Mummy Said Goodbye

“I really like playing goal.” Brett’s expression and voice were both eager in a way Craig hadn’t seen in a long while. “I mean, it’s cool to score goals, but I like the pressure of it all coming down to you. The ball’s coming at you, and you’ve got, like, this tunnel vision. What a trip!”

Craig had felt that way about flying when he discovered it. He remembered his early flights, that sense of being in a bubble, in which nothing existed but him, the controls, the clouds streaming past, the checkerboard landscape below. It all came down to him. There was an adrenaline rush you didn’t get in everyday life.

He slapped his son on the back. “I know what you mean.”

When they reached the car, Craig asked, “Are you still planning to go home with Malcolm?”

“Yeah.” Brett tried to sound as if it was no big deal, but he failed to hide his pleasure. “I’m just going to grab my stuff.”

“Do I need to pick you up tomorrow?”

“I don’t know.” Brett tossed his soccer ball and the bottle on the floor and reached for his duffel bag. “I guess I’ll call you. Okay?”

“Sure.”

A horn beeped, and Craig turned to see Robin’s car stopped behind his. Malcolm jumped out and jogged over to thrust a scrap of paper at Craig. “Mom says to give you our phone number.”

“Thanks.” Craig smiled at the boy, then waved toward Robin.

A hand waved back from inside the car.

“See ya, Dad.” Brett loped off next to his new buddy.

Craig got in his car, but didn’t reach immediately to put the key in the ignition. He was alone. It was the strangest feeling. Both kids were off with friends, both spending the night. He hadn’t spent a night alone at home since the early days after Julie’s disappearance, when the cops were putting intense heat on him and his father had taken the kids a few times to spare them.

Here was the chance single parents rarely had, and he was going to let it go to waste. Well, not entirely—maybe he’d rent a DVD on the way home, something he wouldn’t let the kids watch. After all, the TV would be all his for a change.

He grunted in wry amusement. That was sad.

Craig stopped at the grocery store in Salmon Creek and picked up the makings for a meal neither Brett nor Abby liked. Another small pleasure, which was the best life had to offer these days. The bigger pleasures—here, he tried hard not to picture Robin McKinnon—were not for him.

His decent mood suffered a jolt when he was half a block from home. A blue sedan sat at the curb in front of his house. No rack of lights or insignia on the door, but he knew a police car when he saw one. Two people sat in this one.

Waiting.

Craig drove past them without turning his head. He went straight into the garage and closed the door behind him, popped the trunk and unloaded his groceries. He was grimly putting them away when the doorbell rang.

He knew better than to ignore it. An innocent man cooperated. Welcomed an investigation.

On the doorstep were a man and a woman he didn’t know. The man looked Hispanic, with dark hair and the age-old eyes cops sometimes had. Craig’s fleeting impression of the woman was that she had to be a good deal younger. Short and big-breasted, she wore dark hair in a bun so severe she’d never need Botox. Not flattering. Neither was a mannish outfit of blazer, slacks and white button-down shirt that made her look stocky.