Red Widow by Alma Katsu (interesting books to read .txt) 📕

science club and where they will go on summer vacation this year. The normal talk of normal families.

“I’m sorry he’s so shy,” Theresa says later, when her son has gone upstairs to do homework. She rinses dishes and stacks them in the dishwasher while Lyndsey scrapes leftovers into plastic containers. “He’s had a hard time of it since he lost his father.”

Lyndsey remembers the first few years after her own father died—was she that shy? Worse, probably. Then she thinks of a button to push, a way to see what’s on Theresa’s mind. “That’s understandable,” she finally says. “Maybe he needs a male figure in his life. You know, a father figure.”

Theresa’s eyes flash. Anger simmers below the surface. It’s the first time Lyndsey’s seen her like this. The air practically crackles. “What are you saying? That I owe it to my son to get married again?”

“I’m not saying marriage.” She backtracks to more manageable territory but finds she wants to keep going. “You’re still a young woman—don’t you ever think about finding someone new? You could have children . . . Give Brian a brother or sister. That might help him . . .”

Her laugh is mirthless. “That doesn’t seem like the best reason to bring another child into the world. Or to get married, for that matter.” Her eyes narrow. She hefts up her wineglass a little too quickly. “Where is all this coming from? Why the sudden interest in seeing me married off?”

“I didn’t say—”

Theresa cuts her off. “I’m not ready to move on. I can admit it. I still love Richard. This is not open for discussion.”

Then she gives Lyndsey a small smile, a reconciliation. They retreat to the sofas, Theresa pouring the last of the wine into Lyndsey’s glass. Is she trying to get me drunk? Lyndsey tries to remember how much wine Theresa has had.

Theresa runs a hand through her hair. “This is nice. I’m not used to having friends over. I can’t remember the last time I got together with someone. Too busy worrying about Brian, I guess. And maybe I got to be too . . . oh, I don’t know . . . notorious? Who wants to be friends with ‘The Widow,’ anyway?” Her smile is an invitation to talk. But what does Theresa want her to talk about?

They sip, wait each other out. It’s a bit nerve-wracking but Lyndsey learned this at Penn: you can’t rush the subject. They’re going to speak when they’re ready and rushing it will only ruin things, drive them in the directions you subconsciously want them to go. Let them decide. She takes the smallest sips possible, making the wine last. She doesn’t want to drink too much, risk a slipup.

Finally, Theresa speaks, filling in the awkward silence. “So, how is the investigation going? Making any progress?”

It’s the first time Theresa has asked, and as much as she’s trying to play it cool, there’s the slightest hint of interest in her voice. This is an opportunity to try for a reaction from Theresa, to try to get her to misstep, to wobble. It’s not without risk: you don’t want to push her too far, to spook her.

As Lyndsey is thinking it over, however, Theresa decides to press. “Who was that you were meeting with yesterday? In Eric’s office? I didn’t recognize her.”

Bingo. She has to be talking about Sally Herbert. Lyndsey didn’t think Theresa was at her desk when she and Eric had met with Sally. She’s more on top of things than I think. “She’s with the FBI.” Will this make Theresa realize this could mean wiretaps and surveillance?

Theresa forges on anyway.

“Oh? So, you must have a suspect, then?” There is an unmistakable quaver in Theresa’s voice. Lyndsey just shrugs. Maybe this admission will push Theresa, make her more desperate. Force her to make a mistake if she goes forward.

By unspoken agreement, they stop. Lyndsey feels the tension in the air as she carries the glasses to the sink while Theresa goes upstairs to get her son ready for bed. She’s set the trap: now to see if Theresa walks into it.

She listens to the sound of their voices, mother and son, without being able to make out the words. The gentle negotiation of bedtime. There’s something reassuring about those two tones together, Brian’s voice high and singsong, like he’s reciting nursery rhymes, Theresa’s even and slightly melodic. It makes her feel slightly guilty for what she’s done. If things go as planned—as hoped—she’ll be putting Theresa away in jail. Brian will be without either of his parents. What will happen to him? Theresa’s mentioned that her mother is still living—could she take care of a young grandson?

Lyndsey shakes her head, as though it can rid her of these unpleasant thoughts. Whatever happens to Brian, it’s not her fault. That was Theresa’s decision. It’s all been Theresa’s decision.

It’s tense and unpleasant when Theresa sees her to the front door, hugging herself against the cold as Lyndsey slips on her raincoat. It’s a few hours to midnight and tomorrow is a workday. They smile grimly at each other, and Lyndsey fancies it’s an acknowledgment of what they both know. Where they stand.

The battle lines are drawn, the end is near. There’s only one question left to answer: who will prevail?

“Thanks for a lovely evening.” The words slip from Lyndsey with a crisp edge.

“See you in the office tomorrow,” Theresa says as she closes the door.

TWENTY-NINE

Lyndsey sits in a cocoon of darkness.

It’s completely still in the office. So quiet, you can hear the tick of the minute hand on the big office clock. She didn’t go home after dinner but went back to work. Maybe she’s not as hard as she’d like to think. The evening with Theresa has shaken her. She can’t help but worry that she’s wrong, that she’s made a mistake. Was Theresa acting guilty? In the moment, she’d wanted to believe that, but now . . . She’s not so sure.

According to the FBI transcript, the Russians will make contact with