She and Marge had remained close over the years, and when she confided gossip to Marge, Brenda knew it would not go any further. A medium-sized woman with short gray hair and narrow shoulders, she liked her job at the Crowleys’, but did not like them. She considered June Crowley stuck-up and cheap, and her husband full of himself and a total bore. The one person in the family she cared about was Alan. The poor kid got stuck with those two. In their eyes, he can’t do anything right. When he gets an A in school, it should have been an A+.
I know he’s got a temper, Brenda often thought to herself, but I swear those two drive him to it.
Their constant hope was that in September Alan would be enrolled in an Ivy League college so they could brag to their friends.
They’re always after him, Brenda confided to Marge. “If I were in his boots, I’d have applied to the University of Hawaii just to get away from them.
“Of course, I wasn’t there over the weekend when that poor girl was killed. But I gather that when the Crowleys found out that a cop had come over and talked to Alan, they hit the ceiling. And now all I hear around town is that everyone thinks that Alan did it.
“The way the Crowleys are carrying on, I swear I wonder if they don’t think so themselves.”
19
The business of picking up the pieces after Kerry’s death began to fall into place. Aline helped her mother with the personal notes to the people who had sent floral tributes to the wake.
By unspoken understanding they had closed the door to Kerry’s room. The bed, still freshly made, was covered by the blue-and-white coverlet Kerry had chosen when she was sixteen.
Her clothes were in the closet. The woolly Lassie dog that she had carried under her arm when she was a toddler was perched on a bench in front of the window.
Originally the plan was to place Lassie in the casket with her, but at the last minute Fran had told Steve and Aline that she wanted to keep it.
Fran had been adamant that they find a contractor to “demo” the pool, to remove any trace that it had ever existed. Steve had persuaded her to compromise. They would close the pool for the season. They would decide next spring if they should get rid of it.
In these ten days before school opened Aline had tried to sort out her own thinking. Kerry and I were different siblings hatched in the same nest, she thought. Kerry was so beautiful from the moment she opened her eyes.
Aline was ten years old then, too skinny, with teeth that obviously would need to be straightened, and mousy brown hair that hung limp on her shoulders.
But I adored her. There wasn’t ever sibling rivalry. It was just that we were two different people. I used to beg mom to be the one who pushed her in the baby carriage.
But then there were other differences. From day one I was a voracious reader. I threw myself into books. I wanted to be Jane Eyre, or Catherine running on the moors with Heathcliff. I wanted to show how smart I was. From the first grade I wanted to be first in the class and I made it.
The only sport I got into was tennis, and I loved it because it was so competitive. “Forty-love” was music to my ears.
Columbia was my first choice for college, and I got in. Then a master’s degree in psychology.
And then becoming engaged to Rick. He was a graduate student when we met, and then that was it for both of us. His height made me feel small, so protected.
He was relatively local, from Hastings-on-Hudson, only forty minutes from Saddle River. Rick used to say his ambition was to get his doctorate and then teach in college, Aline mused. I told him I wanted to teach in high school and/or become a guidance counselor. I had just completed my master’s and he his doctorate when we set the date for our wedding.
Four years ago. We had made all the arrangements for the big day. Mom and I picked out my gown. I was going to wear her veil, Aline remembered. We had dinner here that night and then Rick drove home.
The call from his father had come three hours later. Rick had a head-on collision with a drunk driver and died in the hospital. The drunk driver didn’t have a scratch.
How did I pick up the pieces? Aline asked herself. I knew I had to get away. That was why I took the job at the International School in London.
Three years ago. Only coming home for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Three years of waiting for the pain to ease, and then finally beginning to wake up in the morning without Rick being the first thought on my mind.
Three years of casual dates since then, but never any interest in letting them progress.
And this last year the need had come to be home, to be in daily contact with her parents and all the friends she had left behind.
Instead she had returned to find the little sister she loved a murder victim. There is something I can do, she thought, and that is to be here for them. She had intended to get her own apartment in Manhattan, but that could wait.
Who had taken Kerry’s life? Who could have done that to someone who had so much promise, who had her whole life to live?
It’s not going to happen again, Aline vowed. Whoever took Kerry’s life is going to pay the price for it. I like Mike Wilson. I think he’s smart and capable. But how can I help him?
There was one possible way. Most of the kids who were at the party would be back in school. If any of them knew more than they were telling Mike and the other cops, maybe they’d be more loose-lipped as time passed.
The police may be zeroing in on Alan Crowley, Aline thought. But from what I gather, the evidence against him is strong but not overwhelming.
Since graduating from high school, Aline had remained in close touch with the principal, Pat Tarleton. A month earlier Pat had emailed her about an opening in the Guidance Department. Would she be interested?
It was the job she wanted, and the timing was right. With Kerry having graduated, she would be spared the awkwardness of having her big sister work at the same school.
20
Marge was living in a state of suspended animation. Instinctively she had felt that when Detective Wilson stopped in the day Kerry’s body was found, he had observed Jamie looking for her approval. Although she believed he had not told anyone about going into Kerry’s pool, it was always possible he would blurt it out to someone. It didn’t help that sometimes out of the blue he would refer back to it with her.
“Mom, I didn’t tell anybody about going swimming with Kerry.”
Her reassurances were quick and hushed. “That’s our secret, dear. We don’t talk about secrets.”
Every day, when she left him at the Acme market, she held her breath until she picked him up. Without realizing why, she found herself driving him both ways, instead of letting him walk.
As soon as he got home, she would ask him who he had talked to at work and what they had spoken about. Sometimes he would finish his answer with a triumphant smile. “And I didn’t tell anybody I went swimming with Kerry.” Marge was conflicted. She wanted to keep track of anyone he was speaking to. On the other hand, were these conversations making him think even more about what happened the night Kerry died?
It made things worse when he suddenly began to talk about “the Big Guy” in the woods. Jack’s affectionate nickname for Jamie was “the Big Guy.” Trying to sound casual, she asked him, “What about the Big Guy, Jamie?”
“He hit Kerry and pushed her in the pool,” he said matter-of-factly.
Marge forced herself to ask, “Jamie, who is the Big Guy?”
“Daddy called me the Big Guy. Remember, Mom?”
Her throat went dry. Marge whispered, “I remember, Jamie. I remember.”
Marge knew that she could not bear the burden alone. Her consuming worry was that the police might try to blame Jamie, especially since he had told them about swimming with Kerry, but she knew it wasn’t right to hide the truth from them.
The previous evening Jamie had told her a big guy had come around from the bushes after the first guy left, and he had hit Kerry on the head and pushed her in the pool.