Chapter 6

Chapter

Six

T he white-cheeked spider monkey is a thing. Not a lie…

“The white-beaked spider monkey?” I said again, as we stood at the base of the driveway, leading to Astrid Barker’s very cute house in the burbs. “Like, seriously, Marty. Is she gonna give a shit about saving a monkey with a beak when her husband’s been wasted?”

“ Cheeked ! It’s white-cheeked, ninny!” Marty wrinkled her red nose at me as the wind bit at her cheeks. “Didn’t you read the article from the link I sent you? Get it right or you’re going to make fools of us. I told you everything you need to know about them on the ride over.”

“As if you need any help with that shit.”

Wanda tugged at my jacket. “We just need a way in, Nina. That’s all. Just be quiet and let us do the rest. And I do mean, be quiet.” She drove a finger into my shoulder. “Don’t you dare get mouthy. The woman is grieving and so are her children. Kid gloves are needed here, not a two-by-four.”

I scoffed at her as I scanned the home Owen and Astrid had shared. It was a little white farmhouse with black shutters and a small front porch, all decorated for Christmas.

Damn, I hated that if this had to happen at all, it happened during the holidays. What a crappy memory to have for the rest of your life. I felt like shit for Owen’s kids, and I hoped like hell their mother hadn’t been the one to take him out.

But she’d have a good motive if she was our killer. I’m not sure why they separated—if it was related to Brenda, if she found out about what was going on and thought Owen was stepping out—but jealousy and revenge were high on my list of shit to consider.

Marty squared her shoulders like she was a matador, preparing for a bullfight—which I hate, by the way—and began walking up the short fieldstone pathway to Astrid’s house. “Let’s go, and remember what Wanda said, keep your yap and your snarky comments to yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah.” At least this time I didn’t have to dress up and wear makeup.

While I tried to get my head right about the facts on these damn monkeys, Marty and Wanda were already at the red door, pressing the doorbell.

When Astrid answered, she looked like she’d been through the wringer. Her dark hair was sticking up at odd places, her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, and her skin was ashy AF.

But was she crying because she was in deep shit for killing her husband or because she was sorry he was dead? Or both?

“Please,” she said tiredly, tucking her fuzzy bathrobe around her waist. “I don’t want whatever you’re selling. Just go away.”

As she started to close the door, Marty went into instant sympathy mode. “Are you all right, Mrs…?”

“Astrid. It’s Astrid…” Then her slim shoulders began to shake as she leaned against the doorframe, tears streaming down her face.

This was where Marty and Wanda lived, a person in distress. Instantly, they sprang into action, inching their way inside as they offered soothing words of comfort.

Wanda placed a hand on her arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Let us help you, Astrid. I’m Wanda Jefferson, and this is Marty Flaherty and Nina Statleon. I make a mean cup of tea and Marty is a great listener, and Nina…she knows a lot about the white-cheeked spider monkey—which is why we’re here. But forget about that, you look like you need someone to talk to, honey.”

I don’t know how anyone can resist Wanda’s soft eyes and gentle nudging. She exudes motherhood. Her charisma’s off the charts.

Sure enough, before I knew it—before I’m sure even Astrid knew it—we were all stuffed into her small, tiled entryway. There was a basket filled with little shoes and a space to hang backpacks labeled with the kids’ names, Owen Jr. and Lacy.

A big Shepherd mix rushed toward Astrid, looking pretty protective, until I held out my hand and he came right to me. I knelt down and gave him a scruff of the ears. “Hey, buddy,” I whispered, until he relaxed against me.

Astrid looked surprised. “Bode never does that. He’s…afraid of everything and everyone.”

Marty gave her a small smile, helping her to the big ivory sectional couch stained with something purple. “All animals love Nina, which is why she’s part of our Save the White-Cheeked Spider Monkey group.” As she settled her in, she flapped a hand. “Forget why we’re here. Just sit down and Wanda will make you something warm to drink. It’s a cold one today.” She reached for a Christmas themed throw blanket and covered Astrid’s legs, tucking it around her gently.

“Thank you. I…think…I don’t…” She sounded like she was going to explain, but then she stopped, almost as if she was too tired to go on.

“Don’t say another word,” Wanda soothed, pressing a finger to her pale pink lips. “You’ve obviously been through a tough time. Sit and warm up and let us do the rest, okay?”

Astrid looked so small, sitting on the big couch, the look of defeat on her face very real. Running a hand through her disheveled hair, she blew out a breath. “I’m sorry, but my husband was kill… killed .” She choked the word out with a sniffle. “And I’m a wreck…”

While Wanda fished around in the kitchen, open to the living room, Marty gasped in feigned surprise, gripping Astrid’s hand. “Oh, I’m so sorry! Do you mind if I ask what happened?”

I guess there’s something to be said about the kindness of strangers, because Astrid collapsed into Marty, spilling the whole story about Owen’s murder in gulps and sobs.

As we listened to her story, one we knew part of already, I heard Owen Jr. and Lacy down the long hall, playing quietly. I looked at the framed black-and-white pictures of Astrid and Owen with their kids, decorating the wall in the entryway, and they made my throat tighten up.

They were a nice-looking family who’d been dealt a shitty hand.

Bode sat near me, pressing his big body against my thighs. It was obvious he sensed the pain his mistress was experiencing.

“He… He’d stepped out on our marriage once before,” she whispered, obviously looking to see if the kids were nearby. “It was early on, right after Owen Jr. was born, but I forgave him, and I thought I could trust him again, but then…”

“Then?” Wanda prompted gently, as she placed the teacup in Astrid’s hand.

She took a ragged breath. “Then his profile came up as a friend suggestion on Facebook, and I almost couldn’t believe my eyes,” she cried, pressing a hand to her face. “First, the irony of my husband being a friend suggestion was too crazy to be believed. So I went digging, and I found the page with his picture that said he was single. Single ! But I just couldn’t process that he’d cheat again. Not after all the counseling we’d been through. We worked hard to overcome his betrayal. But there it was, plain as day! He’d made another profile so he could hook up with random women!”

I wondered why she didn’t find it suspicious that Owen would create a profile with his actual name, but I’ve heard when a partner cheats, everything they do creates suspicion. That suspicion clouds your judgment and your critical thinking.

Marty slipped out of her coat, setting it aside to fold her hands in her lap. That usually meant she was going in deep. “Oh, Astrid, how awful. But…are you sure he was cheating? Did you find any proof?”

Astrid’s chest heaved as she cried. “I didn’t have to look very far. The woman he was cheating with sent me screenshots of their messages.”

Well, fuckity-fuck-fuck. That meant, either Brenda was a damn sadist or someone really was setting her up. She’d have to be a Meryl Streep level actress to pull off what she was handing us.

Wanda took Astrid’s hand, pulling it to her lap. “So did you confront him? Give him hell for treating you that way?”

Her heart-shaped face went angry with flashing eyes and thinned lips. “I did! I kicked him out about a month ago. I sent the kids to our neighbors, and he came home to all his clothes and stupid gaming magazines on the front lawn. He denied and denied, but I had the proof! I showed it to him, and he still denied everything!” Astrid paused for a moment, bowing her dark head, chin to chest. “But now…now he’s dead!” she wailed.

Wanda gripped her hand tighter. “Oh, Astrid, how did that happen?”

She stopped suddenly and looked at us like she was seeing us for the first time. “I don’t know why I’m telling complete strangers this. I’m not usually an over-sharer. I’m an absolute wreck, is what I am.”

But Marty smiled warmly with beaming reassurance. “Maybe because we are strangers, you can sense we won’t judge you. We’ll just listen. Everyone needs to be heard, and we’re happy to hear you, Astrid.”

See? I’m telling you, these two probably could have gotten confessions from all the infamous serial killers if the FBI had given them a crack at ’em. They have this way about them that can’t be defined or denied. Ask me, I know. That’s why I’m here instead of at home with my kids, baking Christmas cookies I can’t even feckin’ eat.

Now Astrid crumbled, falling back against the couch. “The way I feel, I almost wouldn’t care if you were crazy killers except for the kids. Right now, I just want to die…”

Wanda pulled her into a hug and began to rock her. I did mention she’s always the soothing bosom, didn’t I? “But you won’t,” she said fiercely, giving Astrid a hard squeeze. “You won’t because your babies need their mama. Now let it out, tell us what happened to your husband.”

“He’s dead…someone killed him! He was strang— Strangled . Oh God, I don’t know what happened! I don’t know who’d do this,” she groaned miserably. “One minute we were arguing on the phone about what a liar he is, the next, the police were here, telling me he’s dead!”

“What did the cops say?” I asked.

She dabbed at her red eyes, her cheeks raw from all the tears. “The police said he was communicating with some woman named Brenda. The same one who sent me all those screenshots. Worse? She’s…she’s older than me! I don’t understand why Owen would do something like this.”

I clucked my tongue. I didn’t know if we should mention the catfishing bit if she didn’t. I’m new at this, and I’m trying real hard to keep shit together and not let any cats outta the bag.

Fortunately, we didn’t have to wait long.

“You saw screenshots from this woman? Gracious, what a terrible thing,” Marty sympathized, her round blue eyes wide.

“Yes, and they were awful . Ugh, the things he said to her. And don’t think for one second I didn’t want to hunt her down and…” She shook her head as though to ward off her murderous thoughts. “But I learned in our first round of therapy that I can’t control what Owen does. Who knows if this woman Brenda even knew he was married when she started up with him. It’s not up to her to investigate him.”

That was a healthy way to view continuing a relationship with a cheater. Astrid def had more restraint than me. I mean, I’d toss my husband Greg in the nearest landfill if he cheated, but I’d be hard-pressed not to want to kill whoever he cheated with, as well.

Wanda said out loud exactly what I was thinking. “That’s very generous of you, Astrid. I can’t say I’d behave the same way,” she said with a scowl. “Your restraint is admirable.”

Astrid slapped her hands against her lap. “But look what I’ve done! Instead of taking him at his word, I kicked him out. Now the police say they think his profile really was cloned and that maybe he wasn’t cheating on me after all! He swore to me he didn’t cheat. It’s enough that someone killed him, but he went to his grave knowing I thought he was a cheating liar!”

Grim.

I wasn’t getting killer from Astrid. I was getting distraught and scattered, followed by a deeply-rooted sadness. But I didn’t get killer from Brenda, either.

“So the police questioned you? I mean, of course they did. They always suspect the spouse in a murder,” Marty said, spouting some of her true crime facts.

Astrid tightened the blanket around her. “I got that impression. They questioned me for hours and hours, but I stood strong. I didn’t kill Owen. I sure wanted to, but I didn’t. I would never.”

“Do you remember the names of the cops who questioned you?”

She cocked her head, her face confused. “What a weird question. Why would you want to know that?”

Thank Jesus for Wanda and her improv, because my lips slammed the hell shut, refusing to answer the question.

“Nina knows a lot of police officers. Maybe she might know the ones who questioned you, that’s all.”

I leaned against the wall and nodded as I scratched Bode’s ears, nodding. “Yeah…”

Pinching her temples, Astrid winced. “Um, a Detective Wazinski and a Detective Dunst. They told me not to leave town, as if I’d do that anyway. This is all so crazy.”

“So I suppose they’re looking for this woman who messaged with him?”

She nodded, pushing her tangled hair from her face. “Yes. It’s been all over the news. I can’t believe you didn’t see it…”

“We don’t watch the news much,” I assured her, forcing the lie from my lips. “Too busy trying to save the white-beaked?—”

“ Cheeked ,” Wanda corrected. “The white cheeked spider monkeys. Much of our time is dedicated to saving them. But forget that. You said they were looking for this woman, but do they have any other suspects? I mean, it makes sense this woman would have a motive if she found out Owen was married with children, but are they sure it was her?”

A look of disgust crossed her pretty face. “You’d think they were going to pin me for it, the way they grilled me because I don’t have an alibi for the night he was killed, either, but when I talked to them yesterday, they said they had some new evidence they couldn’t discuss. The only detail I know is, he was strangled. I don’t know anything else for sure. I only know Owen is dead. He’s dead …” she said on a shaky whisper.

Marty encouraged her to sip her tea. “Do you know if anyone else would want to hurt Owen? Anyone in his life who was angry enough with him to do something like this?”

Astrid shrugged, but then she sat up straight. “Oh, my God, I can’t believe I didn’t think about this! I guess I was so blown away by Owen’s death, so scattered, my head was a mess. But he had a really ugly argument with his partner.”

I looked up from petting Bode’s soft fur. “His partner? In what?”

“His software company. Owen owns… owned a software security company with his college roommate. But they had a huge falling out a few months ago, when he caught Derek beefing up quotes for potential clients and keeping the extra fees for himself. It’s been a huge, ongoing legal battle for rights to the company between the two of them. Owen trying to prove the company was his idea, funded by his money, and Derek swearing up and down that it was his idea and Owen gave him the start-up cash.”

Ding, ding, ding!

Maybe we had another suspect. Maybe now we were gettin’ somewhere.

But how did you forget something so important when the cops were breathin’ down your neck, trying to pin you for murdering your husband? Especially when you had no alibi for the time frame he was killed? Was this just a blame shift?

Marty tucked her red purse deeper into her lap. “Did they have anything official—paperwork or something that said it was Owen’s concept and money?”

Astrid looked down at her feet encases in striped pink and yellow socks. “No. That’s part of the problem. They were best friends. Who knew Derek would do something like that? They’ve been friends since college.”

Marty cocked her head and looked at Astrid with gentle eyes. “Had he been in touch with Derek since the argument?”

She fisted the blanket in her hands. “Not that I know of, but there seems to be a lot I didn’t know that had to do with Owen. I only know the fight was ugly and it got physical—in front of their employees and everything. They almost called the police to break it up.”

“Then you need to make sure you call the police right away and tell them what happened,” Wanda directed. “You don’t want them eyeballing you for murdering your husband.”

That made Astrid begin to cry again, this time deep, gulping sobs I almost couldn’t stand to hear. While Marty and Wanda soothed her, I decided to see what her kids were up to and if they were okay, because Mom was such a wreck. I don’t just love animals, I love kids, too. Seeing them suffer breaks me in a way I can’t find a word for.

I made my way down the long hallway, following the sound of their voices, Bode right by my side.

“Good boy,” I whispered to him. “You’re lookin’ out for your family.”

Stopping in the doorway of what looked like a colorfully decorated playroom, I watched them playing quietly. Owen Jr. with a big red firetruck, and Lacy with some Barbie dolls. They were still in their pajamas, hair mussed from sleep, their chubby cheeks flushed.

I smelled their sorrow. It was deep, jarring me to the bone.

And I fucking hated that.

Bode went and sat near them, watching as they played. Owen Jr. noticed me first, his velvety brown eyes looking at me with suspicion. “Who are you?”

I grinned at him with playful eyes. “I’m Nina. Who are you?”

He got up from the carpeted floor, traipsing over to me, the belt of his checkered bathrobe trailing behind him. He stuck out his hand with a jab. “I’m Owen Jacob Barker Jr. and I’m eight years old.”

I took his hand and gave it a shake. “I’m Nina Blackman-Statleon, and I’m not eight years old. Good to meet ya.”

He looked up at me, his round eyes full of curiosity, freckles dancing across his nose. “Did I shake your hand right?”

I winked and nodded. “You did a fine job, Owen Jacob Barker Jr. Well done.”

Those big eyes went soft with sadness. “I learned how to do it from my dad. My dad died.”

If I could cry, I would. I hated that I couldn’t shed tears. It left for bottled-up emotions that were never allowed to fully process. I felt the sting of the onslaught of tears, I felt the tightening of my throat and the empty feeling in my belly, but no tears. No relief.

So I squatted on my haunches and looked Owen Jr. in the eye. “I’m sorry to hear that, Owen. You must be pretty dang sad, huh?” There was no need to give this revelation a silver fuckin’ lining. The kid’s dad was dead. That sucked ass. He deserved to let it hold space, to let his sorrow breathe.

He took a deep breath, his small chest lifting and falling. “I miss him. He used to make us banana pancakes on Saturdays. He was a good daddy.”

I’d caught Lacy’s attention now, too. She padded over to me, her light brown hair catching the weak December sunlight sifting through the blinds.

She held up her doll, her eyes dull and tired. “This is my Barbie. Her name is Ariel.”

“Like the Little Mermaid?” I asked, brushing her wispy hair from her face.

She gave me a shy glance, her thick lashes sweeping her cheek. “Uh-huh. Everybody likes Moana and Elsa, but my favorite is Ariel, and I don’t care that stupid Destiny Evans says she’s dumb. She’s still my favorite.” As if to reinforce that, she jutted out her bottom lip in “so there” fashion.

I gave her belly a light poke. “I like a girl who sticks to her guns. Good for you. I like Ariel, too.”

But Owen nudged her with a frown. “Don’t call people stupid, Lacy. It’s mean.” Then he looked to me as though he’d taken on the role of his sister’s keeper. “She’s only five. She doesn’t know any better.”

I tapped him on the shoulder. “You’re a fine role model, Owen. Bet your dad would be proud.”

“My daddy’s in Heaven. Mommy says it beautiful and Daddy’s going to be so happy living there, but…I wish we could visit him sometimes,” Lacy said with a tiny shudder.

What the hell do you say to that? How do you make that better? “I’m sorry, Lacy. But you know what, pretty lady? You can still talk to him. He might not answer, but you can always talk to him—I bet he listens, even if it stinks that he can’t answer.”

She nodded, wrinkling her nose, her hair bouncing along the fabric of her purple pajamas. “It is stinky. Like poo.”

This time, Owen agreed, his freckled face going cold. “It’s stinky like that lady where Daddy lived. She was stinky, too.”

So look. When I agreed to do this with Marty and Wanda, I didn’t think for a flippin’ second any kids would be involved. I know, I know, that sounds na?ve, and I’m far from falling off a turnip truck. I mean, I’ve seen some shit, but kids were my soft spot.

I didn’t want to poke around inside their little heads and ask probing questions better left to therapists and the adults in their lives. I didn’t want to upset or trigger them, either.

But what if I didn’t ask, and Lacy and Owen Jr. never got justice for their father? Astrid was a trainwreck. She was so terrified she’d be blamed, she didn’t tell the cops Owen had an argument—a physical one—with his best friend, with witnesses and everything.

Maybe she was playing us with an act, but her kids had nothing to do with that.

So I asked in the gentlest way I know how. “A stinky lady, huh? That sounds mysterious, little dude. Who was she? Do you know her name?”

He shrugged his little shoulders and turned away. “I dunno. My dad said to mind my business and ignore her. But she smelled real bad. So bad, I had to cover my nose with my arm.”

At this point, Lacy tugged a piece of my hair. “You’re pretty. You look like Jasmine from Aladdin . Can I brush your hair?” She tugged at my hand, pulling me to a pink and purple vanity not unlike the one my kid has, where she could play dress-up and put on pretend makeup in front of a lighted mirror.

Grampa Arch had gotten it for her for Christmas last year—among the zillion other things my people showered her with, but it was one of her favorites, much to Marty and Wanda’s delight.

I smiled at her sweet face, following her to the tiny chair in front of the playset. I pointed to the hair clips. “You bet, but only if you promise to put some of those butterfly clips in my hair. The blue ones. I like those the best.”

She giggled softly, grabbing a purple brush as I sat down. “So what did this lady smell like that was so bad, Owen?” I casually asked, as he went back to playing with his firetruck.

He paused like he was giving that some thought, and then he said, “Like my grampa’s shirt. My grampa from Arizona. Not the one from Colorado.”

His grampa’s shirt. Did that mean like Old Spice or Stetson, maybe? That was probably popular for a guy his grandfather’s age. That’s not what I’d classify as stinky. Though, maybe to a kid it was smelly.

As Lacy brushed my hair, twisting strands into what she called braids, I didn’t know how to dig any deeper if Owen couldn’t define the smell, and when I asked what she looked like, his description wasn’t really clear. She was old, and that was all he had to say on the subject.

Owen had officially tapped out of the conversation.

I don’t know if it meant anything, anything at all, but maybe this stinky lady had played a part in Owen’s demise.

But then Lacy said something that made me sit up straight. “I think Owen means the lady who has sparkles on her fingers.”

“Sparkles? Do you mean like her fingernail polish?”

Lacy shook her head. “Nuh-uh. She has sparkles right here.” She pointed to the pad of her finger. “I sawed ’em when she didn’t know I was looking.”

A lady with sparkles on her fingertips, who was stinky and might have nothing to do with Owen’s murder.

We were killin’ it.