Kevin O'Brien - Disturbed

“Well, I should head out,” he said. “Thanks again for the cookies.”

“Good-bye, Detective.”

Molly watched him return to the family room, where he also gave Lynette his card. He thanked everyone for their hospitality and said they should call if they had any questions.

Blazevich wasn’t quite yet out Lynette’s front door when Angela sidled up beside Molly at the buffet table. She took one of Molly’s cookies, broke off a corner, and nibbled at it. “He was very good looking,” she said. “And he was flirting with you.”

“Well, if that’s true, I’m flattered,” Molly replied, not looking at her. She kept busy putting the cookies in the Tupperware. “But he was wasting his time.”

“He gave you his business card,” Angela went on. “The rest of us have to share one. Of course, you’re the youngest and prettiest woman here. Why shouldn’t he pay more attention to you? So — how’s Jeff doing?”

Molly nodded a few more times than necessary. “He’s fine. Everyone’s fine, Angela. Erin’s looking forward to seeing you at her ballet recital on Saturday.”

“I was thinking it must be scary with this killer on the loose, and Jeff going out of town all the time,” Angela remarked. “I know all of his traveling drove me crazy after a while — along with the fact that he couldn’t keep it inside his zipper. . ”

Molly stared at her and blinked.

“I’m sorry, but if I were you, Molly, I’d have flirted more with that detective. Jeff doesn’t have any self-restraint. Why should you?” The way Angela spoke, she almost came off as a concerned friend who had had too many glasses of chardonnay — rather than the bitch she was.

Shaking her head, Molly snapped shut the lid to the plastic container. “I don’t need your advice, Angela,” she said evenly. “That problem doesn’t exist in my marriage.”

Angela gave her a smug smile. “You keep telling yourself that, honey.” Then she turned and joined her friends in the Hahns’ family room.

Molly didn’t waste much time getting out of there. After a few brief good-byes, she was out the door and walking down the cul-de-sac with her Tupperware container and what was left of her dignity. The sky was an ominous gray, and the wind started to kick up. It would be raining soon, she could tell.

She kept thinking that she shouldn’t have let Angela have the last word. She should have said, “The only problem Jeff and I have is you, Angela. Get over him, and get out of our lives.”

But she couldn’t have said anything like that to Angela’s face — not without feeling like a total ass afterward. In truth, Angela had every reason to be bitter. It was true. Jeff had been unfaithful on several occasions during the last few loveless years of their marriage. Jeff had told Molly all about it when they’d first started seeing each other.

At the time, Molly had been working parttime under a real bitch who was the events coordinator at the Capital Hilton in Washington, D.C. Jeff had been there for the New Drugs in Development Conference with the American Pharmacology Association. Molly was working the registration desk when Jeff walked up, introduced himself, and asked for his badge. She was immediately drawn to him. Not only was he drop-dead handsome, but he had such a warm, friendly, confident manner. She’d grown so tired of dodging passes from businessmen at these conferences, most of them with their wedding rings in their pockets.

Her time in D.C. had been like an exile. She’d gone there to forget — and feel somewhat anonymous. She didn’t know a soul in Washington, D.C. But after a while, the loneliness was too much. All she’d had were a few illustration assignments, a job she tolerated, and a boss she loathed. On more than one occasion, out of sheer desperation, she’d succumb to the charms of some lonely businessman. She didn’t ask too many questions or expect anything more than one or two nights of company.

But Jeff was different. The conference went on for three days, and on day two, he asked if she had time the following afternoon to go with him to the National Gallery. How could she refuse? On top of everything else, he appreciated art.

At the gallery, right in front of a Jackson Pollock painting, Jeff told her that he and his wife had separated only six weeks before. Molly didn’t want to date someone who was on the rebound. Reluctantly, she told him so, and Jeff seemed to understand. Then he showed her pictures of his kids on his cell phone, and he seemed so genuine, so proud of them. She couldn’t help falling for him, despite her resolve.

Jeff said he’d be back in D.C. for another pharmaceutical conference in three weeks. Could he take her out to dinner while he was in town again?

She said yes. Six weeks later, she flew into Seattle to meet Chris and Erin.

Two months after that, they were married. If it seemed rushed, that was probably her fault as much as Jeff’s. She was in love with him and eager to start a new life. She’d been so miserable in Washington, D.C., and the dark, gloomy paintings she’d produced during this period reflected that.

Then into her life stepped this handsome, sweet guy with two kids who was going to change everything around for her.

Yes, he’d had affairs and one-night stands while married to Angela. But Molly had to give him a second chance. She knew what it was like, not being let off the hook. Before her exile to D.C., she’d spent her last weeks in Chicago seeking forgiveness — and not finding it.

She still remembered standing at that woman’s front stoop on West Gunnison Street. She’d come there to tell her how sorry she was. “I don’t mean to bother you,” she’d told the middle-aged woman. “My name is—”

“I know who you are,” the woman had hissed, glaring at her. She’d had tears in her eyes and started trembling. She suddenly spit in Molly’s face. “Don’t come crawling around here, hoping I’ll accept any apologies from you, because I won’t! It’s not going to change a damn thing. Now, get the hell out of here — or I swear to God, I’ll kill you.”

Sometimes, Molly could still feel the woman’s spittle running down her cheek and hear her harsh words. She’d moved to D.C. to forget, but it hadn’t worked. She’d thought her chances might be better in Seattle.

She and Jeff were both starting over. She told him about Chicago. And Jeff kept her secret. There was no reason his kids needed to know about it, not for a while at least.

As she headed home, the wind seemed to whip right through her. Molly felt a few drops of rain. She wished she’d worn a coat for the half-block jaunt down to Lynette Hahn’s house.

She couldn’t get that conversation with Angela out of her head. Molly told herself the Jeff she knew was different from the Jeff who had been married to Angela

Shielding her head with the Tupperware container, she trotted up the walkway, unlocked the front door, and stepped inside the warm foyer. She set the container on the hallway table and headed up to the master bedroom. In Jeff’s closet, Molly started checking the pockets of his suits and his khakis. She was looking for matchbooks or cocktail napkins with phone numbers scribbled on them. But all she found were three wrapped Halls cough drops, a stick of Juicy Fruit, several wads of Kleenex, and about $1.30 in change.

She still felt uncertain and retreated downstairs — to Jeff’s study off the front hallway. The small room had a built-in, U-shaped mahogany desk — along with matching cabinets. A large-screen computer sat in the middle of the desk — in front of a picture window. Photos of her and the kids decorated the walls and desktop.

Molly opened the desk drawers and glanced at old bills and bank statements. She opened his appointment book and browsed through it. Nothing even remotely suspicious.