Anne closes my office door behind us, and I take a seat on the couch.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes. Please don’t ask me that again,” I say curtly.
“Sorry. Those background reports on Kelly and Scott Summers should be in by the end of the day.” She kneels beside the coffee table and begins organizing papers into files.
“What is everyone saying?”
“Mental breakdown. Husband is having an affair.”
“They got one thing right.” I roll my eyes. “Has Bob been sniffing around?”
“Not yet. He got back from his weekend getaway Monday morning, so he’s still playing catch-up.”
“Good.”
“Do you think he did it?” Anne asks quickly.
“I don’t… know.”
She gives me a fearful look, and I know she immediately regrets asking. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine, Anne. Really. I just can’t believe this happened. One moment, you and I are having an amazing time out. Then I’m home and then I’m told my husband is a murderer.”
“I can’t believe it either. Wait! You said he came home late that night and you guys… you know, tried for a baby. Isn’t that his alibi?”
“The preliminary report revealed that Kelly had to have been murdered between 11:30pm and 12:15am. I couldn’t verify that he was home until around 2am when I woke up,” I say.
“And we were out in D.C. until…” Anne ponders.
“After midnight, although it may have been a bit later.”
“Yeah, that’s right.” Anne sits there thinking. I can see that she wants to be of more help.
“Anne, please don’t worry about this. This isn’t your problem. You’ve already helped me in more ways than you can even imagine.” I smile at her.
She starts to get a little teary. She stands up and tries to fan her eyes with her hands. Anne walks over, taking a seat beside me on the couch and gives me a hug. “Don’t tell me not to worry about you. You’re my best friend, Sarah. I would do anything for you. Please know that I’m here,” she whispers into my ear. I hug her a little tighter, and she hugs me back.
“Thank you, Anne. You are so special to me.” I glance at the clock on the wall behind her and realize that I need to be going. I pull away, and we share a look that says regardless of what happens, we’re going to be there for each other and that we’re going to be okay.
“I have to go meet with Sheriff Stevens.” I stand up and begin to collect my things. I can feel the pressure change in the air: my office door is now open, meaning I must have a new guest in the room with me. I slowly turn to see who it is and somehow, I already know.
First, it was the smell, the dead giveaway of the Chanel No.5, so classic, so expected. This is matched with the monochrome outfit adorning her well-maintained figure. Not a shred of personality in her outward appearance, which itself tells you everything you need to know about her. Her features are hard and are kept in place by routine visits to a plastic surgeon, but the kind who does a superb enough job that only a well-trained eye can even tell that the skin isn’t 100 percent natural. The entire entrance is punctuated by the final click of a black Manolo Blahnik heel (never Louboutin’s, “red is ostentatious”), announcing that she is here and ready for her proper allotment of attention, which by normal tally is all of it.
“Hello, Sarah,” Eleanor greets me, and without an invite, she’s already closing the distance between us. “It’s lovely to see you.” She opens her arms for a hug when she reaches me and although we do embrace one another, we barely touch.
“You got in quick, Eleanor,” I say. A little too quick. I was hoping it would be another day or two before she graced me with her presence.
“Of course. This is my son we’re talking about, after all.” She holds her head high and carries her classic black Chanel purse close to her as she takes a seat in front of my desk. Glancing around, she says, “Your office is cute.” The remark is condescending at best. I sit down in my desk chair.
From the doorway Anne raises her eyebrows at me and backs out of the office. Eleanor clearly had no intention of acknowledging her presence.
“Now, tell me what’s going on with Adam.” She crosses one leg over the other and places the palms of her hands on her knee.
Eleanor is not going to like hearing this. To her, Adam is a perfect specimen. He’s all she has left of her deceased husband. Adam’s father was a hedge fund manager, and five years ago he passed away unexpectedly from a heart attack. They say it was due to bad eating habits and the stress of the job, but I like to think Eleanor played a role. She is truly a demanding woman. However, for the sake of this case, I’ll put our differences aside and continue to swallow each jab, insult, and condescending remark.
“Adam is a suspect in a murder case—”
“Impossible,” Eleanor interjects. “My boy would never!”
There’s no point in arguing with her. Parents are typically delusional when it comes to their children. Even Ted Bundy and Jeffrey Dahmer had loving parents who were unaware of the evil that dwelled within their offspring.
“He’s suspected of murdering his mistress.” I hold eye contact with Eleanor, hoping she’ll understand what I’m saying, hoping she’ll see that Adam isn’t as flawless as she thought he was. Maybe she can think clearly about this.
She squints for a moment, then she relaxes. “He cheated on you?” she asks. The connection is obvious, but I’m sure she just wants me to say it out loud.
I nod.
She turns her head away from me, her chin raised. I would say she turns her nose up, but it’s permanently turned up. Eleanor sighs. “Well, I’d like to see him. I’ll need to get all the facts from Adam.” She looks back at me.
I nod again. “He’s being held at the hospital in Prince William County.”
“What? Why?”
“He was involved in an altercation at the sheriff’s station last night,” I say. I don’t go into any more detail.
“My poor son. Why didn’t you tell me this from the beginning?”
Anne pops her head in. “Sarah, you’ve got to go if you’re going to meet Sheriff Stevens in time.”
“Sheriff Stevens? Why aren’t you going to see Adam?” Eleanor questions.
I stand from my seat, and she stands from hers, flipping her bag over her shoulder dramatically.
“I’m going to look at the crime scene, but I’m visiting Adam after.” I finish gathering my belongings.
“I’ll go with you.” It’s not a suggestion. It’s a demand.
“You can’t. It’s a crime scene. Why don’t you just go get settled, get something to eat, and I’ll text you later.” I toss my tote bag over my shoulder. “Anne can help you.”
“I don’t need any help,” Eleanor says defiantly.
“Okay, but I’ve got to go. I’ll check in with you later, Eleanor.” I quickly walk toward my office door. I say to Anne as I pass, “I’m not sure I’ll make it back here today, but if I don’t, I’ll call you.”