Extracurricular Activities by Maggie Barbieri

particular.” He jabbed a fat, sausagelike finger in my direction. “Remember,” he said gravely, “I owe you.”
    Peter had left a note on my car last spring to that effect. I didn’t know why he felt like he owed me and I didn’t need any favors.
    â€œPeter,” I said slowly, finding my voice, “the only thing I need from you is for you to leave me alone.”
    He nodded. “I can understand why you would feel that way. I think that’s called ‘empathy.’ Or is it ‘sympathy’?” He shook his head, confused. “I can never remember. But here’s the thing, Alison: I owe you way more than you could ever know.”
    I shook my head. “You don’t.”
    He insisted. “I do! You were so kind to Kathy, you did everything you could to help find her killer…hell, you found her killer! You solved the case! The fucking NYPD couldn’t even do that with all of those fucking detectives working overtime!” He grimaced again. “Sorry. I have to stop cursing. Old habits die hard.”
    My stomach was sick and I was getting light-headed.
    â€œHere’s the thing, Alison,” he said, his voice changing slightly. “I need to tell you how sorry I am about Ray.”
    I waited.
    â€œI didn’t have any fond feelings for the man, obviously,” he said, tears filling his eyes. “I actually wished he would die. But you married the man, you had a life together. I’m sure you’re very sad about his passing.” He shoved half a piece of biscotti into his mouth. “Does your boyfriend have any idea who did this?”
    â€œHe’s not my boyfriend,” I clarified, as if it mattered. “And Crawford doesn’t tell me anything about any of his cases.” I was babbling, but it was the truth.
    Peter stared at me, looking for some kind of sign that I was telling the truth. He chewed on his pinkie nail and considered what I said. I wondered if he was trying to find out if Crawford was linking him to the murder. It made sense, after all. A grieving father, who was also a Mob boss…Peter clearly had motive and opportunity. After a few minutes of tense silence, he got up.
    I decided to go for broke even though I knew I wouldn’t get the truth. “Did you kill Ray, Peter?”
    He looked stunned but I assumed that acting was part of the criminal repertoire of false reactions. “No!”
    I sighed. “Okay, let me rephrase that. Did you have someone kill Ray?”
    He shook his head sadly. “Now why would you think that, Alison?”
    â€œOh, I don’t know, Peter. Maybe you thought that killing Ray would be one way to repay me for my kindness? Or maybe to avenge your daughter’s death?”
    He smiled slyly. “Now, there was a good idea. Too bad I didn’t come up with that on my own.” He looked up at the ceiling. “You’ll let me know if they find out anything, won’t you, Alison?”
    I wasn’t sure why he would want to know who did it or who the police suspected. I took a step back. No, I wouldn’t let him know anything that I found out, but I stayed silent.
    He approached me and put his hand to my cheek, leaving it there for a few long seconds. He rubbed his hand against it.
    â€œI’d really like you to leave,” I whispered. My face was hot beneath his clammy hand.
    He dropped his hand to my shoulder. “I always liked you.”
    And I never liked you, I wanted to say, but didn’t. Unable to meet his eyes, I focused on the collar of his shirt.
    â€œRemember when we were in school together?” he asked.
    I nodded. Peter went to Joliet, a mile or so away from St. Thomas and the original “brother” school to my formerly all-girls college. His proximity, coupled with the flashy Trans Am that he drove, made him tough to miss.
    â€œYou were very cute. Nice girl. Quiet. Not like some of those other slutty girls