“She asked us to stay out of it,” Julie said.
“Are you saying you’re comfortable doing nothing?” I said. “What, you just want to sit by while your friend is the victim of domestic violence?”
“Allegedly,” Julie said. “She’s allegedly a victim—we don’t know that for sure.”
“Yes, you’re right,” Alison said in an acid voice. “And he allegedly destroyed their kitchen, and allegedly squeezed her wrist hard enough to bruise, and allegedly grabbed her at the Chens’ house and allegedly threw her into a door.”
There was silence for a moment so long that I thought we’d lost the connection. Finally, I said, “Hello? Julie?”
Julie let out a sigh, like a balloon deflating. “Okay, okay, I’ll go with you. But I don’t want Heather to find out.”
I thought that was more than we could promise, but before I had a chance to respond, Alison said quickly, “Don’t worry—she won’t.”
chapter seven
JULIE
It wasn’t until we turned in to Janice Franz’s neighborhood the following Saturday that we thought about how it would look for three complete strangers to show up on her doorstep.
“I think it should just be Julie,” Sarah said, pulling her minivan over to the side of the road and putting her blinkers on so we could plan. Alison rode shotgun and I’d taken the backseat.
“Me?” I spluttered, dribbling the coffee I’d brought down my chin. “I didn’t even want to come on this trip!”
“She might feel threatened,” Alison said, passing back a tissue. “But you’re so friendly that you’ll melt any possible hostility.” Sarah nodded and I wondered if they’d talked ahead of time, waiting to spring this on me. Why had I agreed to be part of this plan?
“You’ll have to be careful about how you bring up the abuse,” Alison said. “Even if she seems eager to talk about Viktor’s behavior, I’d still be careful about using the actual word.”
“I’m no good at this sort of thing!” I protested. “I don’t want to have this conversation at all.”
“Oh, you’ll be great.” Sarah waved a hand dismissively. “Everybody loves you. As soon as you mention Viktor you can gauge her reaction. If she can’t stand him, then you can probably bring up domestic violence right away.”
“That still wouldn’t be proof that he’s hurting Heather,” I said.
“Yes, but if he battered his first wife, then maybe we can use that to help Heather,” Alison said. “And maybe if she knows that Viktor did this to another woman, and how bad it got, that would be enough to convince her to leave him.”
This seemed like wishful thinking to me. Heather had denied being abused; I didn’t see her leaving any time soon. As Sarah pulled back onto the road, I started to sweat, nervous about what I would say.
Sarah drove slowly, searching the house numbers along the steep street. Penn Hills has lots of small brick homes—ranches and Cape Cods—some on slightly bigger lots than others, but most of them modest, middle-class houses. I thought of Viktor and Heather’s neo-Gothic stone estate in Sewickley Heights. Apparently Viktor’s ex hadn’t done well in the divorce.
The destination turned out to be a tiny ranch with lace curtains in the front window and a wooden sign declaring GOD BLESS THIS HOME hanging from the front door. “His ex lives here?” Sarah said with surprise, as Alison double-checked the address. We circled the block once, before Sarah pulled up out front. I hoped Janice wasn’t peeking out from behind those curtains, wondering about the strange van parked outside her house. I got out and turned up the short concrete walk. As I rang the bell, I could feel Alison and Sarah watching from the car. Other than its faint chiming, there was no other noise from inside the house. The neighborhood was quiet, except for the distant sounds of traffic on the main road and some far-off neighbor’s leaf blower. I waited a few minutes and rang the bell again. It felt like an eternity before the door finally opened.
A short, squat older woman with a soft cloud of graying hair stood there with an inquiring look. Dozens of little white hairs clung to her navy-blue sweater, and a powerful aroma of cat made me take a step back. I was so surprised by her age that I just blinked for a second, unable to speak. “Yes?” she said, beating me to the punch. “Did you want something?”
“Yes, hi, maybe I’m at the wrong house. I’m looking for Janice Franz?”
“I’m Janice Franz.”
“Oh, um, you are? I mean, you’re not who I was expecting.”
“Are you selling something, miss? I’m sorry, but I already gave to the Boy Scouts and the United Way—” She tried to close the door and I stuck my foot out to block her.
“I’m not with any organization, I’m a Realtor, but—”
“I’m not interested in selling at this time.”
“No, no, it’s not that—I’m sorry, this is awkward, but I was expecting someone young—that is, closer to my age. The Janice Franz who was married to a Viktor Lysenko?”
The confusion on the woman’s face disappeared, but something else settled in its place. It was an odd expression; her eyes were sad, but the set of her jaw suggested she expected a fight. “You’re confusing me with my daughter—Janice Marie Franz. I’m Janice Lee Franz.”
“Oh, I see,” I said, unsure. This wasn’t going at all according to plan. A white cat with black spots poked his head out the door, snaking his way through the woman’s legs. “I thought this was your daughter’s house. Is she by any chance living here? Or could you tell me how to get in touch with her?”
The woman’s face turned red and for a moment I thought she was furious, but then tears welled in her eyes and she said, “My daughter is dead.”
Startled, I blurted “She’s dead?” before catching myself and hastily adding, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Who are you?” she said. “What do you want with Janice?”
“I’m sorry, it’s just—she was once married to Viktor Lysenko, right?”
“Yes, Viktor was her husband, why are you asking?”
“I don’t want to bring you more pain, Mrs. Franz, but if you don’t mind my asking—how did Janice die?”
“What is this about?” The woman’s voice rose. “Why would you come to my house and question me about my precious daughter? Did you know Janice? Is that why you’re asking?”
“No, I didn’t. I’m sorry, it’s just that I know Viktor.”
The red on her face deepened and her eyes narrowed. “Did he send you here? He’s hoping I’ll sell up and retire out-of-state.”
“So you’re still friendly with your former son-in-law?”
Another snort. “Friendly? If by friendly you mean the court case is over.”
“Court case?”
“I’m sure he sent you out here to dig up some reason to make me give up my visitation rights. Well, you can tell him it ain’t gonna happen.”
“Visitation? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The old woman snorted. “You can tell Viktor I’m not talking to his hussy—if he wants to talk with me, then let him come himself.” She nudged the cat back with her foot and slammed the door.
Hussy? I was torn between indignation and amusement. As I headed back down the walk, a movement caught the corner of my eye, and I turned to see the old woman yanking aside one of the lace curtains and watching me, another, darker cat cradled in her arms. What if she called Viktor?
Sarah pulled out as soon as I got in the backseat. “I hope she didn’t see my license plate,” she said as we drove over a hill and the house disappeared from view. I told them what the old woman had said and how she’d reacted when I mentioned Viktor.
“It’s not like we’re breaking any law,” Sarah said, and she sounded like she was trying to convince herself. “It’s a free country—it’s perfectly legal to ask any question we want.”
Yes, but legal and explainable could be two very different things. Had I told Janice Franz my last name? I hoped not.
“Any evidence Viktor abused her daughter?” Alison said as she pulled out her phone to search for the obit.