Michael saw a toy on the cushion behind him, and tried to climb out of his father’s arms to reach it. Stacy passed through the living room on the way to the kitchen, a spiral notebook in her hand. Carolyn’s eyes darted around the room. Her head was spinning. There were too many things going on at the same time, and far too much clutter.
“I’m sorry,” Drew said, taking a drink out of one of the children’s juice cups.
Carolyn gave him a strange look.
He laughed. “With this many kids, your own needs fall by the wayside. If I get thirsty, I’ll drink just about anything. Not milk, though. Milk spoils. What were you saying about Veronica? She must have stopped off at the grocery store, or decided to work late. She’s generally home by now.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “I don’t know why I’m telling you. I keep forgetting that you’re her boss.”
“Veronica’s been murdered,” Carolyn said. “Someone…shot her.”
It was as if a tunnel had opened up between them. The noise of the television and the children’s voices disappeared. Drew sat the boy down on the floor, staring at Carolyn with a bewildered look on his face. For a long time, neither of them spoke. “I don’t know that many of the details yet,” she continued, rubbing her sweaty palms on her slacks. “The police found her in a room at the Motor Inn on Thompson.” He started to say something, then stopped, his mouth hanging open. She didn’t know what else to do, so she kept talking. It was better to fill the air with words than silence. “She mentioned checking on a probationer when I talked to her this morning. I’m so sorry, Drew. You know how much I loved her.”
He stood and walked toward the back of the house, leaving Michael in the living room. Carolyn followed him, finding him in the master bedroom on the bed. She went over and stood beside him. “Please say something, Drew,” she said, watching a tear roll down his cheek. “There are things…things that have to be done. The children…plans…relatives…a funeral home.” She was bombarding the poor man. She looked around, almost as if she was searching for an escape hatch she could jump through. She wasn’t good at this type of thing. “I’ll give you some time alone.”
“Please,” he said, covering his face with his arm.
Carolyn left, pulling the door closed behind her. Michael stared up at her, sensing that something was wrong. “I want my daddy,” he said, reaching for the door handle. “I’m hungry.”
“Come on, sweetheart,” she said, taking his hand and leading him down the hallway. “We need to find Peter and Jude, okay? I promise I’ll get you some food, just not right this minute.”
“Mac and cheese,” he said. “And Pop Tarts.”
“Sure,” Carolyn said, hoping Brad would get there before she lost it. Peter, the seven-year-old, was pushing toy trucks and cars over a rubber mat that had been made to resemble a city. Since he seemed to be preoccupied, she continued on to Jude’s room, cracking the door and peering inside. It didn’t appear as if the girl was home. Clothes were scattered everywhere, the beds were unmade, and the computer on the desk was turned off. Stacy shared the room with her older sister. Carolyn wondered why they hadn’t converted their garage the way she had to give the older girl some privacy. Where in God’s name would they put a live-in nanny?
“Do you know where Jude is, Michael?”
“Dunno.” He shrugged. “Are you gonna be our new babysitter?”
“Not exactly,” Carolyn said. Their house was smaller than the one she’d just sold, not more than twelve hundred square feet. She felt a chill and looked over her shoulder, expecting to hear Veronica’s boisterous laugh and learn that it was another of her practical jokes. Her death didn’t seem real, and yet at the same time, it seemed so immediate it was terrifying.
Carolyn stared at the framed photos lining the wall in the hallway. She’d lived so much of Veronica’s life she felt fractured, as if a part of her had disappeared. The boy broke away and went sprinting back to the room he shared with his brother. She heard something crash into the wall and rushed to see what had happened. Michael was sitting in the middle of the room bawling.
“He threw a car at me,” Peter shouted. Seeing Carolyn, he looked confused. A look of recognition appeared, and he went back to playing as if she weren’t there.
When Carolyn turned around, Drew was standing in the doorway. “What am I supposed to do? I don’t…I mean, do we have to call a funeral home now? Can’t it wait until tomorrow? I have to find Jude. She doesn’t have a cell phone. Veronica took it away from her. Sometimes she doesn’t come home for days. I can drive by some of the places where she hangs out.”
“Don’t worry about a funeral home,” Carolyn said, realizing there would be an autopsy. “The most pressing thing at the moment is for you to identify the body. The police want you to go to the morgue. You can call your regular babysitter if you’d like, or we can wait until Brad Preston gets here. He’s bringing Linda Cartwright. She’s one of our investigators. She can watch the children for you. She’s got two kids about the same age as Michael and Peter.”
Peter turned and stared at her, a somber expression on his face. She wondered if he’d figured out what they were talking about. She hadn’t wanted to do it this way, in front of the children, but it was too late now.
“When is Mommy coming home?” Peter asked in a strained voice.
“I don’t know,” Drew said without thinking. “I can’t do what you said, Carolyn. I don’t want that to be my last memory. Besides, I need to track down Jude. Why can’t you identify her?”
Carolyn sat down on one of the twin beds, pulling Michael into her lap. “I guess I could,” she said, stroking the child’s arm. A mother’s touch, she thought. Veronica’s children would never feel that again. Maybe Hank had been justified in asking her to break the news to Drew, but she was too emotionally involved. A stranger might have been better. “They say it’s important. It helps you begin the grieving process.”
“I want my wife back,” Drew said. “I don’t want to start the grieving process.”
“Star Wars,” Michael said, clapping. He hopped out of her lap and dug in a box, returning and handing her an action figure.
“That’s Grievous,” Peter told her.
“Please, can’t we talk in the other room?” Carolyn handed the boy back his toy. Her stomach was churning with acid. Veronica was in the morgue and she was here, surrounding by everything she knew and loved.
“The kids want to be wherever we are,” Drew said. “One room is as good as the other.”
The doorbell rang and he left to answer it. Carolyn stayed in the children’s room, hoping she could keep them entertained. She stretched out on the floor, removing a handful of action figures from the box and offering them to Michael. While his brother’s head was turned, he snatched a truck off the mat. Peter exploded and kicked him. “You messed up everything again.”
A pretty brunette in her late thirties stuck her head in the room. Linda Cartwright nodded at Carolyn, and then squatted down beside the children. “You guys wouldn’t want to go to Dave and Busters with me, would you?”
“I wanna go,” Michael said, throwing his arms in the air.
“Who are you?” Peter asked.
“My name is Linda,” she told him. “I’m a friend of Carolyn’s. And what’s your name, big guy?”
“Peter,” he said, sizing her up. “Can you cook?”
The kids must think they’re interviewing nannies, Carolyn thought, tugging on Linda’s sleeve. Veronica hadn’t said anything about hiring a live-in. Since she worked at home three days a week, it made more sense to take the children somewhere else. Stacy and Peter were in elementary school and Michael