"I thought the case was closed?"
"It is. This is more about victim support. A quick follow up.” He kept his voice even. Making the questions sound like they didn’t carry weight. "What can you tell me about Liam? After the murder of his mother. He was studying at the time, right?"
"That's right. He was away at college when it happened." Wendy's expression changed. Not closing down. Opening into something older and more painful. "It devastated him. Naturally. He left college and came to live with me and his uncle." She nodded toward the man in the recliner. "He struggled, you know, for a few years. Didn't know what to do with himself. Couldn't hold a job. Couldn't sleep. Then he decided to do something with his life. The military, I think, gave him structure. Order. Something he could put his hand to."
"Military?"
"Army." She got up and crossed to a shelf beside the television. She picked up a framed photograph and brought it back, handing it to Noah.
The photo showed a young man in his mid-twenties in dress uniform. Dark hair, cut close. Strong jaw. Eyes that looked directly into the camera with an expression that was calm and gave nothing away.
Noah looked at the details most people would miss.
Something in his chest tightened.
"How long did he serve?" Noah asked. His voice didn't change.
"Six, maybe seven years. They gave him responsibility early." She said it with a quiet pride that hadn't fully faded. "They wanted to keep him but he started having problems. Mental health concerns and whatnot. Flashbacks. Trouble sleeping. He got worse toward the end, so they discharged him." She took a sip of her drink. "I think the discipline helped him for a while. But whatever was underneath, the grief, the anger, it was still there when he came out. The uniform just covered it."
Noah looked at the photo. He held the frame a moment longer than necessary, then set it down on the side table between them.
"Anyway, he returned and helped me in the shop for a time," Wendy continued.
"The shop?"
"Bookstore. I used to run Birchwood Books in town. That's where Liam lives now. Above it. He took an apartment there." She smiled faintly. "It was my dream, that shop. I ran it for fifteen years. But with Frank the way he is," she gestured toward her husband, "I couldn't keep it going. Liam offered to take it over. I was relieved, honestly. It gave him something to do. Somewhere to be."
"How's he doing with it?"
The smile faded. "He runs the store. Though lately he's not had it open as frequently as he used to. He's been struggling." She paused. "He sees a therapist but I just don't think he ever moved past his mother and brother's death." She looked into her lap and toyed with the hem of her apron. "Then again, I haven't exactly done well with it. I miss her. Rebecca. We were close growing up. We would tell each other everything."
Noah nodded. He let the silence breathe.
"Rebecca's husband passed away a few years before she did, right?"
"That's right. Tom. He was a long-distance truck driver. He wasn't home much. A good man." She shook her head slowly. "He died from colon cancer. I think it was the stress of the job. The long hours he put in. Rebecca got lonely when he was away. That's where some of the rumors came about her seeing other men."
"Torres?"
"Yeah. And Carl Peterson."
"And Travis Rudd."
She nodded. Her expression didn't change. These were old names attached to old wounds that had long since scarred over.
"Were there any others she ever mentioned?"
"No."
“So the boys were Tom's?"
Wendy looked at Noah. Something sharpened behind her eyes. "Why would you ask that?"
"Just a question."
"Of course they were Tom's."
Noah looked down at the photo of Liam on the side table. The dress uniform. The jaw. The eyes. The resemblance was subtle, but it was there if you knew where to look.
