Free Mr. Peanut by Adam Ross Page A

confused him.”
    “How?”
    Darcy had to blink once. It was the shock, Hastroll always noticed, of pure honesty. “He was trying to get clear on his feelings for his wife. She left him for a while and then came back, but right before she did he said that so long as the two of us were spending time together, he wouldn’t know if it was because of his problems with Alice or because there was really something between us.”
    “And you agreed with that?”
    At this, two discrete tears formed at Georgine’s eyes and fell. “I never seem to have a choice in these matters.” She pressed her index fingers to the bridge of her nose and wiped her eyes. Then she cleared her throat, the crying over with.
    “Did he talk about Alice much?”
    “No.”
    “But he talked about her?”
    “Very rarely.”
    “You said he mentioned ‘problems.’ How would you characterize their relationship?”
    “Honestly?” she asked.
    “A woman is dead.”
    “I think he felt abandoned. It wasn’t hard to understand. She changed on him. She’d lost weight, something they’d gone through a million times. She’d lose weight, gain it back, and then feel like shit about herself. And he was always there for her, every time, over and over, but this time she does something radical. She loses weight for good, becomes this completely different person, and what? I think he was worried she was dispensing with him in the process.”
    “Did he tell you his wife was leaving him?”
    “No.”
    “Did he tell you he
thought
his wife was going to leave him?”
    “No. But I knew she was.”
    “How’s that?”
    “You’d have to be a woman to understand.”
    “Educate me.”
    “We decide things long before we know we’ve decided. She’d decided, all right, she just hadn’t acted.”
    “That sounds like something all people do.”
    “Women need to feel safe before they make a move. She sounded to me like someone looking for a place to jump off.”
    “I must not understand women very well.”
    “I could’ve told you that just by looking at you.”
    Hastroll nodded. On the pad, he wrote,
Hannah
. “Did you tell Pepin this?”
    “Did I tell him what?”
    “That you thought his wife was leaving him.”
    “Yes.”
    “And what did he say?”
    “He said I didn’t know what I was talking about.”
    “Did he ever indicate that you two might have a future?”
    “He never talked about divorcing Alice, no.”
    “Did you talk about a future with him?”
    “Sometimes.”
    “Was he receptive?”
    She shrugged.
    “When Pepin broke things off, how did you take it?”
    “I didn’t take it well at first.”
    “Did you try to keep the relationship going?”
    “For a short time. But I got the message pretty quick.”
    “You never harassed him? Never threatened him professionally or personally?”
    “No.”
    “Do you remember the last time you made a private call to Mr. Pepin?”
    “I haven’t called David in months.”
    Hastroll got up. “Here’s my card. Call me if you think of anything else.” He turned to leave.
    “Detective,” she said.
    “Yes?”
    “I don’t believe he killed her.”
    “Why is that?”
    “Because he loved her,” she said. “At least, he loved her more than me.”
    Hastroll decided he’d been too passive with Hannah. He had to force her hand. He needed a new strategy. He decided to stop feeding her.
    “Ward,” she said from the bedroom, “what’s for dinner?”
    “I don’t know,” he said, his face hidden behind the paper. “I already ate.”
    “Oh,” she said. “Well, that’s all right. I’m not really hungry.”
    Hastroll snapped the paper away from his face, chuckled to himself, and went back to reading.
    Later that night, when he got into his bed, he could hear Hannah’s stomach rumbling. “You
sound
hungry,” he said.
    But she didn’t answer.
    He made her no breakfast the next morning. He poured the milk down the drain, bagged up the eggs, bread, the canned soups and beans and vegetables