lady and her husband probably own it.”
“May … be.” Isabelle hiccupped.
“Maybe he’s getting you a gift certificate. You guys love to go to bed and breakfasts.”
“Not … near here. This one’s only seven miles from our house.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Izzy. I don’t think it’s a good idea for him to catch you following him, though, in case you’ve got this all wrong.”
Isabelle blew her nose softly. “You’re right. You’re right.” She sounded as if she was trying to convince herself. “I have a commercial shoot in half an hour anyway. I spent weeks begging all the local politicians, big business owners, and newscasters to participate in for free. It’s for the United Way campaign. I can’t be late. Whatever’s he’s doing, I can’t wait around to find out. I have more important things to do than worry about losing that man.”
That’s the Isabelle I knew and loved, more or less. I heard her car ignition turn over.
“I’ll call you, Jolene.”
I snapped my cell phone shut and looked at Cory.
He turned down the volume on the radio. “What’s up with Isabelle?”
“She thinks Jack might be cheating on her.”
Cory’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “I thought they had the model marriage.”
I used to think that, too.
TEN
WE MADE GOOD TIME, due to Cory’s lead foot, and arrived at Elizabeth Potter’s parents’ suburban Albany home twenty minutes later, just prior to eleven o’clock. The home was a 1920s colonial with a tall, pointy roof, white siding and green shutters. Its trim needed to be sanded and repainted, and their blacktop driveway lay cracked and in chunks, tufts of grass waving in the gentle breeze. A lone bedraggled pot of red geraniums decorated the front steps, which creaked as Cory and I mounted them. The garage door stood open, an enormous collection of junk inside, including what looked to be a wheelchair and a walker.
Cory hit the doorbell. No one responded. I hadn’t heard a doorbell ring on the other side of the door.
“I think it’s broken.” I rapped my knuckles on a pane of glass next to the door.
Moments later, a sixtyish woman in a pink velour jogging suit shuffled into the hallway. She squinted at me through the window and opened the door halfway. I noticed she had fuzzy pink rabbit slippers on her feet. One rabbit had lost half his ear. The other, his plastic eyeball.
“Can I help you?”
Cory took the lead, naturally. “Are you Mrs. Potter?”
“Yes.”
Cory held out the yearbook, face down, most likely because Brennan’s name was embossed in gold on the front cover. “Elizabeth’s mother?”
Mrs. Potter wrinkled her brow. “Yes.”
“Excellent. My name is Cory and this is Jolene. Elizabeth’s twentieth class reunion is coming up soon, and we’d like to speak with her. The alumni association is forming a committee to plan the reunion. We wondered if she might like to get involved.”
She opened the door up all the way. “Elizabeth lives in Binghamton now. I can give you her address and phone number if you like. You could call her.” Mrs. Potter sounded doubtful, as though calling Elizabeth wouldn’t do much good. “Wait here.”
She scuffed over to a table, extracted a sheet of paper and pen, and jotted down the information.
I accepted the piece of paper when she returned to the door. “Does Elizabeth have a family?”
Mrs. Potter rubbed her chest. “Married and divorced. Twice. She’s dating a boy now.”
I smiled as though that were wonderful news. “Do you think Elizabeth would enjoy working on the planning committee?”
“Honestly, honey, Elizabeth doesn’t even like to come to visit. This town has bad memories for her.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t know.”
Mrs. Potter nodded. “We kept it quiet. Elizabeth had a car accident after your class’s five-year reunion. It took her years to learn to walk again. She had to have all kinds of reconstructive surgery.” She pointed to the book in Cory’s hand. “She’s not that girl in the yearbook picture anymore.”
I tried to smile sympathetically. “Now that you mention it, I remember something about that crash. Wasn’t Brennan Rowe the driver in that accident?”
She stiffened. “It wasn’t his fault. He was a good boy.”
I exchanged a look with Cory. “I would have thought you’d be angry with him. Didn’t the police think he was driving under the influence?”
Mrs. Potter waved the suggestion off. “Elizabeth was asleep when the crash occurred, but she said none of them were drunk.”
Hard to know if her statement was true or if the “kids” had kept their