“I told you. We believe there’s a possibility your sister was murdered.”
She could see Jeff from the corner of her eye, his stare burning into her. She had used the plural tense, making him complicit in what very well may be her own fiction, and she knew he was going to give her hell once they left.
“What makes you think that?”
“For starters,” Ashley said, “she received a death threat last week.”
“My sister was an Assistant District Attorney of New York City. I’m sure she got death threats all the time. Is this really what you journalists do now, just make shit up?”
“John, like I said, Melissa was my best friend. I just … I know she wouldn’t do something like this. It wasn’t in her nature.”
He was silent for a few seconds, then sighed and held out his hands. “So what do you want from me?”
She glanced at Jeff, asking silently if he wanted to take the ball. It was clear he didn’t want to, but he gave her a slight nod and cleared his throat.
“Have you checked your email today?”
John gave a slight shake of the head. “No.”
“According to police, your sister sent you-as well as your mother and siblings-an email detailing why she … did what she did.”
“You mean she wrote a suicide email?”
An uncomfortable nod. “Something along those lines, yes.”
“And so, what”-John turned his attention back to Ashley-“you want me to show you that email?”
“You don’t have to show us,” she said. “We just want to confirm the email exists. And, well, if you wanted to share, then-”
“I’m sorry, but you guys can go fuck yourselves.”
Ashley said nothing. Neither did Jeff. They exchanged a quick glance, both silently acknowledging that this charade had come to an end.
“Well, John,” she said, digging in her purse for a card, “thank you for your time. If you ever want to talk about anything, feel free to call.”
She held the card out to him, and when he didn’t take it, she set it on the counter. Looked once more at Jeff, who nodded, and they turned and started toward the front of the store.
John said, “Wait.”
They paused, turned back around.
“You were really friends with my sister?”
“Yes.”
“What was her birthday?”
“August 17, 1982.”
“Where did you guys have lunch yesterday?”
“The Grove.”
“What did you have to eat?”
“Salads. Melissa the Insalata Caprese, I had the Arugula and Roasted Pear.”
“What were her kids’ names?”
“Jackson and Stewart.”
John was quiet for a moment, chewing this over, digesting it. Finally he nodded and turned to the computer on the countertop.
“So you think this email, if she truly sent one, will explain things?”
She exchanged another cautious glance with Jeff, trying to hide her excitement. “That’s what we’re hoping, yes.”
John was quiet for a moment as he typed. He stared at the screen, moved the mouse, typed some more. Finally he shook his head.
“Sorry to break it to you, but unless you’re looking for Viagra spam, there isn’t any email.”
fifteen
They thank me for my time and leave the store. I ask them if they’re sure they don’t want to buy any books, but I think they know I’m fucking with them and go on their merry way. Once they exit and start up the stone steps, I turn back to the computer screen.
I was lying-there is an email.
It’s from Melissa’s personal Yahoo account, and it’s addressed to me, Valerie, Paul, Dave, and our mother. It was sent last night at 3:17 a.m. The subject line is blank. I glance back up toward the front of the store to make sure my two new friends haven’t decided to come back to ask a few more questions. When I’m certain they’re gone for good, I open the email.
im glad hes dead he was a monster and did things to me ive never been able to forget i cant live this lie anymore my god oh my god im sorry my babies
I read it once, then twice, then three times, not sure what to think each time. I try reading between the lines. I try parsing each word and the order of the words. Does the he in this email refer to Melissa’s husband, or to our deceased father, or … to someone else?
The bell above the door jingles.
I don’t bother looking up. I keep my focus on the computer screen. I read my sister’s suicide email a fourth time. Imagining Melissa typing this after she killed her family. Imagining Melissa typing this before she killed her family, her husband and children both asleep in their beds and completely unaware that they would be dead very soon.
Whoever has entered the store, they’ve made their way past the stacks and tables of books at the front to the counter here in the middle. They’re standing right in front of me, but still I keep my eyes on the computer, reading the email now for a fifth time.
I think maybe the person might get the hint, wander away, but they stay right where they are in front of the counter.
“Can I help you?” I ask, not bothering to hide my irritation.
The person doesn’t speak right away. A lengthy second or two passes, and then a deep masculine voice says, “I wanted to apologize.”
I blink but keep my focus on the monitor. “Apologize about what?”
“Yesterday, when I pushed you off the platform, that was supposed to be the end of it. The train would run you over and kill you instantly.”
My eyes shift slowly, from the monitor to the man standing on the other side of the counter. He’s dressed like a businessman-charcoal gray suit, striped tie, black shiny shoes. He even carries a briefcase in one hand.
The only thing that doesn’t quite go with the getup is the gun in his other hand.
“It would have been quick and relatively painless. But now this, well”-he shrugs-“I’m afraid this will hurt quite a bit.”
sixteen
They had walked only two blocks, neither one speaking, when Ashley abruptly stopped, turned, and started back the way they had come.
“Where are you going?” Jeff asked, keeping pace beside her.
“I want to talk to him again.”
He stepped in front of her. “Ashley, you can’t.”
She went to step around him and he matched her movement, keeping her in place.
“Jeff, get out of my way.”
“You’ve already done enough to that poor guy.”
“I think he was lying.”
“What?”
“About the email. I was watching his eyes. I think the email did come through.”
She tried to move past him again. This time he took hold of her arm, gently held her in place.
“Even if it did, he’s not going to show you. Especially if you barge back in there. He’ll shut down more than he already has.”
Ashley mulled this over, playing the different possibilities, the different outcomes. They were down in the Village, only a few blocks away from her place, in fact. Maybe she should just call it a day. Part ways with Jeff and head back to her apartment and veg out on the couch with Rex. Try to stay away from the wine in the cabinet. Try to ignore all the different places she had Percocet hidden.
“You should go,” she told him. “Head back to the office, go home, whatever. I appreciate the help, but obviously this has been a waste of time.”
He stepped back, releasing his gentle grip from her arm. “No, it was … interesting. Definitely a different way to mix up the day.”
She smiled but said nothing, though her intentions must have been clearly written on her face.
“Don’t,” Jeff said again.
“You don’t have to go with me. Like I told you, head back to the office.”
“I think I should stick around to be a witness for your insanity plea.”
“I just want to talk to him for another minute, that’s all. Ask a few more questions, then I’ll be out of his hair.”
Now it was Jeff’s turn to mull it over, his lips tight again as he considered the different possibilities, the different outcomes. Finally he sighed. “Two minutes, that’s it.”