Twenty-Five Years Ago Today by Stacy Juba Page A

inviting me." She removed her coat and
Cheryl hung it in the closet.
    "Don't be silly. Besides, she's cooking." In
a loud whisper, Cheryl added, "My husband and I prefer eating at
our house. Mom has a pet ferret. She soaks herself in perfume
because the smell drives me crazy."
    As if on cue, Irene waved from the kitchen,
an apron tied around her narrow waist. "I heard that. My ferret's
not too happy with your scent either. I'll be out soon, I'm just
finishing up." She ducked back inside.
    Irene seemed thrilled to entertain. She must
get lonely like Aunt Susan. Kris pledged to visit her aunt soon.
Maybe she could even introduce the two women. They had a lot in
common.
    Cheryl gestured to a tray of cheese and
crackers on a glass coffee table with slender iron-welded legs.
"Help yourself. Michael!" she called.
    Taking a deep breath, Kris slathered a
cracker with port wine cheese. She hoped Michael Soares was more
pleasant than his son. She wandered to the piano in the corner and
touched the shining maple surface.
    A man in a V-neck cream pullover and khakis
trekked down the staircase. His athletic build and golden hair
combed straight back reminded her of a surfer. She found it hard to
believe that Michael Soares was her father's age. Those golden
streaks must come from a bottle, but still ...
    After the introductions, Michael poured them
each a glass of white wine. He stretched his arms to either side
along the back of a couch adorned with loose pillows. His lean face
eased into a smile. "I noticed you admiring the piano. It belongs
to our son."
    "It's impressive," Kris said.
    "Eric gets his musical talent from me. I was
in a band before he was born. Too bad he couldn't take the piano,
but he lives on the fifth floor of his apartment building. Neither
of us is eager to move it."
    Cheryl sighed. "I understand you met our son.
I'm sorry about the circumstances. Eric is impulsive. He's
concerned about his grandmother raising her hopes."
    "You've accepted a challenging assignment,"
Michael said.
    "I know," Kris said. "But I'm looking forward
to it."
    "Make sure you remember that the police have
investigated this over and over again. Not that I'm trying to
discourage you. It's just that if you get excited, Irene will, too.
And that could make her life difficult."
    Irene reappeared without her apron and
hunkered beside Kris on the loveseat. "Has Michael told you about
Diana? It was a blessing when he entered our lives. She was
devastated after her father died. My husband had colon cancer and
died seven months after he was diagnosed, the fall of Diana's
senior year. It was a terrible time."
    "Daddy deteriorated to a skeleton," Cheryl
said. "He couldn't paint or sculpt. It was like his body died
before his mind did."
    Kris's heart ached for Diana's sorrow. It
wasn't fair that some fathers saw their children become
grandparents while others died young. Diana must have questioned
why a thousand times.
    "We all got a lift when Cheryl brought
Michael home the next spring," Irene said. "Diana was thrilled
after they got married and had Eric. She designated herself as his
babysitter. She was so happy those first few months with the
baby."
    They moved into the adjoining dining room.
Cheryl had set gold-rimmed fine china on the gleaming table. Floral
drapes blended with the yellow walls, giving the room a warm
inviting look. Kris drank a long swallow of wine from a crystal
goblet, the moisture on the glass dampening her clammy hands.
    Her gaze rested on each of them in turn.
Michael and Cheryl sat at the ends of the table, Irene across from
her.
    "Would you mind going over the night Diana
died?" Kris asked. "It might help to know what you were doing."
    "I think she wants our alibis," Michael
said.
    "I didn't mean-"
    "It's okay. It's standard procedure to
interrogate the family."
    "We went over our stories countless times
with the police," Irene said. "It made me angry. They should have
been finding evidence, not questioning us. But I suppose