Free Operation Mockingbird by Linda Baletsa Page B

walked, Matt looked over at Marie. She had aged considerably since he had last seen her. At forty, she was still attractive but her lips were drawn and serious. The lines around her mouth and eyes were new. Strange how they called them laugh lines, Matt thought. Marie looked like she hadn’t laughed in quite some time.
    They settled into the living room and Matt expressed his condolences, all the while silently cursing himself for doing a piss poor job. They made small talk. Marie looked away frequently, sometimes toward the room next door and other times down at her lap. She alternated between twisting her fingers into knots and picking imaginary objects from her slacks. She asked him questions about his travels and time in the Middle East but didn’t appear to hear the responses. Watching Marie was pure torture forMatt, but he let her go on, letting her create the aura of normalcy she seemed to need.
    Ultimately, though, Matt grew weary of talking about himself and impatient with the meaningless small talk. He reached forward and clasped Marie’s hands in his own, attempting to calm them. “Tell me what happened, Marie.”
    She hesitated before nodding. And then she began speaking slowly and softly.
    “Bob went up to my family’s summer home in the mountains. He was working on a project and wanted some time on his own to finish it. Since the boys were born, he’d done that a few times. He loved the boys and being with them,” she explained. “But as you can imagine, it was impossible to get any work done here. I didn’t think much of it when he told me he was going.”
    She paused and looked down at her lap again before continuing. “Bob had been gone only a couple of days when the police called.”
    The memory was apparently still new, the wound raw. Matt watched helplessly as the thin veneer of composure she struggled so hard to maintain began to crack. She started to cry softly. Matt applied a slight and hopefully reassuring pressure to her hands and shoulder. He waited patiently for her to continue.
    “The police told me that Bob had been drinking and …” Again, she hesitated and Matt waited while she regained her composure. “They said Bob had passed out or fallen asleep on the couch in the living room. They believe a spark from the fireplace hit the rug and started the fire. They saidhe probably never woke up. Never knew he was ...” Tears overcame her.
    “Marie, I’m so sorry.” Matt slid closer to her on the couch and took her in his arms. She was hunched over and crying softly into his chest.
    After several moments, she pulled away slightly and looked up at him. “I just don’t believe it, Matt.”
    She looked up and wiped the tears from her eyes. For the first time since he arrived, her eyes were bright and focused.
    “You and I both know that Bob loved good food and good wine, both to excess. But when the boys were born, things changed. He still enjoyed an occasional glass of wine, but kids, midnight feedings and early morning wake up calls put an end to the debauchery of the old days. When he went up to the cabin, he was there to write. He wasn’t there to drink.”
    “Marie, what are you saying?”
    “Bob was murdered.”
    The words came out so strongly and quickly even Marie seemed surprised by them. They hung in the air between Matt and Marie as if savoring their impact.
    “But, Marie, why would someone murder Bob?”
    “I don’t know.” She shook her head before continuing. “But up until the day he died he was consumed with this project he was working on. I think his death may have had something to do with this, Matt.”
    “What project?”
    “Well, see, that’s just it. I don’t know.”
    “You don’t know what he was working on? How is that possible? I thought Bob discussed everything with you.”
    “Before, yes. But lately, he seemed to be … withdrawn ... secretive even. Definitely not quite himself. He didn’t talk to me about what he was working on. He had lots