Free Good Little Wives by Abby Drake Page A

had planted last week.
    She decided her driving skills hadn’t been impaired by thewine but by the fact the twins’ Jeep Wrangler was parked in the driveway and Steven would be angry if one of them had dropped out of college.
    The mudroom was a landfill of big-footed sneakers and laundry bags. She traversed it and went into the kitchen, where Sam stood, head in the refrigerator.
    â€œHello,” Dana said, and when there was no answer she knew she must be competing with his iPod. “ Samuel! ” she shouted this time, and the kid jumped, banged his head on the deli bin, and spun around. There was no trace of headphones.
    â€œJesus, Mom, you scared the shit out of me.”
    When her boys came home it always took a few days for Dana to clean up the frat house lexicon. She smiled. “That would be ‘Gosh, Mom, you scared the wits out of me.’”
    He laughed.
    He stepped toward her, she toward him. He lifted her into a six-foot-one hug. “Hi, Mommy,” he said.
    She laughed that time, then wriggled from his arms and touched the top of his head. “Does it hurt?”
    He waved his hand in front of his face. “Whoa. Not as much as your breath. Gosh , Mom, how much did you drink?”
    â€œProbably not enough. But I’ll make tea while you tell me what you’re doing here and where your brother is.” She filled the tea kettle.
    â€œAh, well, I can start by saying my twin brother—Benjamin is his name—is upstairs in his room probably crashing from our four-and-a-half-hour trip home. I can then continue to express that the reason we’re here might have something to do with the fact it’s spring break.”
    â€œOh,” she said. “Well, I knew that. I just lost track of the time. There’s so much going on.”
    He rolled his eyes as if to say, Sure, Mom . Sam was a straight-arrow-looking boy, the younger of the twins, who took after his father the way that Ben took after her, as if one twin had received all Steven’s DNA, the other one got all of hers. Michael, the lone birth, the first, resembled them both, the egg correctly having conjoined the sperm. “Aren’t you boys going to Cozumel or somewhere?”
    â€œBen’s leaving tomorrow.” He shuffled back to the refrigerator, grabbed a Coke, popped the top. “I’m staying here. I want to help you solve Mr. DeLano’s murder.”
    â€œWhat?” Dana asked, her head sliding into hangover mode.
    â€œI want to study the law, jurisprudence, remember?”
    â€œAnd you’ll be home for how long? Ten days? You think you can solve it in ten days?”
    â€œMaybe we can if we try.” It was so like him to want to help.
    â€œWhat makes you think I don’t have better things to do?”
    â€œYou were a journalist.”
    Dana laughed. “That was a long time ago, honey. Now I’m a housewife. I’m a mother.” She’d always believed that her penchant for putting together pieces of a story rivaled her father’s powers of deduction when he’d been a cop. Her sons didn’t know about him, though: All they knew was he’d left and her mother had died.
    Sam wrinkled his nose.
    â€œBesides,” she continued, “the hospital gala is a week from tomorrow. I thought I’d help Caroline with her last-minute plans.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but even the gala wouldbe preferable to having one of her kids get too close to this mess. “And you should be with your friends. Doing college-age things.”
    â€œI think murder is more exciting, don’t you?”
    The whistle blew. She steeped her tea.
    â€œNot to mention I can use this for a sociology paper.”
    Dana had always helped the kids with their homework. It had been more fun than tennis or golf. But there was the nonsense with Lauren…how much would she want Sam to know? Then she thought about Ben. “What about your