Gone With the Woof (16 page)

“You must be Melanie,” she said with a tentative smile. “Please come in. I hope you can excuse the mess. I'm still unpacking.”

I entered the apartment via a narrow hallway that led to a combination living room and dining room. The furniture was sparse, just a couch and a small round table with three straight-backed chairs. Several large cartons, one of which appeared to be acting as a wardrobe, had been pushed up against the wall. A curtainless window looked out over the parking lot.

At the memorial service, Julia had looked sleek and pulled together. Now, with her long dark hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, wearing ripped jeans and a bulky pullover sweater, she was hardly recognizable as the same woman. Her face was pale and gaunt, and there were dark circles beneath her eyes. Her nails were bitten painfully short.

“I'm sorry this place looks so awful,” she said, waving me to a seat at the table. “I don't usually live like this. It's just that my life's in a bit of turmoil at the moment. . . .”

I pulled off my jacket and slung it over the back of my chair. “Don't worry about it. It's my fault for coming on such short notice.”

Julia smiled at my attempt to assuage her discomfort, and I saw a brief vestige of the lovely woman I remembered. It was difficult for me to envision this fragile-looking girl as the conniving gold digger March had painted her to be.

“Can I offer you something to drink? Water? Juice?” Julia spread her hands helplessly. “I apologize for the meager choices. I'm trying to cut back on caffeine.”

“Some juice would be great,” I said.

A small kitchenette was separated from the main room by a waist-high partition. Julia scooted around it and opened the refrigerator. “Apple okay?”

“Perfect.”

“You said Edward sent you?” Julia said as she opened a cabinet and got out a couple of glasses. “Has he changed his mind?”

“Excuse me?”

“Has he changed his mind? You know, about the baby?”

Holy crap on a cracker.

Julia came out from behind the counter, holding the two glasses of juice. She set one down in front of me, then slid into a seat opposite.

“The baby?” I repeated.

“Yes.” Julia's hand slipped down to her stomach in a protective motion. “Andrew's baby. Isn't that why you're here?”

“You're pregnant,” I said stupidly.

Julia nodded. “Ten weeks, give or take.”

“And Edward March knows that?”

“Of course he knows. I told him myself almost two weeks ago.”

That would have been right after Andrew died, I realized. Interesting that March had seen fit to withhold that important fact. He'd certainly been more than forthcoming about other issues regarding his son's ex-girlfriend.

“That was why you wanted to get married,” I said.

“Of course. But it wasn't the only reason. Andrew and I were ready. We'd been together for more than a year.”

“His father told me that the two of you had broken up.”

Julia's dark eyes flashed with irritation. “He would say that.”

“Is it true?”

“Technically . . . yes. But it didn't mean anything. Andrew and I were both passionate people who liked to get our own way. Sometimes we fought like banshees, but we still loved each other. We'd always gotten back together before, and we would have this time, too.”

It sounded as though March and Julia each had a different version of the same events to promote. And it was beginning to look like they both had a significant stake in the outcome. I wondered which of the two was more likely to be lying to me.

“What did you and Andrew fight about the last time?” I asked.

Julia took a sip of juice and leaned back in her chair. She took her time about answering. “It was the baby,” she said finally.

“Getting pregnant wasn't a mutual decision?”

“It was an accident,” Julia admitted. “But once it happened, anyone could see that it was fate pushing us in the right direction.”

“Is that how Andrew felt about it?”

“He wanted me to get an abortion.” She tossed her head angrily. “That was
never
going to happen.”

“So you argued about it. And then broke up.”

“Only temporarily.”

Hard to tell that by looking at her living situation.

“Why is all your stuff in boxes?” I asked.

“Sometimes Andrew could be a real jerk, that's why. When I told him about the baby and he realized that I had every intention of having it, he told me to get out.”

“So you'd been living together then.”

Julia nodded. “Since last fall.”

Another point March seemed to have shaded to fit his own version of the facts.

“Your boyfriend got you pregnant, then threw you out of his house. That's pretty cold.”

Woman to woman, we shared a look.

You must have been very angry,” I said.

“
Angry
doesn't begin to cover it,” Julia replied. “I was furious. I was having Andrew's baby, and he didn't even care. I could have killed him for that.”

“S
omeone did,” I pointed out. “Was it you?”

“Me?” Julia's head snapped up. “You must be joking.”

“You just said that you were furious at Andrew.”

“I was. And he deserved it. But that doesn't mean . . .” Abruptly her eyes narrowed. “Is that why you came here today? Did Edward send you because he's looking for someone to blame?”

“He's looking for the truth. He wants to find out what happened.”

“No, he doesn't,” Julia said angrily. “What Edward wants is a palatable version of events that makes him feel better about all the ways he was never there for his own son—not when Andrew was growing up and not now. The two of them can't stand each other. Did he tell you
that?
”

“Not exactly. He did say that they didn't always get along.”

“They didn't
ever
get along.” Julia shoved back her chair and stood. She walked over to the window and stared out through the grimy glass. “Edward was always trying to tell Andrew what he could and couldn't do. He treated him like he was still a child.”

“March didn't approve of your relationship with Andrew,” I said.

“No.” Julia's voice quieted. “He didn't think I was good enough. And yet . . .”

I waited for her to finish her thought. Instead, Julia lifted a hand and traced a word on the cold glass with her finger.
No
, she wrote.

“And yet, what?” I asked.

She turned to face me. “Edward put the moves on me himself. I'll bet he never told you that.”

He most certainly had not.

“I wasn't suitable for Andrew, but he thought he'd have a try himself. I shut him down so fast, it made his head spin.”

“Did you tell Andrew about that?”

“Of course not. Why would I? Those two already had enough to fight about. I had no desire to make things worse than they already were.”

“March thinks you were only interested in Andrew because of his money,” I said.

Julia gave an unhappy laugh. “He would.”

“Were you?”

“I can't tell you that it wasn't part of the attraction. But not in the way you're thinking. Who Andrew was, the upbringing he'd had, the things he had experienced and had access to, that was all part of what made him the man I fell in love with.”

She looked around the small apartment with a wry smile. “Money helps, you know? Who would want to live like this if they could do better? But his assets weren't everything. Not by a long shot. Andrew and I had a real bond. We
got
each other. Do you know what I mean?”

I did. I felt the same way about Sam.

“Where were you on the morning that Andrew was killed?” I asked.

“You mean, do I have an alibi?”

“I wasn't going to be so blunt, but yes.”

Julia left the window and sat back down. She picked up her glass and sipped her juice. “The police asked me the same thing, you know.”

“I imagine they would have.”

She looked at me curiously. “So how does that work, then? Don't they report back to Edward and tell him what they've found out?”

“Not nearly often enough, from what I hear.”

“That must really frost his balls.”

“I believe it does.”

We both smiled at that.

“I was there that morning . . . when it happened,” Julia said after a minute. “I was at Andrew's cottage.”

My smile melted away. I hadn't expected that.

“What were you doing there?”

“Packing. Getting my things together. I had a lot of stuff to get organized and moved.” She gestured toward the unpacked cartons.

“I thought you'd already moved out by then.”

“I had, two weeks earlier. When Andrew told me to go, I packed a bag and went. But that departure was kind of sudden. A lot of my things got left behind.”

“So you decided to go back and pick them up at seven o'clock in the morning?” I asked skeptically.

“Nooo.” Julia's tone was meaningful. “I went back to get them the evening before.”

Oh.

“You spent the night,” I said.

“It happens.” She shrugged. “Andrew and I might have been pissed at one another, but the sex was still smokin' hot.”

Definitely more than I needed to know.

“When you went to Andrew's house that night, were you hoping to make up with him?” I asked.

“No,” Julia said firmly. “I went to get my stuff.”

“So the sex was just a perk.”

“Who are you?” She peered at me across the table. “My mother?”

“Sorry.” I waved a hand. “My bad. Then what happened?”

“We had another fight.”

“About what?”

“Apparently, Andrew still thought that he could convince me to get an abortion. ‘Wipe the slate clean,' he said. ‘We'll start over.' When I told him that wasn't going to happen, he got mad. He tossed on his jogging stuff and left.”

“He just walked out on you?”

“Pretty much.” Julia frowned. “I guess I might have been yelling at the time. My hormones are all screwed up. And Andrew just didn't want to hear it. He pulled out his phone and dialed Sherm. That was his way of shutting me out, of letting me know that he wasn't listening to me. Then he walked out the door, and I never saw him again.”

She sighed softly. “It isn't fair. I never got a chance to make things right between us. And now Andrew will never have a chance to get to know his son.”

I agreed with her.
Unfair
didn't begin to cover what had happened.

“The cell phone,” I said. “You're sure Andrew had it with him when he left the house?”

“I just said that, didn't I? He was talking to Sherm. They used to touch base in the mornings, before Andrew went into work.”

“The police didn't find his cell phone at the scene.”

“I know. They made a big deal about that. The detective asked me three times if I was certain about what I saw. Of course I was. Because if Andrew hadn't been on that damn phone, maybe I could have stopped him from leaving. And maybe everything would be different now.”

A tear slipped down Julia's cheek. She reached up angrily and brushed it away. I gave her a minute to gather herself. I used the time to take my empty juice glass over to the sink and rinse it out.

“Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to harm Andrew?” I asked on my return.

“I don't know. And I probably shouldn't guess. . . .”

“But if you did?” I picked up my scarf and wound it around my neck.

“Things had been pretty rocky for Andrew at work lately.”

“Because he was fighting with his father?”

“No, besides that. That was nothing new. But it seemed like there was something else going on at the office that was bugging him. Maybe a couple of jobs that didn't go right, or somebody reneging on a deal . . .”

Julia lifted my parka off the back of the chair and handed it to me. “To tell you the truth, I didn't pay that much attention. I mean, that's life. It's always something, you know?”

I did.

Together, we walked to the door. “When I first got here,” I said, “you asked me if March had changed his mind.”

Julia nodded.

“Changed his mind about what?”

“After Andrew died, I told March I was pregnant. I figured he should know. The baby will be his only grandchild. I thought he might want to . . . be involved.”

“You mean financially?”

“No,” Julia said quickly. “I didn't want Edward's money. I didn't want anything from him. But I've got to be realistic, too.”

We both gazed around at the small, dingy apartment. I had to admit, things looked pretty bleak.

“I asked if I could continue living in Andrew's cottage, that's all. You know, until after the baby's born. I didn't see the harm. It's not like Edward is going to be using it for anything.”

“I take it he said no.”

“He barely even took the time to listen to what I had to say before tossing me out.”

Like father, like son,
I thought.

I reached out and laid a hand on her arm. “Are you okay here?”

“I will be,” Julia said. “I've got my job. I've got insurance. I've met a couple of the neighbors. They seem nice enough.”

She gave a halfhearted smile as she opened the door for me. “I guess I just need to get some more unpacking done. Everything will look better then.”

“Good luck,” I told her.

I meant that sincerely. I'd been a single mother for most of Davey's early life. I knew she had a tough road ahead of her.

“If you get a chance,” said Julia, “put in a good word for me with Edward.”

“I'll do that.”

I bypassed the elevator and took the stairs back down to the ground floor. The entrance was still propped open, and the temperature in the lobby now matched the one outside. Both were barely above freezing. Somewhere, a heating bill was skyrocketing for nothing. I'm a mother. I think of things like that.

As I crossed the lobby, I saw a heavyset man approaching the building. He looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn't immediately place him. Broad shoulders, prematurely receding hairline, wire-rimmed glasses. Where had I seen him before?

He entered through the open doorway and walked past me toward the stairs. Moving with long, deliberate strides, he didn't even glance in my direction. Nor did he try the elevator. He knew it wouldn't come; he must have been here before.

As the man took the steps two at a time, then turned the corner and disappeared, I stared after him thoughtfully. Finally, the brain cells kicked in. Sherm Yablonsky. He'd been at the memorial service. He was Andrew's best friend. One of the people who had eulogized Andrew but had not acknowledged his ex-girlfriend.

So what was he doing here? I whipped around and sped back up the steps, reaching the second-floor landing just in time to see Sherm disappear into Julia's apartment. That was interesting.

 

From Norwalk, it was only a short trip to Westport. Considering the price of gas, I figured I might as well kill two birds with one stone. Charlotte had told me that March rarely left home, and he and I had some things we needed to talk about. Hopefully, he wouldn't mind if I dropped by uninvited.

Charlotte answered the door and stared at me, looking perplexed. “Were we expecting you?” she asked.

I walked past her into the house and took off my jacket. “Not unless you're psychic,” I said. “Don't you ever have a day off?”

“Yes, of course I do. It varies. And someone has to make sure that Mr. March is eating.... Wait a minute,
psychic?
”

“That was a joke.” I tossed my parka onto the coatrack.

“Oh.” She didn't look reassured.

“I was in the neighborhood. I thought I'd stop by.”

Charlotte's expression cleared. “You went to see Julia.” “Yes, I did. I'm glad you're her friend. I think she needs friends.”

“Julia's been . . .” Her voice dropped. She glanced toward the closed library door. “It's been hard for her. She's been made to feel like the things that went wrong were her fault, when they weren't. Andrew should have taken better care of her. He should have stood up for her more.”

“With his father, you mean?”

“Yes—”

We both heard the click as the library door opened. March appeared in the doorway. Robin was at his side. The setter looked at me and wagged her long plumed tail in greeting.

“Can't a man get any peace around here on a Sunday morning?” March demanded.

“I thought you might like to hear about what I've been up to,” I said. “But we can do it another time.”

“Don't mind him,” Charlotte told me. “He's doing the
New York Times
crossword. He hates to have his puzzle interrupted.”

“How long does it take you to finish?” I asked curiously.

“Who says I do?” March glared in my direction. “Oh, for Pete's sake, I've lost my train of thought now. You might as well come in.”

“What a pleasant invitation,” I said, following him into the library.

He was muttering under his breath. I chose not to listen.

The drapes, I noted happily, were still tied back. The room wasn't exactly bright, but I could easily see where I was going. Also someone, probably Charlotte, had done some more tidying. The ambience was definitely improving.

“Close the door,” said March. He headed for his desk.

“I like it open. It's nice to get some fresh air in here.”

He stopped and turned. “Why do you argue so much?”

“Seriously?” I said. “Like you should talk.”

“Margaret was wrong about you,” he grumbled.

“In what way?”

“She said you liked to make yourself useful.”

I smiled in spite of myself. Useful people were Aunt Peg's favorite kind.

“She really said that about me?”

“Don't look so pleased with yourself.” March settled down into his big leather chair. “I haven't seen any evidence of it yet.”

“I'm working on it,” I told him. “But first I've had to clear up a few other things. It turns out that you haven't been entirely honest with me.”

“In what way?”

“I understand you've been having problems at your company.”