Page 29 of The Writer

“Come closer to the door,” she says. “I can’t see your face.”

I move nearer, trying to peer through the pockets of ornate glass, but it’s impossible to see anyone through the warped pane.

“Um, it’s Becca,” I say, still trying to figure out who I’m speaking to. “From Mystery Maidens.”

“What a surprise,” she says, and it’s hard to tell through the speaker if she’s taken aback or annoyed. “Just a second.”

“Where are you?” I ask, still looking around.

“Upstairs. I’m watching you on my door cam,” she says. “It’s hard to spot unless you bend down.”

That’s when I see it. A small white rectangle beside the door hinge. Now that I’ve noticed it, the modern technology looks out of place alongside the traditional décor. I bend down closer, catching my tiny reflection in the lens.

The door swings open. April stands in the doorway wearing an oversized lounge set, an ensemble that screams casual comfort. Her hair is pulled away from her face, covered with a patterned silk scarf.

“Becca, what brings you out all this way?”

“I don’t want to bother you,” I say, raising the small brown package in my hands. “Victoria said your gang was sick, so I thought I’d bring over some minestrone from Mario’s. It always makes me feel better when I’m under the weather.”

The idea to bring soup was a last-minute one, but I needed some excuse to visit. Even though a married mother of two isn’t high on my suspect list, I must investigate every possibility, and this is my opportunity to corner her alone. If she is the person behind everything, she’d get too suspicious if I showed up on her doorstep empty-handed.

“That’s so sweet of you,” she says, looking behind her. “I’d invite you in but?—”

“Do you think I could use your bathroom?” I ask quickly. “It’s about a twenty-minute drive back to my place.”

Her smile is tense, and I notice she grips the door tighter.

“Sure,” she says, stepping back. “You really didn’t have to come all this way.”

“It’s fine. I didn’t have anything better to do.”

I step into the house, the warm air in the foyer surrounding me like a hug. A vanilla candle scents the air, and, just like last time, everything looks immaculate, although she clearly hasn’t brought out the decorations yet.

“I’ll take that,” she says, reaching for the box.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll just be a second. Don’t want to bother you when you’re sick.”

I walk straight ahead and duck into the hallway bathroom. It looks the exact same as last time I was here, only the Christmas hand towels have been replaced with auburn ones with embroidered leaves around the hem. Maybe it’s the tight quarters of the room, but I begin to wonder what I was hoping to accomplish by coming here. She says her family is sick; how am I supposed to prove otherwise? I remind myself that whoever is doing this must have me in their sights. Even a quick conversation could be enough to see if I notice a change in her behavior toward me.

When I exit the bathroom, the first thing I notice is how quiet the house is. April’s kids stayed with relatives during last year’s holiday party, but I imagine on an average evening they’re quite noisy, feet pattering, squeals ringing. They must be ill if they’re not making a peep.

I make my way back to the kitchen through the dining room, looking around for anything I remember during my last visit. Some of the family portraits are still on the walls, but I swear there were more last time. There are things missing, too, I think. The vases. The artwork. Even the basket filled with toys is gone.

“This was really nice of you,” April says. She’s sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen. The soup I brought has been reheated and transferred into a ceramic bowl. “I’m starving. Haven’t eaten all day.”

“You must be really sick to miss a meeting,” I say, watching her closely. “You’ve never done that before.”

She clears her throat. “Yeah, I hated to miss, but I just wasn’t feeling up to it. I haven’t worked on anything new, anyway.”

“I figure you’re still in celebration mode,” I say. “An offer of representation is a big deal.”

She smiles weakly and nods her head. “Yeah. I’m gearing up to get back in the editing phase. It could be a while before I work on anything new.”

I look around the kitchen, noticing that it is also noticeably bare. It no longer gives off the homey vibe I remember from last year. Instead, it almost looks like a showroom, something a realtor would stage before taking pictures. In fact, it looks like everything has been cut back. Maybe April’s moving and hasn’t told us.

I study her. She eats the soup ravenously, but beyond that, her complexion is as radiant as ever. I haven’t heard a cough or a sneeze since I arrived. She doesn’t appear sick at all, except for a slight smudge of darkness around the eyes.

And the quiet. I could swear we are the only two people in the house. Where is her husband? The children?

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