Читать книгу Murder at the PTA - Lee Hollis - Страница 13

CHAPTER SEVEN

As Sandra pulled into her driveway at dusk the next day, she was relieved to find that the swarm of reporters who had been camped out on her lawn and sidewalk, along with their big trucks and vans, had all finally packed up and gone. Thankfully the erupting scandal had receded a bit, at least for now, especially after Stephen had issued a full-throated and passionate denial that any taxpayer money had been used in any kind of nondisclosure agreement with a mistress. Stephen said in no uncertain terms that he was a faithful husband to his wife and was outright aghast that anyone would suggest otherwise. But Sandra had no illusions that there were dozens of dogged, determined reporters out there painstakingly searching for concrete evidence that would prove Senator Stephen Wallage was a liar.

She couldn’t think about that now. She was too busy putting out her own fires. The late-afternoon meeting with Principal Hicks had lasted two hours, and although it was awkward and uncomfortable discussing her personal life, she had assured Hicks that the salacious headlines on the Dirty Laundry website were absolutely false. She was ready to put the baseless accusations behind her and move on planning for the school year.

Hicks seemed mostly appeased by Sandra’s persuasive presentation, and he took the opportunity to stress to her after she had finished that she had his full support. But still, Sandra noticed he was a little more reserved than usual, and there were worry lines on his face that she hadn’t noticed before. She didn’t blame him at all, because more often than not, eventually the stories posted on the site were proven to be true.

She got out of her car and walked toward the front door of the house. Sandra hadn’t even thought about what to make the boys for dinner. She was so eager to get home from her meeting that she drove right past the grocery store. Maybe she would just order them all Chinese food or have a pizza delivered. As she entered the foyer, she stopped suddenly. The familiar smell of a rich marinara sauce wafted in from the kitchen.

She knew it was her husband’s signature turkey meatballs, a recipe his Italian grandmother on his mother’s side had taught him to make when he was a boy.

Stephen was home from DC.

She marched into the kitchen to see her husband and two sons crowded around the counter and stove, making dinner. Stephen was stirring a bubbling pot of sauce on one of the front burners with a wooden spoon. His sleeves were rolled up; his pale blue Brooks Brothers dress shirt sported a few tomato stains. He didn’t like wearing aprons, so she always had to take his shirt to the dry cleaner’s after he took it upon himself to cook a meal. Jack was busy tossing a salad in a large wooden bowl, while Ryan ripped open a package of organic spaghetti to dump into a boiling pot of water on one of the back burners.

“What are you doing here?” Sandra asked, a little flummoxed.

Stephen looked up, eyes twinkling, then he wiped his hands on a towel and sauntered over to his wife, enveloping her in a bear hug. “I caught a late-afternoon flight home at the last minute. They’re always overbooked on Fridays, but I got lucky today with a cancellation.”

“I wasn’t expecting you—” Sandra said.

Still hugging her, he leaned down and kissed her softly on the lips. “I know. I wanted to surprise you.”

His body felt warm. She could smell garlic on his breath from taste-testing his homemade sauce.

“He’s here for the whole weekend,” Ryan said, beaming.

Sandra gently pulled out of his hug. “I thought there was a fund-raiser in Georgetown you couldn’t miss on Sunday . . .”

“I got out of it,” he said, winking at the boys.

“He’ll be able to come to my game tomorrow,” Jack said as he popped a grape tomato from the salad into his mouth.

This was certainly a rare occurrence, having Stephen home for a full weekend. She could see how happy the boys were, and so she kept mum and didn’t press him for any more details as to why all of a sudden he felt the need to be at home with his family. She didn’t have to, because she knew full well what he was doing there. With all those nasty rumors flying around, it was important to show the world that he was a staunch family man, willing to put his fast-track career in the United States Senate on hold in order to spend quality time with his wife and two teenage sons. It was a calculated and necessary move, and Sandra didn’t blame him for it. As a politician’s wife, she had long come to accept the importance of optics.

After going to her bedroom to change out of her business suit into more casual attire, she descended the stairs just as Stephen and the boys were sitting down at the dining room table to enjoy their Italian feast. Before they had finished their salads, Stephen was putting down his fork to make an announcement.

He adopted a grave face and serious tone. “I want to get this out of the way so we can have a fun weekend together, okay?”

The boys nodded, both gnawing on large hunks of buttery garlic bread.

Sandra braced herself.

She knew what was coming.

“What they are saying on that muckraking, libelous website—what’s it called again?”

“Dirty Laundry,” Ryan answered.

Another calculated move, Sandra thought. Of course Stephen knew the name of the site. He had probably pored over the article multiple times in order to strategize a response.

“Right. Dirty Laundry. I want to assure all of you that there is not one word of truth to it. What they’re claiming is categorically false. It never happened. I was not having an affair, and there was no hush money. Ever. Take my word for it.”

“You don’t have to do this, Dad. We believe you,” Jack said.

Ryan nodded in agreement. He couldn’t talk because he was busy chewing, his mouth full of garlic bread.

“Actually I do have to do this, Jack. Because someone is out there questioning my honor, and that’s not okay with me. And I couldn’t stand the fact that my family might take any of that trash seriously.”

But the boys didn’t seem to care. They knew in their hearts their father would never do anything so dumb. But as Jack and Ryan continued to reassure Stephen that they loved him and had his back, Sandra quite noticeably refrained from comment.

Mercifully the topic quickly changed to Jack’s upcoming football game against a fierce rival team the next day and Ryan’s audition for the fall musical, which he felt went pretty well. He would know if he snagged the lead on Monday and was feeling nervous. But Sandra was confident he would be cast because he was the most talented actor in the entire school. Yes, there was a little motherly bias in her opinion, but the kid was good.

Sandra offered to clean up, since Stephen and the boys had cooked, so they retreated to the living room to watch a horror movie on Netflix. It gave Sandra the opportunity to decompress from the day and be left alone with her thoughts. After loading the dishwasher and wiping down the stovetop with some surface cleaner and a rag, she disappeared upstairs, where she quickly brushed her teeth, undressed, and crawled into bed. It was only a few minutes after ten o’clock, but the movie was in the midst of its harrowing climax and would be over soon, and Stephen would be coming up to bed.

She heard the suspenseful score swell and assumed the end credits were rolling. The TV was shut off, and she faintly heard Stephen saying good night to the boys as he came up the stairs. She could hear him coming, so she closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep. He quietly walked into the room and headed into the master bath, closing the door. She knew his routine. He would be in there for ten minutes. She buried her head deep into the pillow.

When he finally emerged, probably shirtless and in his silk pajama bottoms, he knelt down and kissed her forehead, waiting to see if she would respond.

She didn’t.

He circled around to the other side of the bed and climbed in, slipping under the covers and wrapping his strong arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him.

“You still awake?” he whispered in her ear.

She moaned and shifted her body, hoping that would be enough to discourage him.

He started nuzzling the back of her neck.

He was not about to give up.

She didn’t have a choice.

Sandra opened her eyes and turned around to face him. He had the look of an expectant puppy hoping if it was good it might get a bone or a chew toy.

“I’m not there yet,” Sandra said.

The color drained from his face, and he nodded. “I understand.”

He backed away from her, moving slowly, closer to the edge of his own side of the bed.

“I didn’t do it, Sandra. I want you to know that,” he muttered.

“Yes, Stephen, you’ve made that quite clear to me and the boys tonight, but you must realize how difficult it is for me to so readily accept your adamant denial.”

“I know . . . ,” he said, a twinge of guilt in his voice.

She could have left it at that, but she wasn’t feeling generous. “Since it’s happened before . . .”

She waited for his response. As a politician, he was an expert at putting out an appropriate response.

But this time, he had nothing. After a few moments, she could hear him turn over so they were now facing away from each other, back to back.

“Good night, honey,” he said quietly.

“Good night, Stephen.”