To Love and to Perish - By Lisa Bork Page 0,40

from her. Maybe someday, but not now.

“How can your dad tell who loves their cars?”

Danny picked up his spoon. “I don’t know, but he can. Ray doesn’t understand.” He started eating, apparently content to have gotten that information off his chest.

And right onto mine.

_____

Cory and I arrived in the suburbs of Albany around four o’clock, planning to stay late, if necessary, to find Suzanne Gleason and Elizabeth Potter at home. We sure didn’t want to have to drive back here again. If we couldn’t unearth any new information this time, Cory planned to confess to Brennan about searching his home and to demand to know where the five thousand dollar a month payments went. Brennan hadn’t called since their fight Wednesday night, Cory felt like he had nothing more to lose. I wasn’t so sure.

Suzanne Gleason lived in a modest colonial dwarfed by two enormous pines in the front yard, the kind of evergreens that said White House or Rockefeller Center Christmas tree. The garage door stood open.

Cory spotted a navy car inside. “Hey, that’s a 1972 Gran Torino. I had one of those in high school.” He headed toward the garage.

I grabbed his shirt at the shoulder and tugged him toward the front door. “Focus.”

We rang the doorbell. A blond young man opened the door, the same handsome boy with the startling blue eyes in the photograph on Wayne Engle’s credenza—only aged a couple years. Shocked, I gaped at him, then glanced at Cory, trying to determine if he recognized him, too.

“Can I help you?” He smiled, revealing adorable dimples.

I recovered first. “We’re looking for Suzanne and Matthew Gleason.”

“I’m Matthew.” He looked from me to Cory and back again, waiting.

Cory stood with his head tipped to one side, studying Matthew. I waited for Cory to jump into the conversation, but he didn’t.

I thrust the tin of cookies forward. “We’re so sorry about your father. I brought you some chocolate chip cookies.”

Matthew accepted the tin. “Thank you. Did you know my dad?”

Cory came out of his reverie. “No, we didn’t, but we were at the vintage festival on Friday night. I was actually in the parade of racecars. Jolene was at the corner where your father was …” He stopped, obviously uncertain as to what to say next.

Matthew’s eyes narrowed. “We were told only one woman came forward as a witness. Was that you?”

I shook my head. “We were more bystanders than witnesses.” I held out my hand. “I’m Jolene Asdale. And this is Cory Kempe.”

Matthew shifted the cookie tin to his left hand so that he could shake hands with us, his brow wrinkled, his gaze questioning.

I tried to think of something to put him at ease. “Forgive me for asking, but aren’t you Wayne Engle’s godson?”

Matthew blinked in surprise, his brow smoothing. “Yeah, I am. Do you know Wayne?”

“We visited him earlier this week. Your photograph is on his office credenza.”

“Yeah. That’s my freshman yearbook picture. I graduated last year. I’m looking for a job.” He looked between Cory and me again. “So you’re friends of Wayne?”

Cory smiled. “He’s a great guy.”

Fortunately, Matthew didn’t seem to notice his question went unanswered. “Yeah.” He looked at the tin of cookies. “Listen, my mom’s not home, but I know she’ll want to thank you for the cookies. Would you mind writing down your name and number for me?”

“Not at all.” We stepped into the foyer at his invitation.

Matthew disappeared down the hall. “I’ll be right back. We have a pad in the kitchen.”

The foyer looked into the living room area, which was decorated in shades of gray, black, and red. Very contemporary and not my style. A chrome frame held a photo of Matthew and his mother. She had dark hair and funky fashion glasses, an average looking woman. Another photo held a picture of Matthew and his dad with his unmistakable red hair. No family shots, but then the couple had been separated.

Matthew returned with the pen and paper.

I wrote down my name and cell number and handed it back to him. “Will your mother be home soon?”

“She has to work late to catch up. She took a few days off this week to arrange for the funeral and stuff.”

“I’m sorry we missed her. Please give her our condolences.”

“I will.”

I stepped back outside to join Cory. Matthew followed us to the edge of the drive.

Cory pointed at the Gran Torino in the garage. “Great car. I used to have one.”

Matthew’s eyes lit up. “Really? I love this car. It’s