CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

C HAPTER T WENTY -T WO

Once Dianne disappeared inside her house, Chloe headed down the walkway, surprised to see Wesley’s car parked in their driveway. He must have returned from his trip early. About to check her phone for any missed texts or calls, she watched him exit the house, walk briskly toward his silver BMW, and slide behind the wheel.

Thinking fast, Chloe rushed toward the Abbotts’ side yard and hid behind the tall shrubs. She pulled out her phone. He had messaged her a few minutes ago, letting her know he was going to the office. When they had talked last night, she’d told him she might be out running errands when he returned. He probably thought she was out and about. Hadn’t he seen her car? Maybe he’d assumed someone else drove.

As soon as he made a right instead of a left, she knew something was up—that was not the way to his office. She ran to her car parked at the curb, jumped into the driver’s seat, pushed the starter button, and hit the gas.

She made a right and sped until she caught up to the row of cars stuck at a red light. If she leaned to the left, she could see his BMW. She followed him from J Street to Fair Oaks Boulevard, then finally to Howe Avenue. Exactly eleven minutes later, his BMW pulled into the parking lot of the Residence Inn by Marriott Sacramento.

Chloe pulled to the curb and shut off the engine. Wesley climbed out of his car and made his way into the hotel. She sat there, wondering what to do next. Did she really want to know who the woman was and what she looked like? No point in running after him and causing a scene. They were beyond that, weren’t they?

Falling apart over a man she no longer loved made zero sense. She had fallen out of love with Wesley years ago. Every once in a while, they would drink too much wine and end up having sex. The shared intimacy always made her feel closer to her husband, made living under the same roof a little more bearable. At least for a while. He was obviously up to his old tricks, lying and sneaking off to be with another woman.

It was time to give him the boot. He stayed with her because of her bank account; Wesley liked living the good life too much to leave her for someone else. Chloe’s parents were loaded, and they were generous, too. And opinionated and controlling. Chloe saw them once every few years, when they visited. With three children, a dog, and a cat that had since passed, staying at her house was too chaotic for them.

Despite her indifference toward Wesley, she felt numb. It saddened her to think of the passion they’d once had for each other. There were more good memories than bad ones. They had three great kids together. But if she stayed with him, it wouldn’t be good for anyone. Least of all for her.

As she sat there, hands gripping the steering wheel, Chloe’s mind swirled with a torrent of thoughts. She willed herself to sink into the stillness of the moment. And then she saw a familiar face. Becky Bateman was walking toward the entrance of the hotel. Every excuse for Becky’s being there swam through Chloe’s head. Maybe Becky was applying for a new job? Maybe the hotel was a client of hers? All her maybes were squashed when Wesley exited the double glass doors, all smiles as he wrapped his arms around Becky’s waist and lifted her so high her feet left the ground.

Thirty minutes after returning home, Chloe heard a knock on the door. She peered through the peephole. She had thought the detectives might pay her a visit but didn’t know when, and she had hoped not to see them quite so soon. Wishful thinking on her part. So far, her day had been more than enlightening. Her visit with Shannon, after reading dozens of pages filled with fanatical and irrational scribbles, had shined a bright light on Rosella’s mental health. Talking to Dianne had also been eye opening.

But seeing Wesley with Becky Bateman was the icing on the cake.

A shitty, bitter icing that had left her with a sour stomach. Briefly, she considered not answering the door. But why? They would return eventually. She needed to answer their questions and put it behind her. As it was, she wasn’t sleeping well, worrying about Ridley and the stupid stick doll, wondering whether her daughter had a deeper connection with Rosella because of her “relationship” with Daniel. The more she thought about it, she realized a lot of Ridley’s problems began after Daniel’s death. Her grades had dropped, she’d lost interest in extracurricular activities, and she’d been irritable and restless ever since.

Had Ridley and Daniel been more than friends?

No way. Ridley was sixteen when he passed. Chloe would have known if Ridley had felt something more than friendship for the boy. Wouldn’t she have? At the moment, her husband’s betrayal was the least of her worries.

Chloe smoothed out her apricot, V-neck Draper James blouse, made sure it was tucked neatly into her new Frank her mother would have been appalled. Chloe didn’t care. She sat in the chair opposite them and asked, “What can I do for you?”

Detective Seicinski pulled a notebook and pen from the pocket of her blazer. “If you’re ready, we’ll get right to it.”

“Please do.”

“How would you describe your relationship with your neighbors?” Detective Seicinski asked.

“We’re like one big happy family,” Chloe answered. Mostly true, as far as she was concerned. Things had been rocky since Rosella’s death, but Chloe’s love and compassion for the neighborhood and its residents had not changed. Until the case was solved, everyone was innocent, including Jason Abbott.

“Did that happy family include Rosella Marlow?”

Chloe’s nerves had calmed. She could do this. All she had to do was get through their line of questioning without rousing any suspicions about herself or her family. “Rosella might be described by some as the black sheep of our neighborhood family, but yes, she was part of the clan. She participated in most events held on our block, gave money to the charities Holly and Becky supported, and she was friendly to my youngest son.”

“And yet we’ve been told you and Rosella, particularly, had no love lost between the two of you,” Detective Toye chimed in.

“True. I was not fond of Rosella, but I never wished her harm.”

“When was the last time you spoke to Rosella?” he asked.

“We might have said hello to each other at the fundraiser held at Holly and Becky’s a month ago. It was for the American Cancer Society, I believe. We’re holding another fundraiser on Saturday. If you would like to donate, please stop by.”

“Thank you,” Detective Seicinski said. “Could you tell us where you were, starting with Monday evening and ending Tuesday morning?”

“Sure. Between five and six thirty on Monday, I was at the store with my youngest son, Rowan. He’s working on a science project. After the store, we picked up food from the Hidden Dumpling House in Midtown. The older kids were doing their own thing throughout the evening, homework, talking on the phone with friends, et cetera. Everyone was in their bedroom by ten. I read in bed for a few hours before falling asleep. My alarm clock went off at six thirty. I made coffee and said goodbye to Blake and Ridley before they left for school. Rowan and I were out the door by eight fifteen, and I was back home by eight-forty-five.”

“What about your husband?”

The lying sack of shit, Chloe thought, is fucking Becky Bateman in a hotel nine minutes away. Why don’t you go ask him? They might still be there if you hurry. “He’s been away on business, but Wesley should be home this evening.”

Detective Seicinski asked, “What does he do, and where does he work?”

“He’s an account executive for SRX, a tech company in Sacramento.”

While Detective Seicinski jotted the information in her notebook, Detective Toye asked, “What do you know about the details of the crime?”

“I know Shannon Gibbons found Rosella Tuesday morning slumped over her desk. Shannon told me Rosella had been stabbed through the neck with a letter opener.”

“Did she tell you Rosella was dead?”

“Yes. She felt for a pulse and was certain Rosella had passed on.”

Detective Seicinski spoke next. “Did you hear or see anything unusual the night before or the morning of the murder?”

“No. I didn’t hear or see anything whatsoever.”

“Have you talked to your neighbors about the murder?”

“Yes. Like I said, we’re family. I called everyone together.”

Detective Seicinski raised a brow. “Everyone?”

“Not the men,” Chloe said, “since my husband was away on business and Shannon’s husband works long hours at the hospital. I’m sure Jason Abbott would have come with his wife if he’d wanted to. Same with Nicolas Alcozar.”

“What did you discuss?”

“I wanted to get everyone talking, maybe even find out if anyone suspected anyone else. Not my best idea. It didn’t go well, and everyone left within the hour with the idea we would let authorities handle the situation.”

“You and Shannon Gibbons planned this meeting because you were afraid the murderer might be someone you know?” Detective Toye asked.

Chloe gave his question some thought. “Maybe I wanted to hear it with my own ears—that nobody living on our block was capable of harming another human being.”

“And were you reassured?”

Chloe sighed. “Not really. But the main thing is, I feel safe.”

His squinty eyes opened wider. “You’re telling me someone on your block could possibly be a killer, but you feel safe?”

“I know what Rosella was capable of, and therefore I feel reassured that if it was someone I know, someone on this block, then it was personal.” Chloe made a face. “I’m not saying I condone someone killing another; I’m saying I don’t think we have a serial killer running around the neighborhood.” Her face felt heated. She took a breath, more upset with herself for letting this monster-size man get her riled.

“Can you think of anyone in the neighborhood who might be responsible?” Detective Seicinski asked. “Anyone who has been behaving unusually?”

“No.”

“Can you provide any information about your neighbors’ alibis or behavior?”

“No. How could I possibly know where every person in my neighborhood was at any given time?” Chloe took a deep breath. “Listen. I want to help. I want you to find whoever did this, but the fact is, Rosella was a public figure. She was not a nice person. In fact, she was spiteful and cruel, which tells me the two of you have your hands full because the killer could be anyone.”

“We appreciate your cooperation,” Detective Seicinski said as she leaned forward and handed Chloe a business card. “Please call us if you think of anything at all that might help us solve this case.”

Detective Toye said, “We will need you to bring Blake and Ridley to the station to be fingerprinted. Anytime today would be best.”

“Why?” Chloe wanted to know. “They’re teenagers, for God’s sake. They had nothing to do with this.”

“It’s standard procedure, ma’am,” he said with a shrug. “You can voice any complaint you might have at the internal investigations unit of the PD.”

“That’s what I’ll do.”

“It’s a matter of routine when there’s reasonable and articulable suspicion of criminality.”

“Until you show me reasonable and articulable whatever, it’s not going to happen.”

They all stood and Chloe followed them to the door, glad they were leaving but livid at the idea of taking her children to be fingerprinted. It wasn’t happening.

“Oh, one more thing,” Detective Toye said before they got too far. He pulled something from the leather case he carried, turned toward her, and stuck the evidence bag right in front of her face. It was the doll made of sticks.

Chloe had raised three children. Her kids were accident prone. Ridley had been only six when she fell out of the tree in their front yard and broke her leg and two fingers. At the age of seven, Blake rode his bicycle down the driveway and fell headfirst onto a decorative rock. He’d needed twenty-one stitches that day. Rowan was concussed after running smack into their glass sliding door. In all those instances, she’d remained calm and in control. Never fainted or felt the slightest bit woozy at the sight of blood.

And yet one glance at the stick doll inside the plastic bag, a doll she’d already seen through a vent, a doll with a nail protruding from its head and red polish dripping down the length of it, made her feel dizzy and lightheaded. A numbness rolled over her body, up over her face, and to the top of her skull before her legs gave out and everything went black.

Chloe woke up feeling disoriented. Her vision was blurry. It took her a moment to recognize the two detectives watching her closely. She was on the sofa where the detectives had been sitting earlier. Behind the detectives were her children. All three of them, plus Kristin Kilarski, the woman who dropped off Rowan every day after school.

Chloe tried to sit up but couldn’t quite manage it. Blake came forward, squeezing between Detectives Seicinski and Toye so he could place a pillow behind her head. “Are you okay? Should I take you to the hospital?” he asked.

“No. I just need a few seconds.” She saw Ridley behind the small crowd, looking at something in her grasp. It was the evidence bag. Her daughter was biting her bottom lip, something she’d always done when she was guilty of some small infraction.

Detective Seicinski followed Chloe’s gaze, seemingly taking note of what Chloe was seeing, maybe even what she was thinking. The detective turned and walked that way, took the evidence bag from Ridley, but not before saying something to Chloe’s daughter.

Panicked, Chloe knew she needed to get rid of everyone. As quickly as possible. She pushed herself upward until she was propped in a normal sitting position. She brushed the hair out of her face, then locked eyes with Blake. “Please see everyone out.”

After the detectives were gone and before Ridley could hide in her room, she said, “Ridley, what did the detective say to you?”

Ridley folded her arms. “She asked me if I had seen the doll before.”

“And what did you say?”

“I told her the truth. I said no.” Ridley gazed at Chloe through narrowed eyes. “She had the same look on her face as you. She didn’t believe me, either.”