It takes a second for me to recognize the woman with the long blond hair as the bartender I talked to yesterday. The one who’s now on a slab in a Boston morgue.

The DVD cuts to show a corridor of a children’s hospital. In this clip, a smaller group of cheerleaders are in street clothes in Patriots colors. Surrounding them are nurses in scrubs and smiling kids—some in wheelchairs, some holding on to rolling IV stands.

Felicia turns the sound up. Suzanne is talking to whoever’s behind the camera.

“We love performing at the games, but we love being here too, with the kids, being part of the community.” She turns and passes out kid-size Patriots jerseys to the young patients. She turns back and brushes a lock of hair out of her eyes. Her nails are painted Patriots blue. A tennis bracelet with gleaming red jewels sparkles on her wrist. “Games matter,” says Suzanne, “but to me, this is even more important.”

The camera pulls back to a wide shot. I can see Amber on the right, handing out mini-footballs, as the other cheerleaders hug the kids. When the camera pans to a local reporter, Felicia turns the video off. “And that’s all I have left of Suzanne.”

I wrap my arms around the grieving mother and feel her lean into my shoulder, sobbing. I’m probably violating some rule of journalistic objectivity, but screw it. I squeeze her tight. “Suzanne was a very special person,” I say. “I know you really miss having her here with you.”

I can feel Felicia nodding against me as her voice breaks. “I do.”

As we hug in front of the dresser, I hear the front door open, then slam shut.

“Mom, you here?”

Teresa.

Felicia straightens up and grabs a tissue from a box on the dresser. She wipes her eyes and dries her nose. “In here, honey!” she calls out.

Suddenly, Teresa is in the doorway. Her eyes go cold when she sees me.

“You!” she says. I can smell booze on her breath. “What are you doing here?”

“I had more questions for your mother.”

“Oh, yeah? Like the questions you had for Amber Keenan? ’Cause I just heard the news on the Boston station. It looks like whatever questions you asked her got her killed!”

CHAPTER
37

It takes Felicia about five minutes to get her daughter settled down. All Teresa can talk about is her reward and how she’s not going to get it now.

“Amber gave me some very useful information,” I tell Teresa. “We still need to investigate it. You putting me in touch with her was a big help.”

“Didn’t help me,” says Teresa, accepting a mug of black coffee from Felicia. “Or her.”

“Brea is trying to solve the case,” Felicia says. “It’s not like you have any friends down there at the Seabrook police department who are willing to help us.”