“I know, I know. Let’s go inside, it’s freezing. I’m so, so sorry.”
Back inside, she hugged Lloyd and apologized again. He told her he’d been about thirty seconds away from calling the police, that he really thought something terrible might have happened.
“I never would have left if I thought you’d wake up. I was wide-awake, and the stars outside were so pretty.”
“This has nothing to do with our neighbor, does it?” Lloyd asked.
“No,” Hen lied, not really sure why she was lying. “No, nothing. I was just driving around looking at the stars.”
Chapter 10
All night Matthew flitted in and out of sleep, the image of what he’d seen in Scott Doyle’s car exciting and enraging him.
He’d pulled his car over on the side of the road, just past the entrance for the Pocumtuck State Park, then walked back to a spot where he could see Scott’s Dart parked under a large maple tree along the edge of the Pocumtuck lot. He’d almost turned back, but decided to take a risk, walking briskly down to the Dart to confirm what was happening. He just wanted to make sure it wasn’t something else, although what could it be? A heartfelt conversation? Were they doing drugs together?
He crept up to the car, its windows closed and slightly fogged, but he could see through the back window. The waitress was on her knees, her head pressed awkwardly against the door farthest from Matthew, and Scott was behind her, his jeans down around his thighs. Matthew looked for all of three seconds, saw Scott’s pale ass frantically pumping, the Dart rocking slightly. Bile rose in the back of Matthew’s throat.
A car swept past on Bingham Street, its headlights briefly touching the car. Matthew crouched, then jogged back to his own car.
He wasn’t surprised by what he’d seen. He would have been more surprised if Scott had gone straight home after his gig. It wasn’t just that Scott was a typical predatory male who would obviously use whatever tiny amount of fame he got from his band to seduce anything in a skirt; it was also that Michelle was a victim, one of those women who believed in the goodness of the human race. She believed that her students cared about learning. She believed that the arc of the universe bent toward justice. And she believed that her fox-faced, untalented boyfriend would be true to her. Because of all these beliefs, Michelle was probably doomed, but Matthew did have an opportunity to do something about it.
If he could find a way—a flawless way—to murder Scott Doyle, then he would do it. He would rescue Michelle.
The next morning, before he went to work, Matthew FaceTimed with Mira.
“I woke up this morning,” she said, “and couldn’t remember where I was. It took me five minutes to figure it out.”
“What time does your flight get in?”
“Late. I don’t know. I think I should be back home by midnight, though.”
“I’ll stay up,” Matthew said.
“Don’t be silly. Go to bed, then when I get home I can immediately crawl under the covers with you.”
“Okay,” Matthew said. “I can’t wait.” He realized, saying the words, that it was true. As was always the case, he looked forward to Mira’s leaving, and he looked forward to her returning.
At school that day he saw Michelle only once, when they walked past each other in the hall during the lunch hour. She clutched a thick sheaf of papers in a manila folder, and her face was flushed, as though she were in a hurry. But she stopped as soon as she saw Matthew.
“Did you go last night?” she asked.
“I actually did,” he said. “The band’s not bad.”
She looked surprised. “No, they’re good, right?”
“I didn’t say that,” Matthew said, and they both laughed. “No, I did think they were good. Scott has a nice voice.”
Michelle lowered her voice and said, “Any women there throwing themselves at him?”
“Honestly, I didn’t pay that much attention. I went for dinner, mainly, and stayed for a while to listen to the music, but . . .”
“I was just kidding. Half kidding, as you know.”
“I didn’t see anything.”
“Well, that’s good. He told me it was a good turnout, that people stayed late.”
“Hey, different topic,” Matthew said. “I haven’t asked you about your father for a while. How’s he doing?”
“Not great. I’m going home to visit on Columbus Day weekend, and