The Secret Desires of a Soccer Mom (33 page)

“
Ms.
Atwell,” Detective Conroy said, nodding in my
direction.

Portman cleared his throat nervously. “Yes… hello.” His
greeting was overly formal. The poor guy seemed really uncomfortable being
around my husband and me. When we were seated at the kitchen table with mugs of
coffee before us, Conroy began. “So, Paul… You said on the phone that you have
some additional information on the Sutherland case that might be of interest?”

“Yes. My wife hasn’t been entirely forthcoming with you.
…Have you, Paige?”

“Well… no. I mean, I wasn’t purposely being deceitful. I
just didn’t think it was relevant, before, but Paul says—”

Paul cut me off. “Karen Sutherland was having an affair with
Javier Rueda. My wife struck up some kind of friendship with him…” his eyes
darted quickly, accusingly to my face. So did Troy Portman’s. “He’s been coming
by the house… leaving her notes, dropping off gifts… He’s obviously got an
obsessive personality.”

“What kind of gifts?” Conroy asked.

“Oh…” I shrugged. “Just a pressed flower… some bath products
and… an iPod.”

“Loaded with Spanish love songs,” Paul added.

Troy was back in professional cop-mode. “Do you still have
any of these gifts?”

“Yes.”

“Go get them,” Paul ordered. His take-charge attitude was
rapidly moving from sexy to just plain bossy, but I complied. When I returned,
I laid the burgeoning wicker basket and the iPod on the table before them. Both
detectives inspected the bounty.

“Did you use any of these products?” Conroy asked, noticing
that the Scentual Woman basket was in disarray and the plastic wrapping
removed. His tone wasn’t particularly accusing, but it set my nerves on edge. I
really didn’t like Detective Conroy, and I
really
didn’t like him asking
if Paul had licked edible body mousse off my breasts.

“Uh…” I blushed, and looked to my husband for help.

“Before I knew they were a gift from Rueda, I suggested she
use one of them, yeah,” he said.

Portman was inspecting the iPod. “This is an expensive
model. And these songs… You say they’re Spanish love songs?”

“Well, I’m not fluent but… they appear to be.”

“We’ll get them translated. There could be some message in
them.”

“Yep,” Conroy said. “We’ll need to take all this stuff in
with us for closer inspection.”

Paul said, “We’re taking out a restraining order against
him. We might need the gifts as evidence at the permanent hearing.”

“They can be made available to you, if need be,” Conroy
explained. He stood up. “Thanks for bringing this to our attention.” He was
addressing Paul of course, his body angled purposefully away from me.

When Troy spoke, he excluded me as well. “Rueda’s behavior
toward your wife is definitely cause to take a closer look at him.” Oh sure…
now that Paul had taken charge, they were willing to investigate. Suddenly, it
was no longer just a
simple accident
.

“Don’t forget about Doug Sutherland,” I added. “I saw him at
the mall buying sexy lingerie for his sister.”

All three men looked at me like I was speaking in tongues.
“Right,” Conroy said dismissively. “We’ve got it under control.”

When they were gone, my husband silently helped me pick up
the coffee cups. “Are you going into the office now?” I asked, a little
hesitantly. He was obviously still mad about the whole stalker business; I
hoped he hadn’t picked up on the fact that Detective Portman “enjoyed my
company”.

“I’m going to work at home for awhile,” he said, tipping the
remains of Conroy’s coffee into the sink. “At least until we get the
restraining order sorted out.”

I stopped and looked at my husband. His shoulders were tense
and his jaw was set in a tight line of anger, but he was still the man I loved.
He felt my eyes upon him. “What?”

“Nothing. I just love you. That’s all,” I said. “I just…
really love you.”

So it was over. Paul and Ed Alahan escorted me to court
where I managed to convince a judge that Javier constituted a threat to me and
my family. With Javier not allowed within ten feet of me, Paul felt comfortable
going back to work, the kids continued to go to school, and life went back to
the way it was before… way before, when Karen was alive and I had nothing to be
suspicious or concerned about. I had promised my husband that I would let the
police handle the investigation from here on out, and I meant it. I would not
call Troy Portman to check on their progress. I would not contact Javier
(obviously). I would not spy on Doug, or visit Jackie Baldwin under the guise
of buying my mom a new condo. I would focus on Christmas, which was now less
than two weeks away.

Paul and I agreed that we basically had to get Chloe an
iPod. It would have been too cruel to tease her like that. I purchased one very
similar to my gift from Javier, and loaded it with songs by her favorite
singers—avoiding all lyrics pertaining to
getting dirty
,
getting
sweaty
, or
getting your freak on
, of course. Spencer would receive
his coveted Bionicle set; Paul, his new golf bag; and I’d even found a
beautiful brooch for Pauline. At least
I
thought it was beautiful. If
she didn’t agree, I’d just tell her that her beloved son picked it out.

I threw myself into the Christmas preparations with a fervor
bordering on mania. Three consecutive days were spent at the Aberdeen Mall
purchasing gifts, a new red tablecloth and matching Christmas napkins,
Christmas crackers, and various twinkle-lights and decorations. I cleaned. I
decorated. I baked. The house was spotless, festive and gingerbread-scented. It
was a veritable winter wonderland… and there were still five days to go until
my in-laws arrived.

Intent on keeping my word to my husband and not obsessing
about the case, I had to find something else to occupy my mind. It needn’t be a
huge project: the children would soon be out of school for the holidays. But it
had to be engaging enough to keep me from calling Troy Portman, peeking through
the front curtains to observe Doug’s comings and goings, or driving by The Old
Grind hoping to catch a glimpse of Javier. I was far from cured, but I was
taking it one day at a time.

I was in Paul’s study, placing some cheerful sprigs of holly
on top of his computer when I noticed the pile of books. I had completely
forgotten about the stack of paperbacks Carly had virtually forced upon me.
Reading was the perfect solution! Sifting through them, I selected a mystery.
The blurb on the back said it was the story of Patty Hanover, a beautiful,
blond divorcée whose ex-husband was found floating in her pool. Did Patty kill
him, as the police suspected? Or was it beautiful young nanny she’d brought
over from Britain, Annabelle Swinton, who was in line to become the third Mrs.
Hanover? Of course, a butler with a mysterious past, a disgruntled business
associate and Patty’s intensely passionate new lover served to complicate the
case. Could Patty solve the murder before she ended up in jail?

God, it was right up my alley!

I immersed myself in the mystery, relieved to be focusing on
a fictitious murder for a change. The writing was fast-paced and lively; the
author, a former detective, was masterful at building suspense. When the phone
rang part way through chapter eight, I jumped off the couch, startled.

“Hello?” I answered breathlessly, my heart still beating
audibly in my chest.

“It’s Carly. What are you up to?”

“Nothing much… just reading. You?”

“I’d like to have you girls over for coffee, if you’re free.
Just a little pre-Christmas get-together before everyone gets too wrapped up in
the holidays.”

“That sounds great. When?”

“Now… Whenever you’re ready.”

“Okay. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Great!” She sounded excited. “Trudy’s on her way, and I’m
just going to call Jane.”

I hurried to the kitchen where I loaded shortbread cookies,
gingerbread men and rum balls into festive cookie tins purchased for this
occasion. Every Christmas we exchanged tokens of our friendship, just a little something
heartfelt and homemade. I had only bought three tins this year, one each for
Carly, Trudy and Jane. Oh damn, what if Margot had been invited? Surely even
Jane would agree that it was a little early to be exchanging heartfelt
friendship tokens with her? Since Carly hadn’t mentioned Margot’s name, I
surmised that three cookie tins were enough.

When I arrived, Trudy was already there, and Jane was just
pulling up in her Lexus. Everyone had come bearing gifts. We knew that within
days the Christmas chaos would descend and it would be impossible to get
together. Carly welcomed us all warmly and led us to her kitchen table. Atop
the red table cloth overlain with a delicate lace pattern, she had placed a
warm, apple-cinnamon coffee cake, a knife and four serving plates. It looked
and smelled scrumptious, but before we could dig in, Carly spoke.

“Thanks for coming on such short notice, guys,” she said,
smiling at us each in turn. “I know things are about to get hectic. Paige, you
have your in-laws coming; Jane, you’re off to Cancun soon; and I know Trudy,
you’ll be busy with Cameron’s seasonal play and Emily’s non-denominational
holiday piano recital…” We all nodded our agreement. “So I thought we should do
our gift-exchange now… in case we don’t get another chance to get together.”

“Great idea,” I said, handing out my cookie tins. “Just a
little Christmas baking…”

My friends peeked inside the tins and made the appropriate
gushing remarks. “Looks delicious!”

“Oh, the girls will adore these gingerbread men!”

“Your rum balls are to die for!”

Jane went next. She had given us each a nice bottle of red
wine in a festive bag made of red velvet and white rabbit fur. In Jane’s case,
heartfelt and homemade meant that she picked an idea from a craft magazine and
Becca turned it into a thoughtful token of her friendship. But it was a lovely
gift, and we were all equally demonstrative with our appreciation.

Trudy, had of course, outdone us all in thoughtfulness and
craftsmanship. “I hope you’ll like these,” she said, placing a plain brown bag
on the table in front of her. From it, she extracted a matching hat, scarf and
mittens in the finest angora wool. “The charcoal set is for you, Paige.” She
passed the set to me. “Jane… yours is winter-white… And Carly…” She removed the
final garments from the bottom of the bag. “I thought you’d like lilac.”

“They’re gorgeous,” I said, trying them on. “When did you
have the time?”

“Oh, I love to knit,” Trudy said, dismissively. “Really… I
find it so relaxing.”

“Well, this is absolutely beautiful,” Jane said, tying the
scarf around her neck.

Carly rubbed the soft wool against her cheek. “I love them,
Trudy. Thank you so much.”

When Trudy was becoming uncomfortable with our heaps of
praise, Carly stood up. “Now, it’s my turn. I’ll be right back.” She hurried
off to the spare bedroom which I knew was dedicated solely to her craft
projects. Moments later, she returned holding three stacked shoeboxes against
her chest. “Take one,” she instructed, walking around the table.

Simultaneously, we removed the lids and rustled through the
wads of pale pink tissue paper inside. I heard Trudy’s gasp before I’d found my
gift, but when I did, I understood her reaction. Nestled in the soft pink bed
was a tiny, cloud-shaped pillow. Transferred onto the soft, white fabric was a
photograph of Karen. I recognized it from the New Year’s Eve photo of the four
of us displayed at her funeral. Beneath her smiling face, Carly had
embroidered:

Karen Sutherland

Our Angel

1974—2011

I heard a ragged sob catch in Jane’s throat and it brought
one to mine as well. Normally, I would have found such a creation a little…
tacky, too reminiscent of wearing a photo of your dog or your kids on your
T-shirt. But under these circumstances, it was incredibly meaningful and
touching.

“It’s for the Christmas tree,” Carly explained, holding
Trudy’s cloud up by the loop of ribbon affixed to the top. “I thought it would
be a nice way to keep her memory alive.”

“Of course,” Trudy said hoarsely. “Every Christmas, we’ll
put our angel on the tree, and take a moment to really remember her.”

“Oh, Carly,” Jane said, moving over to hug her. “It’s so
special.”

“It is,” I added tearfully, reaching over to squeeze Carly’s
hand.

“Could we…” Trudy began, before her voice broke. She took a
few seconds to compose herself and then continued. “Could we take a moment
right now, to remember our friend? I feel like we’ve all been so focused on
healing that we maybe haven’t spent enough time… remembering.”

“That’s a great idea,” Carly said.

“Let’s join hands and say a prayer,” Trudy suggested. She
turned to me. “Paige, I know you’re not one to really
pray
, but if you’d
like to join our circle and just… think positive, loving thoughts…?”

“Sure,” I said, feeling like a practicing Satanist at a
Billy Graham crusade.

We all joined hands around Carly’s frilly Christmas table,
and closed our eyes. Trudy spoke. “Let’s thank the good Lord for bringing Karen
to us for as long as he did… and let us pray for the soul of whoever was
involved in her mysterious death.”

My eyes popped open and met Trudy’s. Wordlessly, we shared a
moment of complete understanding. It was the first time any of my friends had
vocalized the fact that they had suspicions about Karen’s death, too! In a
flash, it was over. Trudy closed her eyes and began moving her lips in silent
tribute. I looked quickly from Carly to Jane, but they were each immersed in
prayer—or in Jane’s case, probably positive, loving thoughts. But I knew what I
had heard. Trudy suspected that Karen’s death was more than a simple fall.