Mrs. Shaw let go of the death grip she had on the doorframe. “I still don’t know if Tim believes me.”
“May we come in?”
She peered out a little and gave a long stare toward the Caldwells’ house across the street. “Okay, fine.”
Inside, the living room that was once very tidy looked messy. Mrs. Shaw quickly gathered up a few things so they had a place to sit. She dumped the pile into the corner. “I’m sorry for the mess. I’m still not feeling…” Her words trailed off.
“Is everything okay between you and your husband?”
“Yes. Thank you for asking.” Her words and tone were proper. “So what can I do for you?”
“As you probably know, your conversation is not the only one that has been recorded. Dozens are on there. We’re trying to figure out how this person is doing it. One theory is that he or she may have planted a listening device inside your home.”
Mrs. Shaw looked startled. “You mean, like a bug?”
“Yes. They can be very small and virtually undetectable.”
“But nobody’s really been to our house except friends and family.”
“No repair jobs? painting? Anybody like that?”
“No. Not that I can recall.”
“Do you remember where the conversation took place? the one that ended up on the Web site?”
“Right in here. By that window. Tim was angry. He was staring out the window at the Caldwells’. Standing right there.” Mrs. Shaw pointed to a spot near the center of the window.
“Gavin, get your flashlight, start looking under tables, lamps that sort of thing.”
Gavin started with the coffee table.
Mrs. Shaw watched, disbelief in her eyes. She shifted her focus back to Frank. “Tim’s a good man.”
“I’m sure you love him very much.”
“No, please, listen. That night… the night he said those things, he was angry. Do you understand that? He was saying those words to me. He was just venting. Nobody else was supposed to hear them. And when he found out they were on that Web site…”
“Yes, ma’am. I know. He lost his temper.”
“He would never intentionally harm me. You have to believe that.”
Frank gestured toward the TV. “Have you noticed any interference? any strange sounds coming from your electronic devices?”
“No,” Mrs. Shaw said, watching Gavin check their phone.
“Or while you’re on the phone, has it sounded funny?”
“No.”
Gavin turned off his flashlight and returned to the couch. “I can’t find anything out of the ordinary. I mean, besides this entire situation.”
Frank shot him a look. He quickly sat back down.
Mrs. Shaw gazed out the window again. “Are we going to be charged? for the cat incident?”
“It’s not up to us,” Frank said. “The reports have been turned over to the DA. He’ll make that decision.”
She sniffled and fingered the material of her pants. “One day everything is normal, you know? Everything is fine. And then it’s gone. Suddenly, like a blink of the eye, your life has changed forever.”
Frank noticed Gavin staring at him. Mrs. Shaw looked at him with an unusual expression too.
Frank stood, blowing out a hard sigh, shaking off the heaviness that suddenly engulfed him. “I know, Mrs. Shaw. I know exactly what you mean.”
14
“This is stupid! This is so stupid!” Stomp, stomp, stomp. “My father is a moron! You’re a moron, Father!”
Damien sat at the kitchen table, sipping orange juice as he listened to chaos erupt one story up.
Even Kay joined in. “Damien,” she hollered down the stairs, “what time is it? You didn’t give us enough time!”
Damien checked the kitchen clock. “You’re fine. You’ve got plenty of time.”
“I hate you for this!” Jenna continued. At age five, the word hate got her a time-out, and this kind of tantrum at eight would’ve gotten her grounded. But these days, it was a hopeful sign that her emotions were all still intact.
Hunter descended the stairs first, his feet dragging down each step as if someone had poured lead in his shoes.
“Looking nice, dude,” Damien said when he got to the bottom.
Hunter scowled, then went to the fridge to get the orange juice.
“Your sister and mother are taking it well,” Damien quipped, adding a smirk.
Hunter smirked back. “Yeah. I think Jenna’s going to light you on fire with her tongue. If she ever makes it down here.”
“Oh, she’s going to make it down here all right.” Damien waited patiently, his resolve building with each minute that ticked by. Yes, this was a good move. Taking your family to church helped build a foundation, and that was what they needed right now. Some help out of the quicksand they’d found themselves sinking in.
A loud thumping, like roofers were up top, caused Damien to look up. Jenna stomped down the stairs, glaring harder with each step.
Damien smiled. “You look beautiful. Thanks for getting up early for this.” She actually wore a dress that fluttered around her legs as if she were wrapped in a white butterfly.
“Save it,” she said, throwing open the door to the fridge.
“More of that talk and we might have to make this a weekly tradition,” Damien said, an eyebrow raised.
She peeked around the fridge door. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
“Ugh.” She rolled her eyes.
“This is more for you than me,” Hunter said, casting an evil grin her direction.
“Shut up. Please shut up about it. I’ve got a headache. Probably because I had to wake up at the stroke of midnight.”
“You’re only eight hours off,” Hunter said.
Damien snapped his fingers at him. This could go on for hours if he didn’t run interference.
Jenna noticed the orange juice already on the table and grabbed a glass. She tossed herself into a chair. “You just don’t get it. I’m exhausted. I don’t need another day to wake up early.”
“You can take a nap later,” Damien said.
“Whatever.” She scanned the orange juice carton. “Can anybody say ‘pulp-free’? How hard is it?”
Kay hurried down the stairs, fingering her hair. “How do I look?”
“Really nice. Love the dress.”
“This old thing? Ugh. But I wear suits all week. Didn’t want to wear another.”
“Why do we have to dress up anyway?” Jenna moaned.
“Because that’s the proper way to dress,” Kay said. “Your bra strap is showing, by the way.”
“Just shoot me,” she said, laying her head on the table.
“Let’s save that for later,” Damien said, standing and grabbing his suit jacket. He smiled. “Now, off to the torture chamber.”
Otherwise known as church.
The two-mile drive was relatively quiet, except for an occasional grunt coming from the backseat. There was something different about Sunday mornings. The air sparkled with freshness. The noises all seemed subdued. People waved and walked their dogs. Maybe he should bring the Sunday morning drive back.
Better yet, write it as an op-ed piece! Perfect.
He remembered going to church with his parents. His father dressed in his best suit, an expensive fedora topping his head. It was the only time his dad wore a hat or showed his mother any affection. On Sundays they held hands and talked lightly.
The mood was quite different in his own car, but maybe it would change once they got there.
The church parking lot was crowded, and Damien hesitated, wondering if a two-year absence qualified him as a visitor.
“Right there,” Jenna said. “It’s wide open.”
Damien pulled in and parked. Everyone except him was slow to get out. Damien led his family to the front entrance.
A greeter opened the door and smiled. “Welcome.”
They stepped into the large sanctuary. A balcony loomed above them like an encroaching thunderstorm. Plenty of seats to choose from on the lower level. “Where do you want to sit?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Jenna muttered, her arms crossed.