Free Hints of Heloise by Laura Lippman

called Meghan to ask if she wanted to have lunch—which would mean a bit of shuffling in her schedule, because although the state legislature had ended, it was now cherry blossom time in Washington, and that was always a busy time for her, for reasons she had stopped trying to fathom—Meghan seemed surprised. “There’s so much to do,” she murmured absently. And then—“You weren’t here, were you?”
    â€œNot on the phone, Meghan.”
    â€œYou’re a good big sister. Thank you.”
    â€œI’m coming over, right now.”
    They sat on Meghan’s deck, drinking coffee, two sisters enjoying each other’s company on a fine spring day.
    â€œThere was a pillow…”
    â€œThat he tripped on?”
    â€œNo, although I did throw Melissa’s Crocs down the stairs. She was always leaving them everywhere, so it’s utterly plausible that he tried to step over them, then fell.” Meghan caught Heloise’s look, the intent, the judgment, and added: “They really do think he had some kind of brain function episode. He might have died anyway.”
    Uh-huh. “So what’s the thing about the pillow?”
    â€œIt was from our bed.”
    â€œWhy was it in the basement?”
    â€œExactly. Heloise, I think someone came in and…made sure to finish what I started. I thought it might be you.” A pause. “I hoped it was you.”
    â€œAs I told you that day, I charge money to sleep with men. I don’t kill them. I barely do bondage, and then only with customers with whom I have an established history.”
    â€œThen someone—”
    â€œAre you sure? Maybe Brian took the pillow down with him, planned to take a little nap or something.”
    Heloise knew she was groping and Meghan’s withering look confirmed it.
    â€œIf it wasn’t you—”
    A large woman came out on the deck of the house next door and gave Meghan a solemn wave. Heloise was impressed by how much compassion the woman seemed to put into that small gesture. She was less impressed by the approximation of sadness on Meghan’s face.
    â€œI’m so sorry, Meghan. Let me know if I can do anything.”
    â€œThank you, Lillian, but you’ve already done so much. I might not have to cook for a month, given all the food you and the other moms have brought me.”
    The phone rang, and they never finished that conversation. But Heloise remains uneasy with the calculus of it all: If Meghan is right, then someone knows Meghan’s secret. And Meghan knows Heloise’s secret, so she is drawn into this against her will. Her silence is a crime, and while Heloise’s business was built on violating several sections of the Maryland, D.C., and even Virginia penal codes, she is scrupulous about obeying other laws, keeping her nose clean. Here at Brian’s funeral, she still feels that grip of anxiety and fear, something she thought she left behind her when she got Val locked up for life.
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    I N ALL OF M EGHAN’S FANTASIES of Brian’s funeral—and, to be truthful, there were several over the years—she had never thought to imagine her own children. Here they are, shattered, and she wants to…shake them. I did this for you. Okay, perhaps not directly. But if her marriage was going to end, it had to be in a way that would shield her children from financial harm, and she has accomplished that much. She has not only Brian’s life insurance but a whopping policy from his former company, which is still in force because of his six-month severance package. She has not sorted out all the financial implications—she has decided it would be a little unseemly to be too focused on such details, just yet—but it’s her impression that she and the children can live extremely well, if she’s prudent. She wonders if Heloise is smart about investments. She can’t be planning to be a whore forever,