inner hostess. “Would you like something to drink? Coffee, maybe?”
“That’d be great. It’s going to be a late night.”
Her house was a small three-bedroom on a small lot on a nice-and-normal street of young families. Four years ago, when she’d bought it with her fiancé, she’d assumed at some point she’d hop on that mommy train.
She should have sold the place a while ago. “The kitchen’s this way.”
“Nice digs, you live here alone?”
“Yes.” Inside her gray-and-white kitchen, she indicated the round table with the three chairs. “I’ve got K-Cups. What’s your poison—oh, sorry. Bad phrasing.”
Agent Manfred smiled again. “It’s okay. And I’m not picky, long as it has caffeine in it.”
He was one of those good-looking bald guys, a forty-something who’d stared his missing hair in the follicle and decided not to pretend about his male pattern no-go. His nose was a ski jump that was crooked, like it had been broken a couple of times, and his eyes were a bright blue. Clothes were loose dark slacks, a dark navy windbreaker, and a black polo with FBI stitched in gold on the pec. Wedding ring was one of those titanium dark gray ones, and its prominence reassured her.
“So what’s this about?” She opened a cupboard. “I mean, I know Dr. McCaid died last week. I heard it in my lab. There was an announcement.”
“What was his reputation at the company?”
“Good. I mean, he was high up. Had been there for a long time. But again, I didn’t know him personally.”
“I’ve heard BioMed’s a big place. How long have you been there?”
“Four years.” She refilled the water tank for the machine. “We bought this house when we moved here and started at BioMed.”
“That’s right. You and your fiancé. What was his name?”
Sarah paused as she put a mug onto the grate. The agent was leaning back in her Pottery Barn chair at her Pottery Barn table, all no-big-deal. But those blue eyes were focused on her like he was videotaping all this in his head.
He knew the answers to these questions, she thought.
“His name was Gerhard Albrecht,” she said.
“He was a doctor, too. At BioMed.”
“Yes.” She turned back, and put a K-Cup of Starbucks Morning Blend in the machine. Lowering the handle, there was a hiss and then dripping into the mug. “He was.”
“You met him when you were both at MIT.”
“That’s right. We were in the Harvard-MIT HST program.” She glanced back at the agent. “I thought this was about Dr. McCaid?”
“We’ll get to that. I’m curious about your fiancé.”
Sarah wished she hadn’t tried to be polite with the coffee offer. “There’s not much to tell. Do you want sugar or milk?”
“Black is great. I don’t need anything to slow down the caffeine absorption.”
When the dripping was done, she brought the mug over and sat across the table from him. As she awkwardly linked her hands together, she felt like she’d been called to the principal’s office. Except this principal could level all kinds of charges at you, charges that lead to prison instead of detention.
“So tell me about Dr. Albrecht.” He took a sip. “Oh, yeah, this hits the spot.”
Sarah looked at her own ring finger. If they’d made it to their wedding, she would still be wearing a band even though Gerry had been dead for two years. But they’d missed what they’d been planning by four months when he’d passed that January. And as for an engagement diamond, they’d skipped that on account of getting the house.
When she’d had to call the venue and the band and the caterers to cancel, they’d all given her the deposits back because they’d heard what had happened on the news. The only thing that hadn’t been fully refundable had been the wedding gown, but the people at the bridal shop had not charged her the other half of the cost when it came in. She’d donated the dress to Goodwill on what would have been their first anniversary.
Oh, and there had been the suit they’d bought for Gerry at Macy’s on sale. There had been no returns on that and she still had the thing. He’d always joked that he’d wanted to be buried in a “May the Force Be with You” shirt.
She would have never guessed she’d have to honor that request so soon.
That initial year after he’d been gone, she’d had all of the major holidays to get through—his birthday, his death day, and that non-event wedding anniversary. The calendar had been an obstacle course. Still was.