“It was just a silly thing,” Tara said, slurring more and leaning over to top off her glass. She spilled some wine on the table. “Just soooo silly, silly.”
“Right, honey, right,” he said, moving over and gently sliding the wineglass away from her. He would clean up the spill in a moment. “How about we go to bed early? It’s been a lot. And I have the vigil in the morning.”
She nodded and uncharacteristically allowed him to lead her to bed like a child; she was usually independent, feisty, and fiery. He tucked her in as she mumbled, “Just a game, a silly game…”
Matthew kissed her on the forehead, turned out the light, went back to the living room to clean up, and drank the glass of wine she had topped off for herself while pacing for over an hour. Now it was just thirteen hours later and he was in the weather office needing to focus.
He spun back around in his chair and looked at Faith’s desk one more time. And suddenly he noticed that it wasn’t quite as messy as usual. Messy, yes, but some of the shoeboxes under her desk had been removed or more carefully arranged, the teddy bear was gone, and her makeup bag was not there, nor were two of her curling irons. It was all kind of odd, he thought. Did someone take these things yesterday after they learned she was killed? He had been in the office most of the day, so he didn’t think so, but maybe in the morning when he wasn’t there, maybe it was Perry, and Matthew just hadn’t noticed until now? Or had Faith taken these things with her on her dinner break Friday night? But that made no sense. Why would she go out for dinner with her makeup bag, a teddy bear, and two curling irons? He was just tossing this all around in his mind when his cell phone rang: Tara.
“Hey, babe,” he said with a deep sigh, anticipating having to recap the vigil. She had still been sleeping when he left that morning.
“Matthew.” Her voice was filled with panic. “The police are here. They said they need to talk to both of us.”
A dagger seemed to stab into his throat.
“What? Honey, what are you talking about?”
“Two officers are in our living room. They asked me to call you.”
Shit, shit, shit. His mind started flying through scenarios and possible lies and what the police might know or not know, ormaybe they were doing this with all the mets and it was nothing. He could tell that Tara was trying to keep it together in front of the officers, but the panicky note in her voice told him she was thinking the same.
“Can I speak to them?” he asked.
“Uh, sure. I can ask.”
There was some muffled talking and the exchange of the phone before a female officer’s voice rang out.
“Sir, I understand you’re at work?”
“Yes, I work at Channel 9 as a meteorologist and I have to be on TV.” He tried to keep his voice strong but felt it waver.
“I understand, sir, but I’m sure you can see the importance of this. We’re opening an investigation into the homicide of Faith Richards. We need to ask you and your fiancée some questions. How quickly can you get home?”
“Well, my issue is I still have to create the forecast. It’s 2:30 and we’re on the air in two and a half hours. Is this urgent?”
“I would call it urgent, absolutely. How far away do you live?”
“Twenty minutes. I can get home if you need me to.” He did not want Tara to have to deal with this alone. As for the forecast… he shuddered but he could always pull up whatever the National Weather Service had to say; thankfully it was shaping up to be a quiet week. It made him physically ill to think of stooping to Faith’s level and copying the NWS forecast, but it could be done in a pinch.
“Can I get back in time for the five o’clock news?”
“That might be possible, yes, sir,” the officer replied. “We’ll come back in thirty minutes and speak with you both.”
Matthew grabbed his car keys and bolted for the parking lot,rushing past one of the reporter-and-photographer crews that had been at the vigil interviewing people about Faith.
“What’s your hurry, Matthew?” called out the photographer, a grizzled guy who had been at the station for over thirty-five years.
“Just, umm… forgot something at home,” Matthew yelled over his shoulder, hoping for a breezy, happy tone.
When he got to the car, he frantically dialed Tara. She answered after half a ring.
“They just left,” she whispered. “They said they’d get coffee and be back. Matthew, I’m scared, I’m so scared.”
“They don’t know anything, don’t worry, honey,” he said. “Let’s just chat for a minute and get our stories straight.”
“No, it’s bad, Matthew, really bad. There was something I couldn’t say on the phone. When they first got here, they told me that Faith handed some intern a note before dinner break Friday and asked the intern to give it to Tom. On the note it had a list of names. Honey, our names were on the list. The cops said it’s fishy enough that they’re talking to everyone. They don’t know why she made the list but the fact that it came out right before she died made them suspicious. Like it was a list of suspects or something.”
“What?”Matthew almost veered off the road. The tires squealed and he had to jerk the wheel back to the straight and narrow. “That’s not possible, how is that possible?”
