Poe didn’t answer.
“Just spit it out, Rom. I won’t melt. He slept with her, right?”
Poe said, “Alison, do you remember the Bogeyman case?”
Anger coursed through her heart. Fiercely, she glared at him. Poe paled at her fury. “Wha … wha … what’d I say?”
Knowing she was irrationally angry, Alison softened her expression. “You don’t remember, do you?”
He thought: Oh God, what nerve did I touch this time?
The Bogeyman. He had been around ten. Which meant Alison had been seven, maybe eight—
Her mother!
Anything associated with her mother …
He said, “It was right around the time of your mother’s death. I’m sorry, I didn’t think—”
“It’s not just mere association. Think harder.”
Poe was confused, remained silent.
“How could you have forgotten?” she chided.
“I … I’m sorry, but—”
“My mother … her death. The cops had ruled it a suspicious suicide. They came to my house to ask me questions—”
“Oh, Christ!” Mentally, Poe kicked himself. “I don’t believe …”
How could he be so stupid! He had been there. The knock on the door. Two men in suits, one dressed in a cowboy hat and string tie with a turquoise clasp. They came in without even asking permission. Descending on the two of them. Two little kids. They’d been playing Clue—game number twelve or something like that. Her father had asked Poe if he could watch Alison while he did some grocery shopping.
Grocery shopping that took six hours.
Man, her dad had disappeared for a long time.
The men had introduced themselves as detectives. Started asking questions even though her father wasn’t home. Questions about her mother that made her cry. It had been only a month or so after the funeral.
Finally, Y had shown up. The Paiute Indian—an old friend of both his and Alison’s mothers—had materialized like some kind of apparitional savior. Seeing the police questioning two frightened children, the old man went ballistic. Poe still recalled the veins throbbing in the Indian’s red neck. Y had told the cops—in colorful terms—to leave. As far as Poe knew, the fuzz had never returned.
Eons ago. When Y had been strong and vital … Poe said, “Jesus, Alison, I am so sorry.”
“They thought Mama was one of the Bogeyman’s, you know. That she might have been with him the night she … killed herself. Because … she had cut herself up pretty badly.”
Tenderly she reached for his hand.
“You can’t remember everything. I’m sorry. I’m emotional these days.” A small squeeze. “Why did you ask me about it?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Does this case remind you of the Bogeyman?”
Poe cleared his throat. “Maybe. From my faded childhood memory, perhaps there are some similarities.”
He waited a beat.
“Faded memory is right. How could I forget? The whole thing … it’s so clear in my mind now. Y popped in during the interrogation. Booted them all out. He was the real hero of the story.”
“Absolutely.” She took her hand off Poe’s. “How is the old man?”
“Same as always. Gambling away his Indian benefits. Both he and my mom …”
Alison said, “He was very close to my mother. I think they were lovers.”
Poe nodded.
“The Bogeyman case had a very disturbing effect on my mother.”
“Alison, we don’t—” Poe stopped himself. If she wanted to talk, let her talk. “Go on.”
She composed her thoughts. “During the murder—rather murders, I think there were two of them—she became unusually agitated. Of course, she was disturbed even before the Bogeyman. But if you’re looking for an excuse as to what drove her over the top, I’d say the killings.”
Poe heard the front door open.
Angrily, Alison whispered, “I wish he’d just go away!”
“I’d better go away.” As Poe started to rise, Alison grabbed his wrist. “What are you afraid of?”
Poe looked at her, sat back down. “Nothing.”
The boys—Harrison and Scott—came charging into the kitchen. Both her sons were redheads like Alison’s father. She hugged them like a mama lion. “Hey, sluggers. How’s it cooking?”
“Hey, Mom,” Scotty answered. “We brought you back some orange chicken and fried rice.”
“Sounds great!”
“I’m going up to my room,” Harrison said. “Homework.”
Scott put the take-out bag on the kitchen table. “I gotta work on my math folder. Then you have to sign it.”
“Fine,” Alison said.
“I mean, you don’t have to read it or anything. Just sign it.”
“I don’t mind reading it.”
“I kinda prefer if you don’t read it.”
“Whatever you want, Scotty.”
The boy looked tenderly toward his mother. “Are you okay?”
Alison forced herself not to cry. “Great.”
Still, Scotty was skeptical. He kissed his mother’s cheek. “Take care. Bye.”
Alison stood up and gave her husband a half-smile. “Thanks for taking them out.”
Jensen kissed her on the lips, throwing Poe daggers from the corners of his eyes. Easy to think the worst. But he knew Alison. Moreover, he knew Poe. Married women weren’t his thing. “Am I interrupting anything?”
“Not at all,” Alison chirped. “You want some coffee, Steve?”
Jensen forced himself to smile. “No, I’m fine.” He saw Poe getting up, said, “Don’t let me rush you.”
Feeling as wanted as ice on jet wings, Poe said, “Gotta go. Certain
