Chapter 4: The Casserole

Bree had said he'd be at her place by Friday.

It took him until Sunday night.

I learned it Monday from the housekeeper, who had a cousin in the building and who told me while wiping a clean counter.

"His car's parked out front since last night, ma'am. Black SUV. Nobody is in the office."

I thanked her.

Then I took out the big casserole dish, the blue one with the chipped handle, and made Gail's chicken and rice.

It was Brennan's favorite, with green beans on the side, and I made it exactly as I had every Monday for seven years.

At seven o'clock I drove to Bree's building.

It was a brick apartment house on Linden Court with a buzzer panel and a lobby that smelled of floor wax.

I did not use the buzzer.

A man came out with a bag of groceries, and I smiled at him and slipped in behind.

"Third floor," I told him, as if he'd asked.

On the third floor, an older woman stood in her doorway with a small dog under her arm and a look of great interest.

"Hello," I said brightly. "I'm Lena Corrigan, Brennan Corrigan's wife. I'm so sorry to bother everyone. I'm just collecting my husband for dinner."

"His wife," the woman repeated.

"For about a week now," I said. "It's a long story."

She did not shut her door. She turned her whole body toward the hall.

I knocked on 3C with the toe of my shoe, because my hands were full.

Bree opened it in a silk robe.

She was not smiling.

"Lena."

"Hi, Bree. Is Brennan here? I made his dinner."

Behind her, I could see him on the couch with his tie off and a glass in his hand.

He rose slowly.

"Lena. What are you doing?"

"Bringing you dinner," I said. "You didn't come home, so I brought home to you."

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