Don't Go (39 page)

Mike looked up, stricken. He couldn’t say anything. It was just how he felt, but he’d hadn’t told Stephanie that, either.

“Oh, she cries when you hold her? Your feelings hurt? Too damn bad! It’s not
her
job as a child to love
you
unconditionally, it’s
your
job as a parent to love
her
unconditionally.” Stephanie glared down at him. “Did you even think about the legal implications? The judge could refer this to the D.A., and if he prosecutes, you could go to prison. Not only that, I asked him for unsupervised visitation, and he’s going to take it under advisement. I would’ve gotten that after our case, no question, but you blew it. Now, Emily’s with Bob and Danielle, and if I were them, I’d
adopt
. Is
that
what you want? Emily
adopted out
because you don’t have the guts to be a father?” Stephanie threw up her hands. “You’re really
something
! You got a medal, but you’re no hero. You want to be a hero? Be a hero at home. Be a hero for
Emily
.”

Mike sat, stunned.

“I’m done, I’m out of here.” Stephanie snatched her coat, purse, and briefcase from the chair. “You’d better get going. Now you can make your funeral reception.” She swept out of the conference room, letting the door slam behind her. “Good priorities,
Daddy.”

Chapter Seventy-two

It was nightfall by the time Mike reached Don’s house and parked behind the line of cars, but it hadn’t been a long enough ride for him to compose himself completely. Stephanie’s words still rang in his ears, leaving him shaken, not only because they were true, but because they’d come too late. He ached in body and soul, but he resisted taking an Oxycontin. He felt like he had the worst flu in history, the classic withdrawal symptom. The talk at Landstuhl was that opiate withdrawal didn’t kill you, but made you wish you were dead.

He cut the ignition and sat in the car as the engine shuddered into silence. Snow fell steadily in heavy, clumpy flakes that stuck to his windshield, obliterating the lights from the houses, darkening the car’s interior. He watched it accumulate, knowing if he stayed long enough, he could bury himself inside. He tucked his sleeve into his pocket, slid his keys into his other pocket, then got out of the car.

He flipped up his hood, hurried down the sidewalk, and hustled to Don’s front door, which stood open behind the glass storm door. He entered the warm, homey living room, but the crowd was getting ready to go. Only a few mourners were still there, gathering around trays of picked-over sandwiches and excavated casseroles. He didn’t see Don, so he walked through it to the dining room.

“Mike? Hey Mike, is that you?” a young woman asked, turning from the dining room table, also covered with leftover food. She had blonde hair and blue eyes that lit up when she saw Mike, but he couldn’t remember anything about her except that she was really talkative.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“I’m Nancy Handler, you probably don’t remember my name but I was the reading specialist when Chloe taught at Wilberg. I teach there now, and I wanted to say I’m sorry for your loss. I sent a sympathy card but I think you were away. Chloe always remembered me and asked about my mom and she was a super-nice person and I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s so terrible about Sara, isn’t it, and I can only imagine how hard this is for you and Don, and I sure hope the police get whoever did it. Was that you, on the news the other day? I was like, I know him, Chloe’s husband, that’s him!”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Mike cringed. “Do you know where Don is? I’m late to pay my respects.”

“Sure, I saw him in the kitchen, and he seems to be doing okay, considering, being strong for the boys. You know how great he is—”

“Thanks,” Mike said, edging away. He threaded his way through the guests, looking away from the ones who caught his eye. He didn’t know if they’d seen him on TV or knew about his arm, arrest, or custody hearing, and he didn’t care. He just wanted to find Don, then go home to his apartment full of toys that wouldn’t be used and a crib he couldn’t assemble.

“Don?” Mike ran into him when he crossed the threshold into the kitchen, and Don turned around, opened his arms, and gave Mike a hug.

“You made it. So good to see you.”

“I’m so sorry.” Mike hugged Don back, then let him go. “I’m sorry I wasn’t at the funeral, it’s a long story.”

“I understand, buddy.” Don’s brown eyes were bloodshot, and he looked uncomfortable in his black suit and tie, but he managed a smile. “I figured it would be too tough for you, after Chloe’s. I don’t blame you, I got your email. I know you care.”

“That’s not it, I had a legal thing I couldn’t get out of, I’ll explain later.” Mike knew Don didn’t need to hear his problems tonight. “How are the boys?”

“They’re upstairs with my parents. They’re pretty tired, you know.” Don frowned. “You okay, man? You look like hell.”

“I’m fine, but can I do anything for you? Is there anything you need?”

“No. I didn’t hear anything more from the cops, did you?”

“No, sorry.”

“The D.A. and the assistant were at the funeral. They say they have no new leads, but they’ll keep looking.”

“Did they follow up on the bangle?”

Don shrugged. “They didn’t mention it. I don’t know if they even got it. I’ll call tomorrow and see.”

“Let me know what happens, if you can.”

“Sure.” Don touched him on his shoulder. “I should go up. Last time I checked, the boys were in bed with that cat you gave us.”

“Good.” Mike felt better to hear it. “Give them my love. Take care. Call you later.”

“You, too.” Don went upstairs, and Mike made his way back through the dining room, where a group of late-comers were flocking around the table, talking and scooping up the last few sandwiches. He spotted the talkative Nancy putting on her coat and yakking away with one of them, whom Mike thought looked familiar, a tall, well-dressed woman with long, dark hair. He realized with dismay that she was Pat MacFarland’s mother.

Mike wanted to avoid her, but the kitchen was too crowded to go backwards, so he’d have to barrel through the dining room. She was facing the table, her back to him, so he had a shot at getting out without her seeing him, especially since Nancy was yammering away at her.

“Karen,” Nancy was saying, “I just love that pashmina, I don’t know how you always look so great. I never look that put-together, but I should, my mom always says so. How do you know what looks good together? Do you have a personal shopper?”

“No, I prefer to dress myself,” Karen answered, to some chuckling.

Mike put his head down and went around the group, while Nancy kept chattering.

“Your jewelry is gorgeous, too, and I love your earrings, and those bracelets are awesome, and so many of them, I love the effect! Where did you get them?”

“My husband gives me one every year, on our anniversary.”

Mike had almost passed, but he glanced over and caught a bright flash of gleaming gold bangles like the one in Chloe’s jewelry box. He did a double-take, and Nancy saw him, her face lighting up.

“Mike, here you are! I was waiting for you! Forgive my bad manners, I never thanked you for your service. What’s the matter with me?”

“Oh, my.” Karen recoiled when she recognized Mike, her hooded eyes flaring and her lips parting.

Nancy looked from Mike to Karen. “Do you two know each other? Karen MacFarland, this is Mike Scanlon. Mike, this is Karen. You two should meet, we’re all part of the same school community—”

“We know each other well enough,” Karen interrupted coldly, in a refined tone of voice.

“Yes, excuse me, I have to go.” Mike left for the front door, his thoughts racing ahead.

“Mike?” Nancy called after him. “Wait, did I say the wrong thing? I’m sorry!”

Mike opened the front door into the icy snow, with Nancy on his heels.

“Mike, what did I do? I’m so sorry, I should have thanked you for your—”

“It’s fine, Nancy, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Mike shut the door behind them, his heartbeat quickening. Snow bit his face. “Why is Karen MacFarland at a reception for Sara? Is she a teacher?”

“You sure you’re not mad?”

“No, not at all, please, tell me.” Mike hurried down the snowy walkway, and Nancy hustled to keep up.

“No, Karen doesn’t teach, but she’s on the school board, she’s a big deal in the district. Actually, she’s a Quarles, from the Quarles family.”

Mike didn’t care about idle chatter. He was trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together.

“She doesn’t use her maiden name, she goes by MacFarland because she likes to play it down, but she’s Karen Quarles MacFarland, and her great-great-grandfather founded the Marston Soup Company. The family is super-rich, they were in the Forbes 400 if you saw…”

Mike got a hunch, and suddenly everything fell into place.

Chapter Seventy-three

Mike ran to his car through the biting snow, his thoughts flying. The bangle was the key, and if Karen got it from her husband John, then it was John, not Pat, who had the affair with Chloe. And if Karen was a Quarles, John would have a motive to kill Sara. He wouldn’t want to risk the affair coming to light because his wife might divorce him, cutting him out of world-class wealth.

Mike chirped his car open just as his BlackBerry started ringing in his pocket, so he slid it out on the fly. The screen read Stephanie Bergen, and he pressed
IGNORE
. He opened the door, climbed into the driver’s seat, tossed the BlackBerry on the passenger’s, and plunged his key into the ignition. The engine roared to life, and he pulled out of the space. His Grand Cherokee had four-wheel drive, and the tires rumbled as they churned through the snow.

He twisted the stalk to turn on windshield wipers, but flurries were coming down too fast to be cleared. His BlackBerry rang again, and he looked over. The screen read Stephanie Bergen again, and he wondered if the judge had ruled or something. He took his hand off the wheel for a moment, grabbed the phone, hit a button for the speakerphone, and set the BlackBerry on his lap so he could drive.

“Mike? Hi, it’s Stephanie.”

“Yes, hi, is it about Emily?” Mike turned right onto the main thoroughfare and joined the traffic, moving maddeningly slowly in the snow.

“No, not at all. Am I on speaker?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you?”

Mike wasn’t about to tell her where he was going. “I’m home … cleaning.”

“Oh. How was the reception?”

“Sad.” Mike braked behind the line of cars, their red taillights burning red through the snowy curtain. He had to take a faster way to Foster Road.

“I’m calling because I’ve been thinking about what I said after the hearing and, well, I wanted to apologize.”

“No need to.” Mike would’ve felt touched if he weren’t so preoccupied.

“Thanks, but I do need to. I’m sorry. I’ve never spoken to a client that way, and I shouldn’t have to you. It was incredibly inappropriate.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s fine, really.” Mike cranked the defrost higher, trying to clear the windshield. He eyed the shoulder and wondered if he could use it to get around the traffic.

“I know you thought you were doing the right thing today. I know you were coming from a good place. I know how much Emily means to you, so it couldn’t have been easy. I don’t agree that you did the right thing, but I do apologize for raising my voice.”

“So you’re not apologizing for what you said, just for the way you said it.” Mike would have smiled, in other circumstances. Snow was piled high on the shoulder because the road had been plowed, and he wondered if it was still drivable.

“Exactly.” Stephanie chuckled. “It’s the distinction between form and substance. My form was wrong, my substance was right.”

“I agree. You were right.” Mike steered onto the shoulder and hit the gas. Snow sprayed from his wheel wells but he kept going, passing car after car.

“Thanks for saying so. Anyway, I’ve had time to collect my thoughts and I think we should meet. I want to file something with Judge Shield as soon as possible, and we need to discuss it.”

“Okay, when?” Mike gunned the engine, running up the shoulder.

“Do you have dinner plans tonight? I can be at TopTrees in fifteen minutes.”

Mike hit the brakes when a white minivan pulled out of a driveway, obscured by the snowfall. Its driver honked her horn, and he skidded to a stop inches from the driver’s door.

“Mike? What happened? That sounded like a car. Where are you? Are you okay? I thought you said you were at the apartment.”

“I’m almost at the apartment. I’m coming home from the reception.” Mike let the minivan cross his path into the lane, then he hit the gas and kept driving on the shoulder.

“Why are you lying to me?” Stephanie’s tone turned worried. “You’re not going to do something crazy, are you? We can work this out. We can try and turn it around.”

“No, I’m fine.”

“I don’t believe you. I can tell you’re lying. Why? Mike, where are you? I’ll meet you, anywhere.”

“Look, it’s not that.” Mike knew he’d have to tell her or she wouldn’t let go. “I think I figured out who killed Sara, and it’s John MacFarland. The father, not the son.”

Stephanie gasped. “Mike, don’t get involved in this. Stay out of it. Where are you going?”

“I’m driving to MacFarland’s now. I’m just going to talk to him. I’m not going to accuse him of anything. I know how to play it.”

“No, Mike,” Stephanie said, alarmed. “Call the police. Please don’t do this. Don’t go.”

“Relax. I’ll be fine.” Mike was approaching a high snowdrift that blocked his lane, so he wedged his way back into the traffic.

“Mike, call the cops. You already have an assault charge against you by the son. You want one by the father, too?”

“I hear you, but I’m on my way.” Mike shifted into the fast lane, which still wasn’t fast enough.

“Stop. Wait. You’re jeopardizing any future custody proceedings for Emily.”

“Is that true, or are you just saying it?” Mike braked, waiting to go around a stopped car.