she said. “I was
wondering if you or Mrs. Coleman heard her come home last night, or maybe heard
her this morning. Mrs. Coleman said
she hasn’t heard or seen her. Have
you?”
He shook
his head. “I haven’t. She’s not answering her phone or her
door, I take it?”
“She
isn’t.”
“I heard
her leave last night,” he said. “Was that your car that pulled up? I didn’t see it, but I heard a car. Sounded like yours.”
She
nodded. “That was me.”
“If you
don’t mind my asking, where did you go?”
“It was
my birthday. We went down to The
Grind to dance. It was a girls
night out. Some fun since I was
turning thirty.” She realized she
sounded defensive about going to a club, as if it was wrong for someone her age
to go do a dance club. She wondered
if she’d ever shake the damage of what her ex-boyfriend had done to her.
“Well,
happy birthday,” James Coleman said.
“Thank
you.”
“Did you
leave together?”
She
shook her head, and when she did, her stomach sank. A few more questions and she’d be on the
cusp of telling him that she left Cheryl behind and taken off with a man she
didn’t know. She felt overwhelmed at
that moment, not because she had disappointed herself, which she had, but
because she was about to disappoint them, which was more upsetting to her
because they were among the few who believed in her. Worse, because she had gone off with a
man, she wondered how that would affect her relationship with them now. She knew what would happen. She knew the connections they’d
make. They’d wonder if all those
rumors about her were true. It was
only human. Whatever they thought
of her now, their minds would turn to all that town gossip and question whether
they really knew her at all.
And what
if they believe the rumors are true? You did go off with a stranger. And he caught it all on camera. How will you explain that when it leaks?
“Mr.
Coleman,” she said.
“Patty,
would you like to talk? Privately?” He looked down
at his wife, Barbara. “Would you
mind if we spoke alone? I know the
grandkids are coming soon. We won’t
be long.”
“Of
course not,” she said. She looked
at Patty with concern. “I don’t
know why I’m about to straighten up the house, because they’ll just make it a
mess again. Pride, I guess. You two go and have a chat. See if you can figure out where Cheryl
is.” She put her hand on Patty’s
forearm and furrowed her brow. “And
don’t look so concerned, dear. Cheryl is going to be fine. It’s not as if you did something wrong.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“I did
do something wrong,” Patty said.
She was
sitting in James Coleman’s study, the walls of which were lined with bookcases
filled with law books and, in one corner of the room, a space reserved for the
popular thrillers he enjoyed.
It was a
masculine-looking room. The
Coleman’s house was a large Victorian that dated back to 1870. A true New Englander, probably owned not
by one of Bangor’s former lumber barons, whose mansions mostly were found on a
small portion of West Broadway, but by somebody in higher management who could
afford a more reasonably sized home with the finer details she saw now.
The wood
never had been painted and it gleamed dark against the light green walls. Above them was an ornate tin ceiling
and, where the walls met the ceiling, intricately carved molding. Light in the room was dim because the
windows faced west. Later in the
day, it would be ablaze with sunlight. The inlaid floor was a mix of maple and mahogany. It gleamed with a high-gloss sheen, as
if it recently had been refinished.
James
Coleman was sitting opposite her in the same sort of leather wingback in which
she sat. “There are layers of
wrong,” he said. “Human
layers that, depending on your perspective, are subjective
wondering if you or Mrs. Coleman heard her come home last night, or maybe heard
her this morning. Mrs. Coleman said
she hasn’t heard or seen her. Have
you?”
He shook
his head. “I haven’t. She’s not answering her phone or her
door, I take it?”
“She
isn’t.”
“I heard
her leave last night,” he said. “Was that your car that pulled up? I didn’t see it, but I heard a car. Sounded like yours.”
She
nodded. “That was me.”
“If you
don’t mind my asking, where did you go?”
“It was
my birthday. We went down to The
Grind to dance. It was a girls
night out. Some fun since I was
turning thirty.” She realized she
sounded defensive about going to a club, as if it was wrong for someone her age
to go do a dance club. She wondered
if she’d ever shake the damage of what her ex-boyfriend had done to her.
“Well,
happy birthday,” James Coleman said.
“Thank
you.”
“Did you
leave together?”
She
shook her head, and when she did, her stomach sank. A few more questions and she’d be on the
cusp of telling him that she left Cheryl behind and taken off with a man she
didn’t know. She felt overwhelmed at
that moment, not because she had disappointed herself, which she had, but
because she was about to disappoint them, which was more upsetting to her
because they were among the few who believed in her. Worse, because she had gone off with a
man, she wondered how that would affect her relationship with them now. She knew what would happen. She knew the connections they’d
make. They’d wonder if all those
rumors about her were true. It was
only human. Whatever they thought
of her now, their minds would turn to all that town gossip and question whether
they really knew her at all.
And what
if they believe the rumors are true? You did go off with a stranger. And he caught it all on camera. How will you explain that when it leaks?
“Mr.
Coleman,” she said.
“Patty,
would you like to talk? Privately?” He looked down
at his wife, Barbara. “Would you
mind if we spoke alone? I know the
grandkids are coming soon. We won’t
be long.”
“Of
course not,” she said. She looked
at Patty with concern. “I don’t
know why I’m about to straighten up the house, because they’ll just make it a
mess again. Pride, I guess. You two go and have a chat. See if you can figure out where Cheryl
is.” She put her hand on Patty’s
forearm and furrowed her brow. “And
don’t look so concerned, dear. Cheryl is going to be fine. It’s not as if you did something wrong.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“I did
do something wrong,” Patty said.
She was
sitting in James Coleman’s study, the walls of which were lined with bookcases
filled with law books and, in one corner of the room, a space reserved for the
popular thrillers he enjoyed.
It was a
masculine-looking room. The
Coleman’s house was a large Victorian that dated back to 1870. A true New Englander, probably owned not
by one of Bangor’s former lumber barons, whose mansions mostly were found on a
small portion of West Broadway, but by somebody in higher management who could
afford a more reasonably sized home with the finer details she saw now.
The wood
never had been painted and it gleamed dark against the light green walls. Above them was an ornate tin ceiling
and, where the walls met the ceiling, intricately carved molding. Light in the room was dim because the
windows faced west. Later in the
day, it would be ablaze with sunlight. The inlaid floor was a mix of maple and mahogany. It gleamed with a high-gloss sheen, as
if it recently had been refinished.
James
Coleman was sitting opposite her in the same sort of leather wingback in which
she sat. “There are layers of
wrong,” he said. “Human
layers that, depending on your perspective, are subjective
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