Bundle of Trouble(21)

Jones pulled open the front door. The fresh air relieved my nausea, a bit. We walked in silence down the front steps.

Once on the curb, Jones gestured to a car parked nearby. “This your car?”

I shook my head and pointed to my Chevy Cavalier parked down the street.

“You want to follow me downtown?” he asked. “Or you want to ride with me?”

“I can drive myself?”

“Sure, no problem. You’re going voluntarily, right?”

Was I?

From the relative safety of my car, which I was happy to see had not been broken into again, I dialed home and instructed Mom to give Laurie a formula bottle.

The only good thing about my initially being rated “poor” at breastfeeding in the hospital was that, upon hearing this, Mom had immediately run out and bought formula. When I caught her smuggling it into my pantry, she had mumbled, “Just in case.”

Which I took to mean: “Just in case you’re too lame to get the hang of what every mother has been doing naturally since the beginning of time.”

Outwardly I was a little offended; inwardly I was relieved. Just in case I was too lame, there was no reason for Laurie to starve. Besides, you never know when you’re going to stumble across a dead friend and need your mom to feed the baby.





At the station, I was escorted by Jones to a small room with a mirror, a table, and a few chairs. On the table was a box of tissues, a couple of notepads, and a small recorder. Jones sat across from me and hooked a microphone into the recorder.

“Do I need a lawyer?” I asked nervously.

Jones smiled. “For what?”

I shrugged.

“Mrs. Connolly, you are not under arrest. I just want to get a statement from you. You want coffee or something?”

“No.”

“Water? Soda?”

“Water would be nice.”

Jones continued fussing with the recorder. A female officer appeared in the doorway with my water. I glanced from her to the mirror. Two-way mirror? Who else was watching me?

“I need a few things from my desk, okay?” Jones said, “Drink the water. Relax. I’ll be back in a minute.” He left me alone in the room.

I drank my water and waited and waited. My breasts were starting to burn. I glanced at my watch. It was feeding time. I doubled-checked myself in the two-way mirror. Thankfully my breasts hadn’t leaked through my blouse; otherwise, I’d have given whoever it was on the other end quite a show.

At least half an hour passed before Jones returned empty-handed. Empty-handed but with McNearny by his side. He’d been buying time for McNearny to return.

Both officers seated themselves across from me, Jones smiling, McNearny scowling.

Jones leaned forward and said the date and time into the microphone. He mentioned all our names then looked up at me. “Mrs. Connolly, can you tell us the last time you saw Michelle Avery?”

“The day before yesterday.”

“Where was that?” Jones asked.

“At her house. She’d invited me for lunch.”

“Tell us about it,” Jones said.

I shrugged. “She was very upset. She was drinking. She drank a bottle of wine while I was there.”

“Was that unusual for her?” Jones asked.

“I don’t know. I thought so. A whole bottle? But, you know, you’re right, I hadn’t seen her in a long time. I have no idea what her drinking habits were.”

McNearny cleared his throat. “So, she was a drunk.”

“I’m not saying that. I don’t really know. I just know she was upset . . .”

Jones leaned in close to me. “So upset, you think maybe she could have killed herself?”

Before I could answer, McNearny said, “You got her suicide note in your purse or anything?”

“What?” I practically yelled. The anger that bubbled up inside me turned to tears. I plucked a tissue from the box on the table and wiped at my eyes. Jones bowed his head, giving me a moment to compose myself. McNearny simply watched me.

I blew my nose and crumbled the tissue in my hand. The adrenaline from finding Michelle dead had left my system and now all I felt was sadness, disbelief, and bone-deep weariness.

I sighed. “I really don’t think she killed herself.”

“Earlier, you said Mrs. Avery thought whoever killed her husband might come after her,” Jones said. “Did she give you any indication, any at all, about who she thought that was? Take your time.”

I shook my head.

“You said you hadn’t seen her in long time?” McNearny asked. “When was the previous time?”

“I hadn’t seen her until . . .”

How much should I say? Surely the medical examiner had told McNearny I’d retrieved George’s things.