Too Close to Home

I saw Donna’s sister Heather, whom I recognized from the times she and her family had come to Promise Falls to visit.

She was standing with her husband, Edward, when I approached, with Ellen and Derek flanking me. It took her a second to realize who I was.

Ellen said, “We’re so sorry.”

Heather nodded, and said, “Have you heard?”

“We’ve heard something,” I said. “But just bits and pieces.”

“I was speaking with Detective Duckworth,” she said. I had spotted him in the crowd earlier. “They went to speak with a man, his name was Colin McKindrick.”

Of course, I thought. The man whose son had been beaten to death with a baseball bat by Anthony Colapinto.

“Yes?” I said.

“And when they were knocking on the door, saying they wanted to talk to him about the threats he’d made to Albert, he told them to go away, told them he’d shoot if they came in. And then, a minute later, a gun went off in the house, and when they went in, Mr. McKindrick was dead.” Heather put her hand over her mouth, overcome. “He’d shot himself in the head.” Edward put his arm around her and held her close.

“Dear God,” I said.

Edward asked me, “Who’s this McKindrick?”

“McKindrick had said something to Albert, that he’d get even with him, or something along those lines, when the boy who’d been charged in his son’s death was acquitted. Albert persuaded the jury that the Colapinto boy had acted in self-defense.”

Heather shook her head, overwhelmed by the enormity of it all.

Ellen reached out and touched Heather’s arm. “Again, we’re so sorry. We’ll let you go.” Our signal to move on.

Once we had moved away, Ellen said, “What do you make of that?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Has to make you wonder.”

“Maybe it’s over.”

“Could be,” I said.

“They come to the man’s house, want to ask him about Albert, and then he kills himself?”

“What?” asked Derek. “So they think he must have killed Adam and his parents?”

“Police come to your door, want to ask you about these murders, you take your own life, looks kind of incriminating,” Ellen said. “He must have been so torn apart. Losing a son, then, if he did kill the Langleys, dealing with the guilt.”

I still didn’t know what to think. Ellen continued, “Bad enough you kill the lawyer for keeping the guy who killed your kid out of jail, but why his wife and son? Maybe that was part of the deal. He lost his son, he figured he’d take away Albert’s, and his wife, too.”

As tragic as the news was, it had the effect of a weight being lifted off our shoulders. If there was any truth to the conclusions we were jumping to, it meant maybe I’d be able to let this business of Conrad and the computer go.

Ellen shook her head sadly. Derek, looking very uncomfortable in his suit and tie on this very warm day, said, “I just want to go home.”

I did, too. We turned to head for the parking lot, and standing there in front of us were Conrad Chase, his wife, Illeana, and a woman I did not recognize. Thin, silver hair, early sixties, makeup that struck me as a bit overdone, understated but expensive-looking earrings and a large rock on one of her fingers. Her cream slacks and red silk blouse were casually elegant. A little too nice for everyday wear, but not quite subdued enough for a funeral service.

“Jim, Ellen,” Conrad said, a little more pleasantly than I might have expected, given the exchange we’d had the last time we’d seen each other. He gave a nod to our son, and added, “Derek.”

“Conrad, Illeana,” I said. I turned to the silver-haired woman. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Elizabeth Hunt,” she said.

“Jim Cutter,” I said. “And this is my wife, Ellen, and our son, Derek.”

“Pleased,” she said. “I understand that was quite a moving service they just had in there.”

“Elizabeth is just meeting us for lunch,” Conrad explained. “She drove in from her place on the lake.” He paused, then, “Elizabeth is my literary agent.” He said this like he was telling me he had a new car.

“Well,” I said. “That’s great.”

“It was just so sad in there,” Conrad commented, nodding in the direction of the church. “So, so sad.” Conrad’s sorrow, like so many of his emotional expressions, seemed designed for show. “But we all have to move forward in our own ways, isn’t that right?”

There were some general murmurings about how that was true, although not from me.

“Jim,” Conrad said, “Elizabeth here might be able to put you onto some agents who handle artists. What I said the other day, it may not have come out right, but I was sincere.”

“What?” Ellen said. I hadn’t repeated for her, word for word, what Conrad had said to me when we’d had our talk.

“Actually,” said Elizabeth, “I’m afraid I don’t really have that much involvement with-”

“That’s all right,” I said. I had some sympathy for her, getting dragged into Conrad’s shenanigans. “That won’t be necessary.”

Illeana spoke up. “Elizabeth has enough to deal with, prying Conrad’s latest book out of his hands.”

Ellen’s eyes widened. “You’ve finished a book? A new book?”