For Whom the Minivan Rolls: An Aaron Tucker Mystery - By Jeffrey Cohen Page 0,53

clench involuntarily. Finally, I had a story to investigate. And this time, I thought I knew just how to go about doing it. It wouldn’t make me feel better about what had happened to Madlyn, but maybe it could set one-tenth of this whole mess right again, and certainly would be worth accomplishing.

When I reached the end of the long drive, my front door opened and Abigail Stein was standing in the doorway, a concerned expression on her face. It is what makes the most difficult of days worth getting through.

I had barely made it out of the car before she had run down the porch steps and into my arms, hugging me tighter than I could remember for quite some time. I stroked her hair and found time to exhale. Abby sniffed a little.

“You could’ve called,” she finally said.

“No, I couldn’t,” I told her. “I had some thinking to do.”

Chapter 5

It was after nine, and I hadn’t eaten since noon. Abby, who made a pasta salad for me, actually sat me down and served it to me while I gave her the rundown on my late afternoon and evening. She gave me her undivided attention, asked very few questions, and nodded at several points. I didn’t tell her about my brainstorming in the car. Abby doesn’t embrace self-pity the way artists like myself do.

“How’d I do?” I asked when the story was finished.

“Perfectly,” she said. “You couldn’t have handled it better if I were there to guide you every step of the way. By the way, Barry Dutton wants you to call him when you get home.”

“I am home.”

“Yeah, but only technically. You haven’t eaten yet,” she said.

She wouldn’t let me call Barry until I’d eaten. Frankly, I was more interested in the pasta than the salad, but Abby was sitting there with me, and it was hard to avoid the tomatoes. I hate raw tomatoes—they don’t look finished. So I went after the romaine, green and red peppers, scallions, and other greens (Abby had even included celery, since this was for me and not for her) until I declared myself full. I wasn’t completely full—nothing the odd package of Yodels couldn’t fix later.

“I’ve been sitting here all night wondering,” Abby said. “That is, when I wasn’t worried sick about some stupid man who wouldn’t call from the car.”

I let it pass. “Wondering what?”

“Who do you think did it?” she said, the smile of a ruthless criminal lawyer spreading across on her face. Abby, never the literary snob, has been known to pick up one or two of my mystery novels after I’m finished reading them. She enjoys the mental exercise required, and admires the work of Robert B. Parker, particularly his Spenser novels, though she thinks Susan Silverman (the girlfriend) is a pain in the ass.

“I’ve been giving that a lot of thought,” I told her. “All I’m sure of right now is that I didn’t do it.”

“Good. I didn’t take you in the office pool.”

“The way I see it,” I said, “it all hinges on whether Madlyn was really having an affair, and if so, whether it was with Martin Barlow. Because that means either Gary was so jealous he went nuts and shot her himself. . .”

Abigail frowned. “That doesn’t seem logical,” she said. “He’s more the type who would kill the male offender.”

I was so grateful to her for having dinner waiting that I didn’t mention I’d already considered that. “Or,” I said, “it could mean that Martin killed Madlyn so Rachel wouldn’t find out, or that Rachel did find out her campaign manager was screwing her husband and decided to eliminate the competition.”

“Say screwing again,” Abby said in an exaggeratedly deep voice. “You know how it makes me crazy.”

“There are any number of other expressions I could have chosen,” I said. “If you have a preference, I’d certainly like to know about it, for future use.”

“I’ve always liked. . .” and she stopped, of course, because Ethan, in his undying quest for snacks, chose that moment to wander into the room. He marched directly to the snack cabinet and began rummaging.

“Hello to you, too,” I said sarcastically. “You know, I haven’t seen you all day.”

“Uh-huh. Mom, where are the Nutter Butters?” Nutter Butter cookies are Ethan’s snack of choice, and he will eat them day in and day out an hour before bed, until he inexplicably decides they are inedible and moves on to some other calorie-laden goodie. This will happen with no warning