take that sort of risk. Rogers hadn’t done it. Frank was pretty sure he
knew who did.
UPON FIRST GLANCE, THE WOMAN APPEARED SO TWN AS TO convey the impression
of emaciation perhaps due to cancer.
On second glance, the good color in the cheeks, the light bone structure
and the graceful way she moved led to the conclusion that she was very
lean but otherwise healthy.
“Please sit down, Ms. Broome. I appreciate your coming down.”
The woman nodded and slid into one of the seats. She wore a flowery
skirt that ended midcalf. A single strand of large fake pearls encircled
her neck. Her hair was tied in a neat bun; some of the strands at the
top of her forehead were beginning to turn a silvery gray, like ink
leaching onto paper.
Going on the smooth skin and absence of wrinkles, Frank would have put
her age at about thirty-nine. Actually she was some years older.
“I thought you were already done with me, Mr. Fiank.”
“Please call me Seth. You smoke?”
She shook her head.
“I’ve just got a few follow-up questions, routine. You’re not the only
one. I understand you’re leaving Mr. Sullivan’s employment?”
She noticeably swallowed, looked down and then back up.
“I was close, so to speak, to Mrs. Sullivan. It’s hard now, you know . .
.” Her voice trailed off.
“I know it is, I know it is. It was terrible, awful.” Frank paused for a
moment. “You’ve been with the Sullivans how long now?”
“A little over a year.”
“You do the cleaning and … ?”
“I help do the cleaning. There’s four of us, Sally, Rebecca and me.
Karen Taylor, she does the cooking. I also looked after Mrs. Sullivan’s
things for her too. Her clothes and what-not. I was sort of her
assistant, I guess you could say.
Mr. Sullivan had his own person, Richard.”
“Would you like some coffee?”
Frank didn’t wait for her to answer. He got up and opened the door to
the interrogation room.
“Hey Molly, can you being me a couple of javas?” He turned to Ms.
Broome. “Black? Cream?”
“Black.”
“Make it two pures, Molly, thanks.”
He shut the door and sat back down.
“Damn chill in the air, I can’t seem to stay warm. 9@ He tapped the
rough wall. “This cinder block doesn’t help much.
So you were saying about Mrs. Sullivan?”
“She was really nice to me. I mean she would talk to me about things.
She wasn’t–she wasn’t, you know, from that class of people, the upper
class I guess you could say. She went to high school where I did right
here in Middleton.”
“And not too far apart in years I’m thinking.”
His remark brought a smile to Wanda Broome’s lips and a hand
unconsciously moved to cajole back into place an invisible strand of
hair.
“Further than I’d like to admit.”
The door opened and their coffee was delivered. It was gratefully hot
and fresh. Frank had not been lying about the chill.
“I won’t say she fit in real well with all those types of people, but
she seemed to hold her own. She didn’t take anything from anybody if you
know what I mean.”
Frank had reason to believe that was true. From all accounts the late
Mrs. Sullivan had been a hellion in many respects.
“Would you-say the relationship between the Sullivans
I was … good, bad, in between?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Very good. Oh I know what people i say about the
age difference and all, but she was good for him, and he was good for
her. I truly believe that. He loved her, I can tell you that. Maybe more
Re a father loves his daughter, but it was still love.”
“And she him?”
Now there was perceptible hesitation. “You’ve got to understand that
Christy Sullivan was a very young woman, maybe younger in a lot of ways
than other women her age.
Mr. Sullivan opened up a whole new world for her and–” She broke off,
clearly unsure of how to continue.
Frank chanced gears. “What about the vault in the bedroom? Who kWew
about it?”
“I don’t know. I certainly didn’t. I assume that Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan