Page 11 of Kill Your Darlings

November

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On the day before Thanksgiving, Wendy took the cordless phone into the living room and called her mother.

“Just checking to make sure you have plans for tomorrow,” she said, after her mom asked if there was a reason she’d called.

“Going to Alan’s. Didn’t he tell you? Although it’s going to be too many people for me. Mindy’s whole side of the family will

be there.”

“Well, I’m happy. I didn’t want to think of you being alone on Thanksgiving.”

“I knew that’s why you called. I don’t see what the big deal is. I’m alone today and I’ll be alone the day after Thanksgiving.

Doesn’t bother me at all.”

“Mom, when did you get so folksy?”

“I’m just being practical.”

“I know you are.”

“Who’s coming to your house tomorrow? Thom’s parents?”

“They’re coming, yes. Just for the day, like they always do.”

“How’s my Jason doing?” It was a new phrase of her mother’s, calling her son “my Jason,” and Wendy had decided she liked it.

“He’s in a detective phase. A detective reading phase, I should say. Lots of crime novels.”

“No more comic books?”

“A few, but, no, he’s all about the dark adult books right now.”

They talked some more about Jason, and then her mom talked about her dogs, telling stories about them like they were her children.

Before ending the call, Wendy told her to have a nice Thanksgiving.

“Alan’s invited me over. I’m sure you were worried about it.”

“Yes, you told me, Mom.”

“I know I did. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t fret.”

After ending the call, Wendy sat on the couch for a while, trying to figure out what to do next. When the doorbell chimed

its five-note tune, she was confused for a moment. All of their neighbors came around the back and knocked on their door.

Who would be at the front door?

It turned out to be a police detective, shockingly young, skinny, and nearly completely bald. He showed her his badge—his

name was Michael Elo—and asked if he could come in.

“Of course. I was just about to make coffee,” Wendy said, even though she hadn’t been. “Can I get you something?”

“I’m fine, ma’am. Thank you, though. I just have a few quick questions.”

Wendy heard a creak on the stairs and remembered that Jason was home because of the half day. She wondered if he’d come halfway

down the stairs and was eavesdropping on the conversation.

“It’s not about our cat, is it?”

Detective Elo laughed and said, “No, it’s not about your cat. Is there something I should know?”

“One of our neighbors calls the police if our cat kills a bird. It’s happened before.”

“No, I’m here about Alexander Deighton.”

“Oh yeah?” Wendy was surprised. Alexander Deighton had been the chair of her husband’s department. His death over the summer

had been ruled an accidental drowning.

“I have a few questions about your husband’s relationship to him that I was hoping you could answer.”

“Sure. Are you... My husband isn’t here.”

“I spoke to your husband this morning at the university. He was very helpful. I’m just following up on some of his answers.”

A strange sense of unreality went through Wendy—not that a detective was in her house but that her husband had been interviewed

already, that there was some sort of formal investigation into his part in Alex Deighton’s death. “Okay?” she said. “Are you

sure I can’t get you a water?”

“Sure, I’ll take a water.”

Wendy got a glass from the cabinet as the detective stood awkwardly on the other side of the kitchen island. “Ice?” she said.

“Sure.”

She cracked one of the trays and dropped two cubes of ice into his glass and passed it to him. “Please sit,” she said.

He took a sip of water then settled onto one of their kitchen stools. He really did look young to her, and he seemed a little

nervous, as though he were here to be interviewed instead of the opposite.

But after putting his glass down on the island, Detective Elo took a breath through his nostrils and said, “How would you

characterize your husband’s relationship with the deceased? He’d been his boss for how long?”

“Over eight years, I think. Since right before we moved here.”

“Did they get along?”

“In a literal sense, they did. They worked together for eight years.”

“Did your husband like him?”

“No, but I’m not sure anyone really liked him.”

“You didn’t like him?”

Wendy, striving for as much truthfulness as possible, said, “I avoided him, mostly. He worked with my husband, so it wasn’t

always easy. I mean, I’d see him at parties, but I didn’t have a personal relationship with him.”

“What was he like when you saw him at parties?”

“He was mainly very arrogant. He liked to talk about himself and he didn’t ask questions of other people. And he was one of

those men who are completely unaware of how physically unattractive he was.”

“He hit on women?”

“Well, yeah. He had three wives, you know, and, yes, he was pretty inappropriate at times.”

“Physically?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did he ever touch you inappropriately?”

“Lingering hugs, I suppose, but nothing else. But he flirted and leered and said gross things.”

“And how did your husband feel about this?”

Wendy thought for a moment. “I don’t suppose he liked it, but it was more something we laughed about. He wasn’t jealous or

angry or anything like that. Alex Deighton was gross, but he wasn’t a threat in any way.”

“Okay, Mrs.Graves. What about your husband’s working relationship with Mr.Deighton? How would you characterize that?”

“I’m confused. Is there some issue around Alex’s death? I thought it was ruled an accident.”

“It hasn’t been ruled anything yet. There were some indications that Mr.Deighton might have been in a physical altercation

before he died, so we’re just following up with some of the people who knew him best.”

“You mean, some of the people who might have wanted him dead.”

“Your words, not mine, Mrs.Graves.”

Wendy laughed. “My husband didn’t like him, but there’s no way he would have done anything to harm him. It wouldn’t make sense.”

“What about the fact that Mr.Deighton was holding on to a position as chair of the arts department that your husband might

have liked to have for himself?”

“Who told you that?”

“He was the chair, yes? If he retired, or died, then that position would be open, right?”

“Thom didn’t put himself up for that job.”

Detective Elo finished his water and put the empty glass back onto its coaster. “Why didn’t he, do you think? I spoke to two

of his colleagues, who said that your husband was the most qualified.”

“Do you know anything about academia?”

“A little bit. My mother was a biology professor at the University of Maine.”

“Well, then, maybe you know that rising to chair of a department is a mixed blessing. I think Thom decided that it was just

too much of a headache to be in charge.”

“That’s pretty much what he told me. Okay, Mrs.Graves, just a couple more questions.”

“It’s Wendy. And can I get you some more water?”

“No, no. I’m fine. I just have a few more questions. What can you tell me about Tammy Joo?”

“Alex’s wife. Uh, is she a suspect as well?”

“No one is really a suspect here. We’re just trying to get a complete picture.”

“Um, Tammy. I know her less than I knew Alex. When they were first married, she used to come to department parties, but that

didn’t last long. They’d separated, hadn’t they, about a year ago?”

“Is that what you’ve been told?”

“Something like that.”

“He was living in their apartment above their garage.”

“Yeah, not surprising. She was fine, I guess. I can’t tell you much more about her than that, except that we were all wondering

why she was with Alex.”

“Why was that?”

“I don’t know. Because she seemed a relatively normal, attractive human woman. But really, I didn’t know her well.”

“Did your husband have a closer relationship with her?”

“With Tammy? Probably. He saw her more than I did.”

“I hope I’m not causing trouble by saying this, but your husband said that he and Tammy are close friends.”

Wendy laughed to cover up the sinking feeling that another one of Thom’s infatuations was about to be uncovered. “That doesn’t

exactly surprise me,” she said. “My husband is pretty social, especially around work. And he has lots of female friends. Are

you implying that there was something going on between him and her?”

“No, no. Just that they had a relationship of sorts. You had no suspicions around that?”

“Well, now I do.” She made the laugh again, for real this time. “Just kidding. No, I have never suspected that my husband

was involved in any way with Tammy Joo. But I’m not surprised they’re friends.”

“One more thing, Wendy. Can you tell me where your husband was on the morning of Julyeighteenth?”

“Was that the morning Alex drowned?”

“Yes.”

“My husband was in bed with me.”

“Are you sure of that?”

“Yes, of course. I remember that day well, getting the news of the death. I’d remember if for some reason Thom went somewhere

that morning.”

“What time do you normally get up in the morning?”

“Well, I get up around seven most days. Thom gets up about an hour later.”

“Could Thom have left the house early that morning while you were sleeping?”

“Not without waking me up. At night I sleep deeply, but in the morning... not so much. If sleep was a pond, Thom’s on the

bottom in the weeds and I’m sort of just under the surface. God, that’s an inappropriate metaphor, considering.”

Detective Elo laughed himself, not the laugh she’d been expecting, more of a spasmodic cough. “No, that’s okay. So your husband

was home all morning?”

“Yes, my husband was home all morning.”

After letting the detective out and promising to call him if she remembered anything that might be important, Wendy stood

for a moment and listened to the house. It was quiet. She went upstairs and knocked on Jason’s door.

“Who was that?” her son said after she entered his tidy bedroom. He was lying on his bed, one of his Ian Fleming Bond novels

open on his lap.

“Police detective. I thought I heard you on the stairs.”