“She had a lot of rules regarding her daughter?”

“Brian worked hard. When he was home, he wanted to play. Tessa, however, wanted him to babysit. Sounds like sometimes they went round and round a bit. But he never said anything bad about her,” Jessica added hastily. “He wasn’t that kind of guy.”

“What kind of guy?”

“Guy who rags on his wife. Trust me”—she rolled her eyes—“we have plenty of those around here.”

“So why was Brian moody?” Bobby cycled back. “What happened this last time he was on tour?”

“I don’t know. He never said. He just seemed … miserable.”

“You think he beat his wife?”

“No!” Jessica appeared horrified.

“She has a medical history consistent with abuse,” Bobby added, just for the sake of argument.

Jessica, however, stood by her man. “No fucking way.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“How would you know?”

“Because he was sweet. And sweet guys don’t whack their wives.”

“Again, how would you know?”

She stared at him. “Because I managed to find a wife beater all by myself. Married him for five long years. Till I got smart, got fit, and kicked his ass to the curb.”

She flexed her arms pointedly. Miss Fit New England four times running, indeed. “Brian loved his wife. He didn’t hit her, and he didn’t deserve to die. Are we done?”

Bobby reached into his pocket, fished out his card. “Think about why Brian might have been ‘moody’ since his last return. And if anything comes to you, give me a call.”

Jessica took his card, while regarding his outstretched arm, which did not look nearly as toned as her own.

“I could help you with that,” she said.

“No.”

“Why not? Cost? You’re a detective. I could cut you a deal.”

“You haven’t met my wife,” Bobby said.

“She also a cop?”

“Nope. But she’s very good with a gun.”

Bobby got his mini-recorder, got his notepad, and got out of there.

Chapter 18

18

D.D. didn’t have any trouble tracking down Tessa’s childhood friend Juliana MacDougall, nee Howe, wife of three years, mother of one, living in a seventeen hundred square foot cape in Arlington. D.D. might have lied a little. Said she was from the high school, tracking down alumnae for an upcoming reunion.

Hey, not everyone wanted to take calls from their local detectives, and even fewer probably wanted to answer yet more questions regarding the shooting that had killed a brother ten years ago.

D.D. got Juliana’s address, established she was home, and took a ride over. On the way there, she checked her voice messages, including a cheery morning greeting from Alex wishing her the best with the missing persons case and letting her know he was in the mood to cook homemade alfredo, if she was in the mood to eat it.