“We’re expecting our first child in December,” she explained, touching her stomach. “And my husband here is set on Peter Junior if it’s a boy—P.J., for short.”
“Because it’s a cute nickname,” Peter said.
“Yes, it is. For pajamas.” Melanie turned back to Ford and Victoria. “We’ll probably still be negotiating this on the way to the hospital.” Then she clapped her hands, getting back down to business. “So. Any other questions I can answer for you?”
Ford glanced at Victoria, who likely was thinking the same thing he was—that Melanie Ames seemed like a nice person who deserved better than her philandering jerk of a husband.
And also that Peter Sutter had some seriously fertile sperm.
“Nope,” Ford told the couple. “I think you’ve covered everything we need to know.”
Twenty-three
THE FOLLOWING DAY, after returning from court, Victoria deliberately ignored another cheeky look from Will when he told her that a “Mr. Dixon” had called again.
When Ford answered his cell this time, she could hear chatter in the background and guessed he was in the Trib newsroom.
“I did some digging into Peter and Melanie,” he said. “They bought a one-point-eight-million-dollar house. Five bedrooms, nice front porch and yard. All that’s missing is the white picket fence.”
“So they have money, obviously.”
“She has money,” Ford said. “Two years ago she left Coldwell Banker and started her own successful brokerage that represents luxury residential properties. She’s like the Victoria Slade of the real estate industry.”
Great. And now Victoria was about to turn this woman’s world completely upside down. “Did you find out anything else about him?”
“He’s a general manager at the XSport Fitness in Lakeview. Probably makes decent money, but nowhere near what his wife is bringing in.” His tone turned dry. “You may get a new client out of this, once Melanie finds out what her husband’s been up to.”
Victoria hung up with Ford, thinking that would indeed be ironic.
On Friday morning, she received the paternity test results from the lab and called her client to give her the news.
“Inconclusive? What does that mean?” Nicole asked.
For starters, it meant that Victoria wasn’t entirely the super-sleuth she’d thought she was. “It means the lab didn’t have a good enough sample to get an accurate result. Apparently, you need the root of the hair to run the test, and none of the hairs we got qualified.” She was quick to reassure her client. “This doesn’t affect anything, Nicole. I just figured we’d run the test for our own edification. But you’re sure this guy is Zoe’s father, right?”
“Positive.”
“Then we move forward as planned. I’ll call him at work today.”
Nicole sounded surprised things were moving so fast. “Wow. Okay. What do you think he’s going to say? It’s not every day a man finds out he has a baby with a woman he probably doesn’t even remember.” Her tone turned serious. “His wife is going to hate Zoe and me, isn’t she? We’ll always be a reminder of how he cheated on her.”
Victoria said nothing for a moment, thinking back to the day when she was ten and had found her mother sitting in the living room, staring blankly out the front window.
He’s leaving us. Your dad is starting a new family and a lot will be changing around here.
“You didn’t know he was involved with someone, Nicole,” she said. “And even if you did, at the end of the day, this isn’t about you and Peter. It’s about Zoe. He’s her father—which means, at a minimum, that he needs to support her financially. The money will help you and Zoe, right?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“Well, then, it’s my job to get it for you.”
Unfortunately, however, when Victoria called the gym where Peter Sutter worked, she was put through to one of the assistant managers instead.
“Sorry, Peter’s not in today. Is there something I can help you with?” the assistant manager asked.
“That’s okay, I’ll just call again later. When do you expect him back in?” she asked.
“Monday. He gets here pretty early, usually around seven thirty.”
As much as Victoria was eager to get the ball rolling, she preferred not to call him at home, where he lived with his pregnant wife, with the news that he’d fathered a child with another woman. If for no other reason, she’d probably get a much more honest reaction from him if his wife wasn’t around while they talked.
So it appeared that Peter Sutter had a three-day stay of execution.
* * *
“YOU WERE ABLE to stop the panic attack? That’s excellent progress, Victoria.”
As pleased as she was, she didn’t want to overstate what had happened in the closet during the Sutters’ open house. “It wasn’t so much that I consciously stopped it,” she told Dr. Metzel. “More that I became focused on something else, and that kept me from going down the rabbit hole.”
He smiled. “That’s a good way to describe it. Often, it’s the fear of having a panic attack that can trigger another one. But in this case, when you became focused on something other than your anxiety, your body stopped acting as though it was in a fight-or-flight situation.” He jotted down something on his notepad. “Have you gone to any more exercise classes?”
She nodded. “I even managed to make it through a cardio workout class. I took a water break anytime I started worrying about being light-headed. I guess it reminded me that I could just leave the room anytime I wanted to.” She shrugged. “I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing.”
“A fear of being trapped during an attack is very typical with panic disorder,” he assured her.
Disorder. Heaven forbid the good doctor made it one measly session without getting in the word somehow.
“And have you tried riding the L again?”
“Yes, this past Sunday.”
“Do you feel ready to take the next step and ride when the train will be more crowded?”
She thought about that. Between her relaxation techniques and this new distraction strategy that had worked in the closet during the open house, she felt like she now had several solid tricks in her arsenal. “I think I am.”