rock-walled edge of the cliff that rises high above the Hudson River and forms the western boundary of High Ridge Park. It happens every once in a while, sure. Someone takes the deadly plunge. But usually you hear about a lovesick teenager doing it, or a distraught middle-aged man—not a suburban mom who has every reason to live, and who, by jumping, would be leaving her baby defenseless and alone in the park.
“Do you think she jumped?” Tasha asks Rachel.
“ I don’t think she did,” Karen Wu says, materializing at the table with Mara.
Naturally, Victoria lights up at the sight of her toddler idol. Tasha allows her to pull up a chair next to the one Mara vacated earlier, and the two girls share a box of animal crackers Tasha pulls from her bag.
She turns her attention back to what Karen said. “So why don’t you think she killed herself? I think I read someplace that children of parents who commit suicide are far more likely to kill themselves than the average person would be.”
“That’s true. But I just don’t believe Jane Kendall did it.”
“Why not?” Rachel persists.
Karen shakes her head. Her straight, shiny black hair swings back and forth at her shoulders, falling neatly back into place. “It’s just a feeling I have. I barely knew the woman, after all. I’m not qualified to offer a professional opinion.”
“I can’t believe anyone would jump from that wall into the river,” Tasha comments, and sips her coffee, savoring the dribble of caramel in the rich foam. She watches Noah drop the crust of bagel he was chewing.
“People do it all the time,” Rachel points out, handing her son another piece of bagel without bothering to bend and pick up the chunk he dropped.
She’s like that, Tasha has noticed. She tends to expect other people to clean up after her and her kids—probably because someone always has.
“People like Jane Kendall don’t jump into the river all the time. Maybe she ran away,” Tasha suggests, doubting it.
“Maybe. My housekeeper’s cousin knows the Kendalls’ housekeeper,” Rachel says. “I can probably get some dirt out of her. You’d be surprised at what housekeepers know about the people they work for,” Rachel says, and turns to Karen. “Speaking of household help, I need a stand-in sitter until I can get a new nanny. I think I’m going to have to let Mrs. Tuccelli go. Didn’t you tell me last week that you might know of someone?”
Karen nods. “Sharon and Fletch Gallagher’s nephew. He’s living with them now.”
Fletch Gallagher.
The name causes a startled little jump in Tasha’s stomach. She busies herself plucking the bottle from Max’s still-sucking mouth, putting him up on her shoulder to burp him even though it’s no longer necessary at his age.
Rachel is hesitant, frowning. “A male sitter? I don’t know . . .”
“He’s a good kid from what I can tell, Rachel,” says Karen, who lives next door to the Gallaghers and should know. “He seems like a real studious type—”
“I know who he is,” Rachel cuts in. “His mother died in that awful house fire in July.”
“August, actually, and that was his stepmother, Melissa Gallagher.”
“No wonder,” Rachel says.
“No wonder what?” Karen asks.
“No wonder the kid is so homely. Melissa Gallagher was an attractive woman. A blonde with a great figure, remember? No way could she produce a kid who looks like that.”
Tasha rolls her eyes. “Rach, that’s cruel. He’s just a kid.”
“I know, but . . . never mind. Go on, Karen.”
“ Anyway ,” Karen says, getting back to the point, “Sharon and Fletch have taken in Jeremiah and his two stepsisters until his father gets back to town. He’s overseas on a military assignment.”
Tasha toys with her coffee cup while Rachel and Karen discuss the Gallaghers’ nephew. She’s grateful when Victoria spills her apple juice all over herself, effectively curtailing the conversation.
Fletch Gallagher isn’t
“Do you think she jumped?” Tasha asks Rachel.
“ I don’t think she did,” Karen Wu says, materializing at the table with Mara.
Naturally, Victoria lights up at the sight of her toddler idol. Tasha allows her to pull up a chair next to the one Mara vacated earlier, and the two girls share a box of animal crackers Tasha pulls from her bag.
She turns her attention back to what Karen said. “So why don’t you think she killed herself? I think I read someplace that children of parents who commit suicide are far more likely to kill themselves than the average person would be.”
“That’s true. But I just don’t believe Jane Kendall did it.”
“Why not?” Rachel persists.
Karen shakes her head. Her straight, shiny black hair swings back and forth at her shoulders, falling neatly back into place. “It’s just a feeling I have. I barely knew the woman, after all. I’m not qualified to offer a professional opinion.”
“I can’t believe anyone would jump from that wall into the river,” Tasha comments, and sips her coffee, savoring the dribble of caramel in the rich foam. She watches Noah drop the crust of bagel he was chewing.
“People do it all the time,” Rachel points out, handing her son another piece of bagel without bothering to bend and pick up the chunk he dropped.
She’s like that, Tasha has noticed. She tends to expect other people to clean up after her and her kids—probably because someone always has.
“People like Jane Kendall don’t jump into the river all the time. Maybe she ran away,” Tasha suggests, doubting it.
“Maybe. My housekeeper’s cousin knows the Kendalls’ housekeeper,” Rachel says. “I can probably get some dirt out of her. You’d be surprised at what housekeepers know about the people they work for,” Rachel says, and turns to Karen. “Speaking of household help, I need a stand-in sitter until I can get a new nanny. I think I’m going to have to let Mrs. Tuccelli go. Didn’t you tell me last week that you might know of someone?”
Karen nods. “Sharon and Fletch Gallagher’s nephew. He’s living with them now.”
Fletch Gallagher.
The name causes a startled little jump in Tasha’s stomach. She busies herself plucking the bottle from Max’s still-sucking mouth, putting him up on her shoulder to burp him even though it’s no longer necessary at his age.
Rachel is hesitant, frowning. “A male sitter? I don’t know . . .”
“He’s a good kid from what I can tell, Rachel,” says Karen, who lives next door to the Gallaghers and should know. “He seems like a real studious type—”
“I know who he is,” Rachel cuts in. “His mother died in that awful house fire in July.”
“August, actually, and that was his stepmother, Melissa Gallagher.”
“No wonder,” Rachel says.
“No wonder what?” Karen asks.
“No wonder the kid is so homely. Melissa Gallagher was an attractive woman. A blonde with a great figure, remember? No way could she produce a kid who looks like that.”
Tasha rolls her eyes. “Rach, that’s cruel. He’s just a kid.”
“I know, but . . . never mind. Go on, Karen.”
“ Anyway ,” Karen says, getting back to the point, “Sharon and Fletch have taken in Jeremiah and his two stepsisters until his father gets back to town. He’s overseas on a military assignment.”
Tasha toys with her coffee cup while Rachel and Karen discuss the Gallaghers’ nephew. She’s grateful when Victoria spills her apple juice all over herself, effectively curtailing the conversation.
Fletch Gallagher isn’t
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