Page 34 of The Gallagher Place
“Any questions?” Glory asked.
Marlowe thought of the poor heifer’s bloodstained legs, but she was too afraid to ask if it would survive.
WEDNESDAY
NOVEMBER 28, 2018
EIGHTEEN
When Henry stepped through the front door early on Wednesday morning, Glory had just put the bacon on. She stood at the stove, prim in her turtleneck, wielding a spatula like a baton, while Frank nursed his mug of coffee at the head of the table.
“Smells great, Mom,” Henry said, taking a seat beside his father, as if he hadn’t been away. Across the table, Marlowe cracked open a can of seltzer and winced at the sound. She had woken up with dry skin and chapped lips. Winter air and heaters had always plagued her.
“An old friend from the DA reached out to a contact in Poughkeepsie,” Henry said, stirring milk into his coffee. “They’re pursuing Harmon’s harebrained intimidation schemes, but they have other suspects. Harmon was tied up with some dodgy people and owed money. They’re tracking down alibis, following protocol.”
“As I thought,” Frank said.
“My friend couldn’t get any details, but looks like it’ll blow over soon enough,” Henry said.
“Did he say anything about Ariel or Ben?” Marlowe wanted to know the detectives’ reputation. If they were good, or at least better than Brierley.
“They’re lightweights, eager to prove themselves,” Henry said and shrugged.
“Well, they can prove themselves by wrapping this up quickly so we can enjoy the holidays,” Glory said. “I was thinking of getting a tree this week and decorating when the kids are all here.”
Marlowe was happy to excuse herself from the empty conversation about Christmas and children and gifts to help Henry carry breakfast up to Enzo. Clutching his mug of coffee, she leaned against the doorframe of Enzo’s bedroom while he smiled up at the surprise visitor. Henry fussed over propping him up with pillows.
If anyone would be willing to talk about Nora, it would be Henry. He had felt it deeply when Nora disappeared. For over a month, Marlowe had seen him tearing up over breakfast while their mother patted his back.
“The detectives think it could be connected to Nora,” Marlowe murmured. “Did your friend hear anything about that?”
Henry turned to Marlowe with an expression she knew all too well: pity.
“What could they possibly find?” Henry asked. “It was so long ago.”
“They could find lots of things.” Marlowe heard how she sounded like a defensive child. “Ariel Mintz said they can find things just by asking around; you know Brierley didn’t question a ton of people besides us. And they have better technology now.”
Henry shrugged. “The sergeant will only entertain an investigation like this for so long. He’s not going to waste resources on a wild-goose chase.”
“What if Damen said something misleading to them?”
“Marlowe.” Henry sighed and then seemed to lose his train of thought.
“Maybe it’s worth hearing him out.”
“Leave that poor man alone,” Henry said firmly. “After all this time, I’m sure he just wants some closure, like we all do. But I don’t suspect it’s coming.”
He sat in the chair beside Enzo’s bed and watched as the old man lifted a spoonful of eggs to his mouth. Henry was beginning to sound like Nate—playacting as the voice of reason.
“It’s not about him,” Marlowe said. “It’s about Nora, who deserves closure.”
“You’re generous to her in memory,” Henry said. A faint smile came to him then. “Don’t you remember how it bothered you that she always had to be the center of attention? You were like her sidekick, helping her get ready for dates, going along with all her plans.”
“You’re oversimplifying things, as usual.”
“Come on, Marlowe. She always went after what she wanted. She was—bolder.”
“And I was more cautious, fine. But that doesn’t mean we weren’t equals.”
