Eric’s suggestion that they move back in with him had given Lisa her out. “Eric, if you can stay with TJ, I’ll pick up Shannon. We’ll pack up and come out tonight.”

Lisa hurried to Bernstein’s office. As she drove, her cell phone rang. She glanced at the number. Shannon.

“Lisa, all your appointments are taken care of for tomorrow and Wednesday. Your two Wednesday morning clients said they would skip this week and see you the same time next week.”

“I appreciate that Shannon, thanks. Eric wants us to stay at his place again. You, too. If Jeff didn’t kill himself, then all of us are still at risk. I couldn’t argue—we’ll be safer there.” Moving back into Eric’s estate would complicate things for her, but Lisa would have to make the best of it, work it to her advantage.

“How is TJ? Is there anything I can do?”

“She’s fine for now—Eric is with her.”

“I can finish up here and leave pretty quick. Should we go to your place now to get some things, then go to Eric’s together?”

“No, I have some errands to do first. I’m getting a terrible headache. It feels like a migraine and it’s going to be a bad one, I’m afraid.”

“I didn’t know you got migraines.”

Lisa hated to lie, but this one was necessary. “I haven’t had one in years. All this is just too much; my body’s telling me to slow down. After I’m done running around, I’m going to go home and lie down for a couple hours. That’s the only thing that works. I’ll meet you at Eric’s later.”

“Do you think it’s a good idea to be alone?”

“It’ll only be for a few hours. I’ll be fine. You go ahead to Eric’s. Don’t take Phanny with you; she’ll be my protector. As soon as I’m feeling better, I’ll be there. I’ll call you before I leave home.” Lisa feared she was over-explaining, but Shannon had no reason to suspect the lie.

Lisa walked into the Bernstein’s waiting room two minutes past their scheduled time. His eyes looked sympathetic, but she couldn’t let him make this about her. She took a seat and said, “They think he committed suicide. You know what I’m going to ask you.”

“Of course. You want my opinion on whether Jeff could have been suicidal.” Noticing his reddened eyes, Lisa realized she’d been selfish in her haste to find answers—he was feeling the pain of Jeff’s suicide, too.

He continued, “The answer is no, I don’t think he was at all suicidal. But you know quite well what we see on the surface doesn’t always tell the entire story about a person’s mental state. Our clients don’t always tell us everything.”

“True enough. But there’s something you don’t know. He and TJ slept together New Year’s Eve. I’m concerned he may have felt guilty.”

Bernstein’s forehead creased. “Lisa, Jeff was wrought with guilt after his wife disappeared, and as you’re aware, on the verge of a serious depression. His work with your group, and the friendships that came with it, pulled him out of it. In my opinion, he was past the stage of obsessive guilt.” He sat back in his chair, studying her.

“Most of our time together was spent examining his relationship with Jamie. I believe they were both trying to be the person the other wanted them to be and as a result, found themselves uncomfortable with their relationship. They tried to make it work, but it never had a chance.”

Lisa thought his words made sense with what she knew about the couple. “But he and TJ didn’t have any more in common than Jeff and Jamie.”

“No, they didn’t. But they had developed something very special—a strong friendship. Would it have resulted in something lasting? Who knows? I don’t believe sleeping with her would have made Jeff feel so guilty he’d commit suicide.”

Lisa released a pent up breath. “I didn’t think so either.”

“Lisa, are you all right?”

“I’m upset about Jeff and what this means for the rest of us.” She felt him evaluating her response.

“I can see there’s more to it, Lisa. But if you don’t want to discuss it, I’ll respect your wishes. You know you can talk to me about anything. I want you to come and see me when you have time.”

She took his hand in hers when he walked over to her. “I’ll do that, Robert. Thank you.”

67             

Eric had talked to Jeff on New Year’s Eve as they’d set things up for the party. Nothing in the conversation or Jeff’s demeanor had revealed a hint of depression. No, their killer wanted to punish them. Eric wanted to find the man and tear him apart. He felt helpless, but what could he do? He could only try to keep the rest of them safe.

Before they left Brookfield, Maggie joined Eric and TJ. “Richard Conlin’s here and he’s talking to the Brookfield guys about doing a more thorough search. They seem convinced Jeff killed his wife but never had enough evidence to arrest him for it. They see this as a guilt-ridden suicide, so they aren’t going to be easy to convince his death might be suspicious. I’ll let you know how it turns out.”

When Eric and TJ got back to his place he put her in the guest room and gave her a sedative, refraining from telling her it was strong enough to put her out until morning. She needed the rest.

Teresa chattered in the background, mumbling TJ needed to eat first. Food, Teresa’s cure all, bubbled on the stove; she’d made a pot of chicken noodle soup. When Eric walked into the kitchen, Tina had just come in from the yard. God, he’d forgotten about the child. The smile on her face dimmed when she noticed the serious looks on their faces—and her mother’s tear-stained cheeks. Eric was grateful Teresa would be the one to explain Jeff’s death to her.

Shannon, who’d been staying with Lisa since she’d moved back home, had left for Eric’s by the time Lisa pulled into her driveway.

Phanny greeted Lisa with a wet kiss, but she shooed the dog away as she opened the thick, brown envelope TJ had handed her earlier. She spread its contents over the table, seeing TJ had plotted out every move Wilson made while she’d been watching him.

A germ of an idea had sprouted in Lisa’s mind after the night TJ showed her the file she had on James. What she saw on the pages in front of her proved her plan was doable.

A photo of James Wilson driving a snowmobile had been taken with a long-range lens. His sled appeared to be the latest and fastest, probably a custom model. TJ had documented his habit of whipping across the lake and the trails near his place on Lake Winnebago every day when he came home from work. Wilson commuted to his lake home from Milwaukee during the winter months, leaving his apartment in the city vacant.

Lisa studied the maps TJ printed out. Wilson’s home, fifteen miles north of Fond du Lac, sat on the east side of Lake Winnebago in an area sparsely populated with pricey homes. A snowmobile trail drifted past, webbing out from the eastern shore of the lake and branching out into the countryside. According to TJ’s notes, Wilson had a pattern of moving northeast from the lake, taking a trail that swung out into a wooded area near the marshlands.

He’ll be full of himself tonight; the fiend will be proud of what he’s done to us. Lisa hadn’t felt so much rage since Lawrence threatened to sue for custody of Paige.

With a few adaptations, the plan she’d devised for Lawrence would work just as well for Wilson. The bastard was sure to be racing his sled tonight.

Although she’d never loaded the snowmobiles by herself, it wouldn’t be impossible. She’d take them both. Two wouldn’t be as suspicious if anyone saw her in the area after the shooting. Paige usually helped her load them, but Lisa would manage alone. She could make it to his place in a little more than an hour providing her grandfather’s old truck started. A lot of maybes, unfortunately, but she couldn’t wait for certainties. This had to be done now, while TJ was with the others and had an ironclad alibi.