I want to enjoy my evening in peace, so I wait to open the planner until I hear the heavy front door close. A low voice that probably belongs to the son is inscrutable but prompts a rejoinder from his mother that I can definitely hear loud and clear.

“You’re coming back Friday? Leo!”

Yup. The son. More low conversation. The outside door creaks open.

“Leo? What? Okay then, if that’s the best you can do.” The front door closes, and a second later, Mrs. Antonelli’s door slams. Thank God.

I nibble cold fries straight from the bag and sip my wine and open the first planner. The pages are still crisp and white. Only the first week of January has any writing on it, but I flip through the other pages, just in case, but there’s nothing there. No more plans. Only the sad reminder that this man’s life has ended.

There are two notations. January 4: “Birthday.” And Thursday, January 2: “Lunch with Hayes.” I sift back through my notes, looking for anyone named Hayes, but don’t see it written anywhere. He wasn’t at the party, so who is he? I make a note to ask the wife tomorrow.

I set the planner aside, bite into my burger, which, thankfully isn’t stone cold, and reach for the other planner. It was well used, slightly puffy, pages filled with notes in various colored ink, a stain of perhaps coffee here and there. Just by the feel of it, Dr. Bradley was a busy man. I start at the back, December. There are several notations for Christmas activities. Dinner dates with his wife and a smattering of friends’ names corresponding to his birthday party guests. On December 9, he wrote, “Meet Laken at spa, 12:30.” Maybe he went in for a massage. Thursday, December 19: “Pub, Josh and Cal.” So he had a few beers with his buddies. Then I see something that has me sitting up straight, setting my wineglass on the coffee table.

On Monday, December 30, Dr. Bradley had noted an appointment at a prison in Connecticut. What was he doing there? I look back through the rest of the planner. There are no other appointments listed for that facility or any other prison. Everything else looks to be purely social. An ex-patient? Or was Dr. Bradley conducting interviews for his book? Another question for the Mrs., although she might not know. She doesn’t appear to know much of anything of her husband’s professional life. Maybe a question for Dr. Westmore instead. I tidy my notes, outline my questions for Mrs. Bradley for tomorrow, and finish my wine.

CHAPTER 13

Molly

CORRINE DROVE ME HOME IN THE MORNING. DETECTIVE MYERS HAD called and told me that they were through with the house, and I could return as long as I stayed out of the garage, which is fine with me.

It feels strange to be here. Corrine arranged to have a cleaning crew come through and not only clean up the party mess but wash away the fingerprint dust as well. She’s standing on the porch, paying the lead cleaning woman, while the other two load their equipment into their van. I feel swept away. Corrine managed everything in perfect Corrine style. No one’s better at cleaning up messes.