Beautiful Affliction(21)

Phew. I shake my head at myself. I was probably just being paranoid. I think that Jody Hall's murder has me and everyone else on edge. The police still haven't made any headway. I put the bags down to get a better grip, then continue the walk toward the house, cursing myself for not getting my driver's license renewed. Without a license, and on Aaron's day off, I was forced to make the trek into town by foot and by bus to get these last minute supplies for the dinner party tonight.

When I finally reach the house, I press the security code into the front pad and the side door buzzes open. I smile up at the new security camera that's trained on the door, one of the many that Aaron had put in earlier this week. By the time I reach the front door, my arms are aching with the weight of the groceries. I hear the sound of gravel crunching behind me and glance around.

"Let me help you with those," Mr. Redmond says, grabbing a couple of the bags.

"Thank you, sir," I reply. From his sweats and tight athletic shirt, it's clear he's just returning from a jog. I manage to take just a single, secretive glance at his jacked upper body as he tucks his iPod into his pocket to help me.

"I got it," he says, as I reach for the keypad next to the front door. "Hi, Mom," he says as Mrs. Redmond walks through the foyer as we enter. I notice her frown slightly as she watches her son help me with the groceries. She walks just ahead of us toward the kitchen, talking over her shoulder as we go.

"So now Whitney has decided that she is coming," she says. "I told her that she should have told me earlier, which I thought clearly meant she should not come, but then she just texted me that she's on her way!"

"Mom, it's fine. We've clearly got enough food," Mr. Redmond says.

"That's not the point!" she retorts as we set the food on the counter and I begin unpacking it. Ms. Mueller turns to us from her perpetual station over the stove. I smile, enjoying hearing this billionaire, this titan of industry, having to talk down his mother.

"It'll work out Mom. We can always just add another table," he says, walking over to Ms. Mueller, who looks at him fondly. As I slide the crisper in the fridge closed and turn back to the bag on the counter, I see a slip of paper sticking out between the apples still left inside. Thinking the receipt has torn and needing it for the files, I carefully pick it up and turn it over. It's not the receipt. It's a piece of scrap paper on which someone has written, Be careful. It was someone in the house.

"Cora? Cora?" I look around confused to see that everyone is staring at me, and realize that Brent has been repeating my name. "Are you alright?" he says, walking over to me.

"Um, no," I reply, chewing my lip as I stare down at the note in my hand. Seeing where I'm looking, he reaches his hand forward. At the last second, I snap out of my trance and pull the note away. "No, don't touch it. Fingerprints."

"Fingerprints?" he echoes, frowning. I turn the paper toward him so he can read it and watch his face carefully as he does so. His expression doesn't betray his emotions, but I hear him take a deep breath.

"It says it was someone in the house. I assume regarding Jody," Mr. Redmond finally announces. "I'll call Detective Donohue." He walks over to a drawer and pulls out a plastic sandwich bag as Mrs. Redmond and Ms. Mueller watch frozen in shock. As he shakes it open in front of me, I understand what he's doing, and I obediently drop the paper inside it.

"I'll be in my room," I say as he walks to the phone, leaving the other two women looking on. I need to start working while it's still fresh in my mind.

In my room, I flip to a fresh sheet of paper—it's lined, but it'll have to do—and take out a pencil. I close my eyes for a moment, picturing the man on the bus, and then begin with the line of his narrow mouth because that's what stuck out to me. Some time passes, I don't know how much because I always lose track when I'm drawing, and I hear a knock on the door.

"Come in!" I call out. I don't look up, but can smell Mr. Redmond's normal oaky scent mixed with sweat.

"The police are on their way," he tells me. I realize he's waiting for me to respond.

"I have to do this now. I can't talk but you can wait." I'm concentrating so hard that I don't realize how rude it is to talk to my boss, or anyone, that way, but I see him sit down out of the corner of my eye. I begin to shade in the man's hair, remembering how pin straight it was, spiky at the front, and then short on the sides. I take a breath and sit back for just a moment, looking at the overall impression, then dive back in, seeing that his nose needs to be narrower over the bridge. I sit back again, and gently color in the eyes a little darker. Yes, I think that's him. Or as close to him as I can get. Maybe when I was in art school I could have done better. With a start, I remember Mr. Redmond is sitting behind me. I swing around in my chair.