File M For Murder

Laura’s face was so drawn and pale that I didn’t have the heart to question her once we were alone in the car. My concern for her well-being was paramount. I didn’t understand her relationship with Connor Lawton. She insisted they were no longer romantically involved and even seemed to dislike him, yet she had gone out of her way this afternoon to help him. My late wife and I had reared our children to be loyal to their friends and family, but I had seen little evidence that Lawton deserved such loyalty.

After Laura moved to Hollywood to pursue her dream, she visited infrequently, particularly after her mother died. When she did come to visit, she seemed different in some small ways, the natural effect of her experiences in California. But I had little doubt that at heart she was still my Laura. A verse from Proverbs ran through my head: “Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.” We instilled in both our children a strong sense of responsibility for their actions, and though they might occasionally make a small misstep, I knew they were good people. Laura as a child, however, had an overdeveloped sense of responsibility, sometimes taking on more than she should in an effort to help another person. Perhaps this was the case with Connor Lawton.

If so, I felt Laura had made an error in judgment. She should not have removed that thumb drive from Lawton’s apartment—and surely she must have, or why slip it into my pocket so furtively?

She and I were due for a heart-to-heart the moment she seemed up to it. By the time we reached home it was a few minutes past eight. My head ached and my stomach grumbled—I needed some caffeine and food, and Laura needed some sustenance as well. Sean pulled his car into the garage shortly after Laura and I entered the kitchen. When he joined us I was putting a chicken, rice, and mushroom casserole in the oven to warm. Stewart had left it in the fridge for us, bless him. Laura sipped a diet soda and stared vacantly at the surface of the table. Diesel, who had greeted us at the door, kept wrapping himself around my legs and complaining with loud chirps and meows over having been left behind.

After a glance at his sister, Sean asked, “What can I do?”

“There are some green beans in a pot in the fridge. Can you put them on to warm? I need to give Diesel some attention before he knocks me over.” As Sean moved to comply with my request, I pulled a chair out from the table and sat. Diesel moved between my legs and placed his front paws in my lap. I held his head in both hands and rubbed under his chin with both thumbs. I murmured to him, telling him I was sorry I had to leave him behind, but that Laura had needed me. His purr rumbled as he gazed into my eyes.

Then, to my surprise, he pulled away and padded over to Laura’s chair. She was oblivious to his presence, still focused blankly on the table, but he butted his head against her side to get her attention. Jostled out of her reverie, she set her soda down and turned in her chair. Diesel put his front paws in her lap and stretched his head up toward her face. With a sob, Laura bent and wrapped her arms around his upper body and held him close. Diesel meowed, as if in sympathy.

Sean, stirring the pot of beans at the stove, let go of the spoon and took a tentative step toward his sister. I motioned for him to stop and shook my head. For the moment I figured Diesel, with his sensitivity to humans in distress, might be able to comfort Laura better than either her father or her brother could. Our turns would come.

Sean and I remained silent for the next several minutes while Laura hung on to Diesel and quietly cried. When the oven timer buzzed, Laura lifted a tearstained face and released Diesel. The cat sat back on his hind legs and watched her as she plucked several tissues from the box Sean held out to her. She wiped her face, blew her nose, and crumpled the tissues into a ball.

I went to her and gathered her into my arms when she stood. She rested her head on my shoulder for a moment before pulling away. “I’m okay, Dad,” she said, her voice hoarse.

“Why don’t you go wash your face, sweetheart, and then we’ll eat.”

She started to protest that she wasn’t hungry, but I asked her when she had eaten last.

“Lunchtime.” Laura smiled briefly. “Yeah, I probably should have something.” She kissed my cheek. “Back in a few.”

“I’m worried about her, Dad,” Sean said the moment Laura was out of the room, Diesel right on her heels. “I think maybe she was still in love with that jerk, and if his death turns out to be something besides suicide or an accident, she could look like the prime suspect.”