off, continued to scrub at the stain on the granite before it set up.
“Thank you for talking with me, Mrs. Starkweather. I really appreciate it.”
She grimaced. “Mrs. Starkweather sounds like Carl’s mother. Please call me Suzanne.”
“Suzanne, can you tell me the last time you saw Carl?”
Suzanne rinsed the dishrag out in the spotless sink. “Two weeks ago, he said he was going to Vegas with some of his old friends. I dropped him off at the airport.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she savagely wrung out the dish-rag. “I kissed him good-bye, and he took his suitcase and went into the terminal.”
“Did Carl travel often?”
Suzanne nodded. “He was always prone … to a kind of wanderlust, I guess.” She carefully arranged the dishcloth over the faucet so that it would dry out. “It’s just the way he is. After he retired, he got restless. I guess he was used to always being on the go.” She looked up at Tara. “Would you like something to drink?” She wandered over to the refrigerator. “I have juice, milk, regular and diet pop, iced tea …”
Tara felt some sympathy for her. She had the impression that Suzanne tried hard to make things perfect for Carl, keeping the perfect house and watching over the children. Her body was well toned and tanned, her hair expertly highlighted. She did her best to make him happy, to support him, and now he was gone. Not by an assassin’s bullet on the job, in a hero’s fall and folded flag. He was simply gone, with no explanation. “Thanks. An iced tea would be great.”
Suzanne pulled a glass out of the cabinet and filled it with ice from the refrigerator door. The iced tea pitcher was full of lemon slices. Tara smiled when she tasted it. It was perfect, sweet but not too sweet, just enough lemon.
“We’re looking into a number of disappearances of people who have worked with Carl,” she said, reaching into her attaché case. “I’m wondering if you know any of them?” She fanned out pictures of Gerald Frost, Carrie Kirkman, and Lena Ivanova. Tara watched how Suzanne’s gaze lingered on Lena’s picture, and how her jaw tightened.
“Carl golfed with Gerald every Sunday, before he went overseas. Carl said he vanished, but suspected he found some Russian girl to keep him company in his old age.” Her collagen-enhanced lips thinned. “I don’t know her.” She pointed at Carrie’s photo.
“What about this one?” Tara slid Lena’s photo across the granite to Suzanne. It wasn’t very current, but still showed the flush of Lena’s exotic beauty, ten years ago.
Suzanne wouldn’t touch it. “She worked with Carl.”
“She’s gone missing, too.” Tara watched the play of emotions crossing Suzanne’s chemically frozen brow.
“That son of a bitch.” Suzanne’s well-manicured hands balled into fists. “Did he run away with her?”
“I don’t know. Were they—?”
Suzanne glared at the photo. “I told him that I never wanted him to have anything to do with her again. I heard all the excuses. He was half a world away, he was lonely …” She shook her head. “I told him that if he dared divorce me, I’d take everything. And I meant it.” Tears glistened on her eyelashes. “I did everything for him. Everything.”
Tara impulsively reached across the counter to pat
Similar Books
