The Thanksgiving Day Murder Read Free Page B

really wants her back. He hired a private detective after it happened.”
    “Maybe Melanie suggested it.”
    It was possible, of course.
    “Chris, I’m not suggesting that this very nice guy that we met at a Sunday brunch is a killer. I’m just giving you a scenario. Do I think he killed his wife? No.”
    “So either she decided to skip out of this marriage and this life or someone grabbed her on Seventy-fourth Street and took her away.”
    “And since Sandy has discovered that this woman’s past is a little unclear, to say the least, either one of those things could have happened. Maybe she decided to go back to the other life.”
    “Maybe someone from the other life decided to make her pay for something she did in the other life.”
    “And maybe,” Jack said as he got up to get the carafe, “somebody saw a gorgeous woman alone, buying a balloon, and he grabbed her and spirited her away.”
    “Then she’s dead,” I said.
    He came back with the coffee. “I’d guess that, unless Mrs. Gordon initiated her own disappearance, that was the outcome.”
    “He wants to pay me to find out what happened. I told him that was impossible.”
    Jack didn’t say anything. He’s always been cautious commenting on certain kinds of things, but I’ve noticed that recently, since he started his second year of law school, his caution has increased, as though he sees himself differently, as though perhaps it’s wiser to say nothing than to say something that might be interpreted in the wrong way.
    “But I feel sorry for him,” I added.
    “You know I’m very proud of you,” he said, and I knew something else was coming. “You’ve done this kind of thing so well, I guess you’ve gotten a well-earned reputation. But this is really different.”
    “I know. It’s why I’m not getting involved.”
    “In the other cases, you had a personal interest in the victim. This is more like a police case, something a detective catches by chance.”
    “I’m not doing it, Jack.”
    “But it’s affected you. I sense that you’ve involved yourself in this just by listening to Sandy’s story.”
    “It’s something else.”
    “Something we’re keeping to ourselves?”
    I got up and went to the fire. I have a theory about fires, that they like to be poked. I took the poker and moved one of the logs so that the configuration was different, enabling a small, suppressed flame to creep through to reach a new air pocket. The fire leaped, finding new life.
    “A memory came back,” I said as I sat down again. “I was at the Thanksgiving Day parade with my father.”
    “Is that what’s upset you?”
    “I have very few memories of my father. It was a shock when this one came back. I was vaguely aware that I’d seen the parade as a child, but I’ve never been able to see it in my mind. Or to see him.”
    He put his arm around me. “That’s a nice memory,” he said, “a father and his daughter at the parade. I remember going with my parents.”
    “It was while Sandy was telling me about his wife’s disappearance that it came to me. It’s as though there’s a connection.”
    “There’s no connection between anything he told you and your childhood. And you’re under no obligation, moral or otherwise, to help him in a no-win case.”
    “I know.”
    “So tell me, what are you going to do?”
    I smiled. He had gotten me completely off the hook but knew I would eventually do whatever I wanted. What I wanted was to have nothing to do with Natalie Gordon’s disappearance. “I’m getting the dishes washed and then I’m going to read my book while you hit your books.”
    “Sounds like a great idea.”
    —
    Hours later I had finished my book and he had put aside his law books. The fire had died a slow, natural death about an hour after we put the last log on, and the house was warm. Under the wonderful down comforter that I hadbought with some of our wedding present money, we made love before going to sleep, our bodies