CHAPTER 15

Roberta Jennings lived on a quiet dead-end street in a carefully maintained ranch-style home. Though there were pictures of grown children and grandchildren throughout the house, the décor could hardly be considered child friendly. The living room was dominated by an extensive collection of Lladró figurines, proudly displayed inside two ceiling-high glass cases. The plush wall-to-wall carpet was pearl white, and the furniture was small, firm, and uninviting.

The object of John Meacham’s outburst was roosted on a hardback chair, looking about as comfortable as her furniture. Lou noticed a tremor of her fleshy hands as she sipped her tea, and suspected it might represent early onset Parkinson’s disease, or perhaps a familial tremor. Meanwhile, the springs of her Victorian sofa were digging into his backside. He tried without success to shift into a more comfortable position.

“Are you sure you won’t have something to eat or drink?” she asked him, gesturing toward a platter piled high with Oreos and an assortment of butter cookies. Beside the snacks was a porcelain teapot, steam wafting from its spout.

“No, thank you,” Lou said. “We really don’t mean to take up too much of your time.”

Jennings puckered her lips, gave Lou a disappointed glance, and then swallowed three of the cookies one after another without much chewing. As a doctor, Lou found it difficult not to feel deep concern for the woman’s health, much as he knew John Meacham had done. Jennings’s ankles were swollen, purplish, and crammed inside shoes that, at that time of the day, at least, were way too small for her. She wore polyester pants that allowed give for an expanding waistline, and her neck and chin were flabby. Her excessive weight had drained most of the luster from her face, and while Roberta was perhaps sixty, Lou guessed her body’s age to be fifteen years older.

“I don’t get many visitors,” Jennings said after a sip of her tea. “Since Terry died, I haven’t been very sociable.”

“Terry was—?” Lou asked.

“Her husband. And one of the best guys you’d ever have the pleasure of knowing,” Stone interjected. “Me and Terry used to go duck hunting together. Best shot in the county. Ask anyone who knows, and they’d tell you the same. The absolute best shot.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Lou said. “When did he pass on?”

“About a year ago,” Jennings said. “He had a heart attack. It happened so suddenly. One minute here, the next minute gone.”

“If it was that quick, he probably didn’t suffer any,” Lou said, feeling the response, though well intended, was lame.

“Dr. Meacham pleaded with him to lose weight. Same as he did with me.”

He knew you were headed for the same fate, Lou thought.

“I’m sorry I have to bring up those memories of Terry, and also of what happened that day in Dr. Meacham’s office,” he said, “but Chief Stone told me you might be willing to tell me what you remember.”