Chapter Four: The Widow

It really was a lovely drive. Jane relaxed into it, soaking in the sight of other cars sparkling in the sunlight, and, when the scenery got long and empty, soaking in the sunlight itself.

By the time he reached his destination, his golden friend in the sky had dipped low.

Red gravel crackled under the Citroen's tires as the little sports car snaked its way up a steep, curving driveway. The Jorsten house was perched exactly halfway up a rock-strewn hillside. Above and beyond lay barren, untamed wilderness.

There were no other vehicles parked outside, but Jane suspected at least one gleaming SUV was concealed inside the large, brand-new and ultra-white garage.

He hadn't called ahead to warn Mrs. Jorsten of his coming. No fun in that.

Catching people off-guard was always better.

If the widow happened to be away from home on an errand, Jane didn't mind. He was happy to wander and wait.

Easing the car into park, Jane stepped out and drank in the full picture of the place:

Lilac Sunbonnets and vivid indigo Canterbury Bells winked at him from a small garden encircled by blood-colored rocks. The rest of the ground was dusty and cracked. The house itself was two stories high, modern, and well-built – an amalgam of red bricks and clean white aluminum siding. A large one-story addition had been seamlessly blended with the original architecture, probably less than a year ago. There were many big, square windows, and they all sparkled.

Warm breeze ruffled Jane's hair, sweet with the smell of flowers. He trotted up to the front porch and eyed his options:

Knocker, or bell?

He pressed the button and waited, listening curiously.

Chimes sounded inside the house – nothing too showy or overly-melodical, just a standard "ding-dooooong." From somewhere deeper inside, a muffled woman's voice called out to him:

"Coming!"

Jane smiled. He heard soft thumps of feet on a carpeted staircase, and multiple heavy locks sliding open.

Then the door swung inward, and a pale blonde woman stood before him.

Laura Jorsten regarded Jane somberly. "You must be the lawyer."

Jane lifted his eyebrows. "Uh, no actually. I'm with the CBI – Patrick Jane." He pulled out his ID and held it up.

Laura frowned at the badge. " 'California Bureau of…?'" Then a light seemed to dawn. "Oh, yes. That's right. I do remember speaking to an Agent Rigsby after I finished with Sheriff Hamilton…" She huffed a small, humorless laugh. "I've spoken to so many people these last few days…It's all blurring together. I must've totally forgotten you were coming out today. Unless – " Laura's whole body tightened, a new intensity lighting her mournful eyes. She searched Jane's face. "Do you have something on the investigation, is that why you're here? Did you find out who…did this to Paul?"

Something small wriggled inside Jane's chest at her raw desperation. Tiny, little inchworm of guilt. He cleared his throat. "Uh, no. Not yet. I just needed to ask you something, if that's all right."

The intensity faded. "Oh. Of course…Please come in." She stepped back, motioning for him to enter the large foyer.

Jane's head turned this way and that, soaking up details as he followed her in.

There was a hat stand adorned with a rainbow assortment of baseball caps, each one bearing the logo for "Durenko Sports, Inc."

A hodgepodge of shoes lined the wall: scuffed boots and sun-bleached sandals and well-worn Keds, all in three different sizes.

The words "Welcome Home" beamed at Jane in pretty blue paint from above the doorway leading to the main house, and a small metal cactus sat atop a table, inviting keyrings.

Jane grinned at this last item. He pulled out his own car keys with a flourish, and slipped them onto the highest branch.

Laura led him past a staircase carpeted in plush emerald green, and into a neat, comfortable living room made to look twice as large by an enormous wall-mirror.

Jane immediately began prowling, examining pictures and knick-knacks, peeking through a doorway into the kitchen. Laura, on the other hand, sank wearily onto a blue leather sofa. She looked up at him with dull eyes. "You had some questions you needed to ask me, Mr…Jane, is it?"

"Yes," Jane answered, not tearing his eyes from the photos on the mantel.

A little brown-haired boy – obviously a young Paul Jorsten – sat side-by-side with a younger, equally brunette little girl in the first picture. They were grinning, arm-in-arm, dangling their bare legs in a blue-green swimming pool.

In the next three photos, the same two children were putting some sort of superhero costume on a resigned-looking Golden Retriever, making castles in the sand, and waving from the top of a water slide.

Then there was a shot of a teenaged Paul standing next to his parents, looking gangly and awkward in his graduation cap and gown, a picture of Laura in a lacy white dress, surrounded by three lovely blonde bridesmaids, and a very close-up photo of a chubby-cheeked baby, swaddled in pink.

Jane turned away from this last picture and faced Laura. "So…you're expecting a lawyer?"

She sniffled and dabbed at her nose. "Yes. Just someone from Paul's company. They called this morning and said they were sending one of their attorneys to go over all of his paperwork with me. Paul's insurance and his – his pension and…" Her voice wavered. She swallowed. "Just…that sort of thing…"

"Ah." Jane nodded absently, fingering something in his pocket. His gaze wandered into the kitchen. If he squinted, he could make out a chore list written in orange crayon, pinned to the refrigerator by alphabet magnets:

Dinner – Mommy
Dishes – Mommy
Laundry – Daddy
Set the Table – Penny
Garbage – Daddy and Penny

A wistful smile touched Jane's lips. His hand closed around the flat piece of metal in his pocket. He looked over at Laura. "Mrs. Jorsten, when we found your husband, he was carrying—"

"Mama?" A small, meek voice floated down from the top of the staircase.

Jane looked up and saw two soulful blue eyes, peeking out through the railing.

Laura quickly wiped her own eyes and smiled up at her daughter. "Hey, Munchkin. Do you need something?"

The little girl's gaze roved uncertainly onto Jane, who smiled "hi!" and waggled his fingers at her. She hesitantly returned the wave, and then looked back at her mother. "When are you coming back?"

Laura flicked a glance at Jane. "Oh, I just – Mommy just needs to talk to this policeman for a little while, ok? You go and play in your room, and I'll be up in just a few minutes."

The girl, Penny, stared down at them for another long moment. Then she turned and padded away.

Laura's falsely bright smile crumbled off her face. "I'm sorry about that. She just doesn't like to be alone, since…" Her voice trailed off.

"It's all right," said Jane.

Laura's eyes were still on the spot where her daughter had been standing.

"Uh, we could finish talking upstairs," Jane suggested, "If you want to keep an eye on her."

Gratitude softened Laura's pale face. It made her look younger. And less sad. "That might make her feel better," she agreed.

"And you, too?"

Laura acknowledged this truth with a small smile. Small, but real. "And me, too."

Jane gestured at the stairway. "Shall we?"

The widow stood, and together, they traipsed up the emerald steps.