Clicking off her computer, she decided it was time for a little more investigation. Even though it was Thanksgiving, a skeleton crew was working in the crime lab, so she made a quick call and asked Mikhail Slatkin, the investigator on duty, to meet her at Jocelyn Wallis’s apartment. Now that she had proof that Ms. Wallis didn’t just die of a misstep, she needed to take another, deeper look at her home, life, and job.
He dressed in dark slacks, a crisp shirt, and a casual sweater, then checked his hair in the mirror and decided his look for the command performance on Thanksgiving Day was perfect. Impeccable.
Truth be known, he detested the holidays, all of them, but he put on a good front, pinning on a smile and driving through the snow to his sister’s home, a lakeside manor always in some phase of reconstruction.
His large family collected here each and every third Thursday in November, at his sister’s home, and he was expected to show, which he always did. He feigned interest in all their petty little problems, even played with his nieces and nephews, deflected any questions about his personal life and the women he dated.
Because he knew they didn’t care. In fact, they didn’t trust him. He was, and always would be, the outsider. No matter how hard he tried to fit into their close-knit group.
He brushed his lips across his sister’s cheek as he handed her a bottle of expensive wine that both she and her husband fawned over. He swung his niece off her chubby legs and heard her giggle in delight. He, after all, was the “fun” uncle. He even went to the trouble of going outside and trudging through the snow to view his nephew’s snowman and snow fort, from which the niece, of course, was forbidden.
Inside he was charming, even suffering through one of his sister’s guided tours of what they were “doing” to the house this year—a complete gutting and remodeling of the guest bathroom in the south wing.
“God help us that it gets done before Christmas. Lord, is that only five weeks away?” his sister said, looking around at the gaping holes where sinks and a toilet had once stood. Tile and grout had been displaced; the mirror, still hanging, was cracked in one corner. She sighed heavily. “I guess I’ll have to get on that builder!”
“It’s going to be great,” he answered, forcing enthusiasm.
“I hope so. Then you can stay with us! You’ll have your own suite, and the kids would love it.” Her eyes darkened just a shade with the lie. “I’d love it, too.” Her hand touched his arm then, lingering just a bit too long. She retracted it quickly when her husband walked in, his voice booming, “Welcome to our nightmare. The continuing nightmare.”
They made their way downstairs, and shaking off his sister and her oaf of a husband, he saw that the music continued to play, the wineglasses were always refilled, that his father was never out of the conversation. Of course, he was in charge of carving the turkey, even deigning to wear one of his brother-in-law’s stupid man aprons.
Throughout the meal at the seemingly mile-long table, he smiled and laughed, dodging the most pointed of their prying questions. Over the top of his wineglass he winked at his cousin, and she quickly averted her gaze, one that had been drawn to him throughout the evening, and blushed.
His sister, of course, had seen the exchange, and her lips had pursed in abject disapproval.
All of his family had speculated about his love life, and he’d given them just enough information to keep them satisfied, but it was a game, really, watching them offer help to set him up with different women.
As if he needed their charity.
This year the banter had started when his sister announced that her best friend was going through a messy divorce. The woman’s attributes were pretty, good figure, decent job, no kids. Might even end up with several hundred thou, if her husband, the snake, didn’t screw her over.
Then there was one of his brothers’ old high-school girlfriends, rumored to be back in town and newly single. His mother had made note. However, his father had pointed out, the woman they were all so sure was “the one” did have three girls, the oldest already in her teens.
But what about that woman he used to work with, oh, what’s-her-name? You know the one. A lawyer, wasn’t she? And good-looking, too. Smart as a whip.
Such a shame his job took him so far away so often.
He needed to settle down, his father reminded him. Was the old man afraid? Did he suspect?
Maybe next year his schedule would slow down, and he could spend more time here....
He let the conversation swirl around him, smiling affably, talking about the upcoming holidays and how they would all spend Christmas together, though it was getting more and more difficult.
His sister pulled him aside when he helped clear the plates, and she worried aloud about their father’s health. Who knew if the old man would make it to next Thanksgiving? Every day he was still alive and ambulatory was a blessing, didn’t he know?
Next year, well, she couldn’t think that far ahead.
Of course not. Who knew what new construction project would come between then and now?
But five to one the old man, hearty and hale, would outlive all his progeny. And that was saying something.
He stayed to watch his father finish a last scotch, then load himself and his wife into their waiting SUV, a Cadillac complete with driver. He shook his father’s hand and found the old man’s handshake as firm as ever.
“Say something to Mother,” his sister insisted, and lying through his teeth, he told the old bat that she looked “radiant,” and that he couldn’t wait until they all got together again at Christmas.
The second they were driving away, through a falling screen of snow, his thoughts turned toward the future. He managed a round of quick good-byes, and then, saying he had to get home because he had an early flight in the morning, he half jogged to his car.
Only when the rambling lake house disappeared from his rearview mirror did he let down his mask and unhinge his jaw from the insipid smile he’d pinned there for the past five hours. He rubbed at the scar hidden beneath his sideburn and let his thoughts darken.