THE DETECTIVE

6

"There is something," said Vanessa and she eyed Alaric one more time. Then she told them about Christopher emptying the bank account. This got their attention. They got the bank information and then asked her if she knew of any other bank accounts.

“I don’t. But if I find out there are any, I’ll be sure to give you a call.”

 “Would you mind if we did a quick search of his office?” Alaric asked.

“I’m sorry, but this isn’t a good time,” she replied, smiling to soften the blow. “I really need to be allowed to go through my husband’s personal belongings myself first.”

Judging by the muscle working in the detective's jaw, her declination didn’t sit well with him. But he, like every other law enforcement person, knew there was absolutely nothing they could do about it. They’d have to get a search warrant first. A few more follow-up questions and the officers stood to take their leave.

As they filed past the doorway, Alaric turned to Vanessa. He looked her up and down, then handed something to her. She hesitated before she took it from him.

"My number," he said, "Call me…. In case something happens… Or if you need to tell me something that could help with the case," 

Vanessa nodded, "Sure" she replied. "Thank you," 

By the time the policemen left, Vanessa had a bad headache. She closed the door and locked it. Then she went to her bedroom and rummaged in her medicine cabinet until she found a bottle. Though the ibuprofen had expired a month ago, she figured they’d still work well enough. She swallowed them dry and grabbed a bottle of water to drink. Wiping her lips on a towel, she eyed herself in the mirror. Other than looking a bit pale, she seemed exactly like the same woman she’d been the day before. 

She tried not to cry. A widow who couldn’t grieve. What did that make her? Some kind of monster? While she’d known she hadn’t loved Christopher, she’d known he hadn’t loved her either. He’d needed a wife and had courted her. Even though they’d made love, at least in the beginning, the passion had been missing. Christopher had been a bad husband. Growing up in the club, she’d seen plenty of examples of that. He’d been an absent, unloving one, showing up only when they both had a public role to play. When he’d stopped making love to her, she’d been too exhausted and relieved to care. Later, she’d been too proud to try to seduce him. She pretty much figured he’d reject her anyway… And honestly, she didn’t even want to. 

After opening the bathroom door, she’d just stepped out into the hall when the doorbell rang. Wondering if the police had forgotten something, she hurried down the stairs. Once she saw who stood on her front porch, she groaned. “Christopher's parents.”

Guilt suffused her. She was supposed to be expecting them. Their son just died. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door.

“Finally,” Lois Wesley declared, her sharp voice matching the ice in her gaze. She swept past Vanessa, her disparaging gaze lighting the entire house as she marched into the kitchen.

Her husband, Steven Wesley, shook his head, his red-rimmed eyes full of emotion as well as censure. He dragged his hand through his perfectly coiffed head of silver hair, barely dislodging a single strand. He stepped into the foyer, stopping abruptly and eyeing Vanessa. “So my son is really dead?” he said. “The police said he hired a bodyguard. Apparently, he'd been receiving threats. After what happened, it’s clear Christopher knew whoever was after him. He knew he needed the protection. What I don’t understand is why he didn’t hire a professional,” the elder Mr. Wesley pointed out. “Someone who could really protect him."

The amount of disdain he interjected into his words would have bothered Vanessa, But she had heard it before and was used to it. She tried not to dwell on the fact that he also thought that she knew anything about Christopher's death. 

"I'm very sorry, Steven. The police tell me they are doing everything they can to get his killer,"

Steven Wesley grimaced. He didn’t even have the grace to apologize or even look embarrassed. “You know what I mean,” he said. “Maybe my son would be alive today if he’d hired professional bodyguards instead of amateurs.”

With that stated, he stamped down the hallway, following his wife to the kitchen. Vanessa sighed and shook her head. She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin and followed.Her mother-in-law had her back to the rest of them, rummaging in the refrigerator with a kind of furious intensity.

“Is there something I can get you?” Vanessa asked, as politely as she could manage.

Lois barely glanced her way. “I wish the police would let us go to Christopher's, but I guess it's okay because I don't think I can bring myself to sit in the house where my son was murdered. Oh, he always made sure to keep some of my favorite yogurts in the fridge. But I don’t see any here.”

“That’s because he only bought them when he knew you were coming to visit,” Vanessa gently pointed out. “I’m sorry I don't have any for you here.”

With an audible gasp, Lois began sobbing. Her husband hurried over to her and gathered her into his arms. 

They stood that way for a few moments while Lois cried out her sorrow.

Vanessa's eyes filled too. Christopher had been Lois's son, at one time her baby boy. She couldn’t even begin to imagine the grief ripping through the other woman.

After a moment, Lois stirred and moved out of her husband’s arms. She grabbed a paper towel off the roll on the counter and blotted at her eyes with it. Steven made his way back to the table, pulled out a chair and dropped heavily into it.

Vanessa stood there, not sure of what to do. Finally, Lois turned around, her face pale but composed. She looked at Vanessa, her lips pressed tightly together. “Tomorrow, we’ll take care of the funeral arrangements,” Lois announced, drumming her perfectly manicured scarlet nails on the kitchen counter. “I want to make sure Christopher has the best.”