In the Bleak Midwinter

“Oh, Mummy, don’t have a cow.” Alyson’s shaded face stilled, only a small frown marring the blankness of hard thought. “It must have been Ethan,” she said finally. “He knocked her up and then killed her. It must have been Ethan.”

“Why do you say that?” Russ leaned back in his chair.

“Like, who else would it be? He was seriously in love with her. Aren’t most women murdered by their husbands or boyfriends? I remember discussing that in my health class.”

Clare thought back to health class at Hopewell High School. The only thing dangerous she had discussed was venereal disease, which over 50 percent of the male population was afflicted with, according to her teacher.

“Maybe he wanted her to, like, have an abortion and she wouldn’t. Or maybe he wanted her to marry him and she wouldn’t. Whatever.”

“Whatever,” Clare said under her breath.

“Wow. Ethan and Katie. And I know both of them. That’s like, creepy.”

“Alyson,” Russ asked, “do you remember Katie’s parents’ address? Was it on Depot Street?”

“No. I don’t know her parents’ names. Oh, whoa, she has a big sister, though. She was a senior when I was a freshman. Kristen. She works at Fleet Bank as a teller.”

“The branch here in town?”

“Yeah. I know because that’s our bank.”

“Okay, Alyson.” Russ gathered up the photos and closed the folder. “Thank you for your cooperation. You’ve been a big help.”

“I can go? I’m done?”

“That’s right. I don’t need a formal statement from you, there’s no need to go to the station.” He pulled off his shades and stared into her eyes. “Remember that we’re just gathering information at this point. I appreciate your, ah, insight into Katie’s relationship with Ethan Stoner, but none of us can draw any conclusions from that.” The girl gaped, a blank expression on her beautiful face. Russ sighed. “Don’t go telling everyone you meet that Katie’s dead and Ethan murdered her. Got it?” He turned to Alyson’s parents. “Mr. and Mrs. Shattham, thank you.”

“You will let us know if you come to suspect this was the work of some . . . some . . .”

“Wandering serial killer? I certainly will, Mr. Shattham.”

Russ and the Shatthams looked at Clare. She rose from her seat, gesturing toward the door. “Let me walk you out,” she said to the Shatthams. They got up, taking coats off the other chairs, and preceded her into the hall. Somehow, she assumed Russ would remain behind, sitting in the sunlight, thinking. Probably the same way he was assuming she’d come back as soon as she had seen the Shatthams off, to talk things over with him.

This time, she did bring her glass, as well as the remaining bottle. “Want a slug?” she asked, brandishing the cream sherry in her fist.

“I don’t think you can have a slug of sherry,” Russ said. “No, thank you.”

Clare sat down in the seat she had vacated, thought for a moment, then moved to where Alyson had been sitting, turning that chair sideways to catch more of the sun. “Lord, it gets cold in this room,” she said, pouring herself a measure of sherry. “I must say, though, the sun makes it almost bearable.”

“You’ve got thin Southern blood, that’s your problem. Keep your thermostat set at sixty and always wear no more than two layers of clothing. That’ll toughen you up.”

“Ugh.” She took a sip of sherry. “My mamma would call this a little tot.” She drawled the expression. “Every drink to my mamma is either a little tot or a splash. A tot of wine. A splash of bourbon.” She took another small sip. “So. What do you think?”

“What do you think?” Russ countered.

“I think Alyson’s not being entirely honest. I can’t say why. It’s not as if I know her or her family. It was just . . . something off.”

“Mmmm. I agree. You notice that we still don’t know what Katie’s connection to St. Alban’s is. Alyson only mentioned knowing her from school. Maybe that’s what she’s hiding.”

“Why, though? I mean, if you consider Alyson as a suspect, which I find very difficult to do, what possible motive could she have?”

“Jealousy? Rivalry?”

“They moved in entirely different circles, it sounds like. I remember Ethan Stoner from that fight you broke up on Friday. I realize he wasn’t showing at his best, but I find it hard to believe that even cleaned up and sober, he’d appeal to Alyson.”

“Hmmm mmmm. Ethan Stoner. I hate to think he could do something as bad as this. He was awful edgy and upset that night, wasn’t he?” Abstracted by thought, his upstate accent thickened, so that “wasn’t he” came out “wun’t he?” “Maybe he had real reason to be so upset.”

“Are you going to go out and talk to him this afternoon?”

“No. If I’m going to move him onto the list of possibles, I want more information first. There’s a good piece of advice about interrogating suspects: never ask a question you don’t already know the answer to. Not that you ever know all the answers. But if I haul Ethan in now, I’ll be working in the dark. No, I’m going to find Katie’s parents first, if I can, or her sister. Get a handle on who she was, what she was about.”