Pierwsze 159 wierszy.
Mrs. Alves just joined a committee
at the school that we serve on.
How well did you know her?
Sometimes, I just feel overwhelmed.
Do you ever feel that?
I've got that early flight to Cleveland.
When do you get back?
It was Elena. She was found dead.
Can you please just tell me what happened?
Did you know her?
They're looking for the husband.
Evidently, they were having problems.
Did you know the boy? -Are we upsetting you?
We gotta find out who did this.
Did I do something wrong?
Where's your husband now?
Can you, um, put me through to Jonathan Fraser, please?
(OVER PHONE) I'm sorry, I'm not seeing a Jonathan Fraser.
("Dream a Little Dream of Me" playing)
-(police siren wailing) -Woman 1 (on phone): HYATT PLACE INDEPENDENCE.
-Grace: Jonathan Fraser, please. -Man 1 (on phone): HYATT REGENCY AT THE ARCADE.
-Jonathan Fraser's room, please. -Woman 2 (on phone): HYATT CLEVELAND LEGACY.
Grace: Can you put me through to Jonathan Fraser's room, please?
Man 2 (on phone): THIS IS JONATHAN.
-Jonathan Fraser? -Man 2 (on phone): YES. WHO IS THIS?
I'm...
I'm sorry, um... Sorry.
Did you hear from Dad today at all?
Uh, not since this morning when he left.
You saw him before he left, at 5:00 AM?
Yeah. He came in to say goodbye.
Did he say anything else?
I think he just said "bye," and then...
and then he kissed me on the forehead...
and-- and left. I was half asleep.
He didn't say anything else?
Probably that he loved me?
-What's wrong? -Does he usually do that before he leaves on a trip?
-Say goodbye? -No, come into your room while you're still asleep.
-Doesn't he usually just say goodbye the night before? -Um...
M-mom, you're acting strange.
Well, it-it's just I, I...
I haven't heard from him all day.
I mean, I know he has two presentations to give,
and he's probably busy, but I'm just...
-Text him. -He left his phone.
-He left his phone? -Mm-hmm.
Do you know his code?
No.
How did he seem this morning?
He seemed like Dad.
He came into your room, he said goodbye,
maybe told you that he loved you,
and then he left?
What's going on?
No-- (sighs) Nothing, honey.
I'm just...
Um...
Nothing, it-it-- It's nothing.
-(sighs) -(turns on TV)
Reporter 1 (on TV): THIS GUY SHOOTS NOTHING BUT THREE-POINTERS!
YOU NEVER SEE THE MID-RANGE--
Reporter 2 (on TV): THE COMMUNITY OF THE TONY UPPER EAST SIDE
REARDON ACADEMY IS IN SHOCK TONIGHT
OVER THE GRUESOME DISCOVERY OF A FOURTH GRADE MOTHER
FOUND BLUDGEONED TO DEATH.
Reporter 3 (on TV): ACCORDING TO POLICE, ELENA ALVES
NEVER RETURNED HOME LAST NIGHT AFTER A SCHOOL FUNDRAISER.
IT WAS HER 10-YEAR-OLD SON WHO FOUND THE VICTIM
DEAD IN HER BLOOD-STREWN ART STUDIO THIS MORNING.
CAUSE OF DEATH HASN'T BEEN CONFIRMED, BUT WE'RE TOLD
THE VICTIM WAS STRUCK MULTIPLE TIMES WITH A BLUNT INSTRUMENT,
SUFFERING NUMEROUS ABRASIONS AND LACERATIONS
-TO HER SKULL. ONE OFFICER CALLED IT... -(phone ringing)
-Hey. Mm-hmm. -Sylvia (on phone): ARE YOU SEEING THIS?
-(news report on TV) -It's all over.
Mentioning Reardon, it's just...
It's beyond awful.
I just can't stop thinking about that woman.
-I know. -Sylvia: AND THE CHILDREN, MY GOD...
-(sighs) -(incoming call beeps)
You know what? I've got Amanda on the other line.
I'll call you back. Okay.
-Henry: Mom! -(gasps)
-Oh God. -What?
You scared me.
-Don't do that. -I said "Mom."
What's wrong with you?
I don't know where your father is.
He's not returning calls,
he's not returning my emails, nothing.
And that doesn't make any sense.
Is it possible that he just doesn't have internet?
He's at a medical conference, Henry. He has internet.
Alright. So, he's usually
terrible about checking in, right?
You guys fight about it all the time.
And he usually has those dinners
after the conference.
If he's at the dinner,
but he-- if he doesn't have his phone,
then how is he gonna communicate with you?
-Or! Maybe he's on the plane. -Henry...
'Cause he did say he might get back earlier, right?
-You're right. -Yeah.
-So, don't worry. -He's on the plane. He's flying back to us.
-Don't worry. It's fine. -(mumbling)
Hello? Hello?
Jonathan?
Hello?
Hung up.
Somebody tried to call him,
heard your voice...
thought "wrong number," and hung up. Okay?
Elena: SOMETIMES, I JUST-- I FEEL...
-I FEEL... -Overwhelmed.
And, um, lost.
-(baby fussing) -(inaudible)
-(traffic noises) -(panting)
-(birds chirping) -(traffic noises)
Reporter: WE ARE LIVE IN FRONT OF THE REARDON SCHOOL
where the son of the victim...
-(overlapping reporters) -(shutters snapping)
Is this 'cause of the dead mom?
-Woman: Grace. -Grace: We need to move quickly.
-Sylvia: Grace! Hi. -Oh, Sylvia!
-Oh my God, can you believe this? -Hi! I know.
Have you ever seen such a cluster-fuck? Sorry.
A caravan of concerned mothers. God forbid they let the nanny
bring their child to school on such a momentous occasion.
-Hi. -Hi.
-Hi. -Alexis Young, Grace Fraser. She's a second grade mom.
-Oh, hi. -Hi. Um,
-I've been told you're a therapist? -Yes, I am.
I don't mean to be schnorring free medical advice,
but my little Kimberly is already anxious to begin with,
and this is our first school murder,
and I just was wondering if there were, you know,
-any techniques you could recommend. -I'm gonna head in.
-Grace: Sure. I'll see you this afternoon. -Henry: Love you.
Did you guys hear?
The husband suddenly just turned himself in.
-Sylvia: What? -Amanda: Turns out that I actually met him once.
He gave me a bad feeling.
-Sylvia: You met him, when? -Oh, Alexis, hi.
Well, I didn't realize he was a parent at first.
I thought, you know, he worked for the school.
-Man: Excuse me, ma'am! -Amanda: I think I told him
we were out of paper towels in the ladies' room.
Well, I haven't heard anything about him turning himself in.
I wonder if this is connected to what happened at the benefit.
-What? What happened at the benefit? -Oh, come on.
She had at least 10 men inhaling her.
-(scoffs) Oh, please. -I don't think that's insignificant.
You know, it might help them figure out who did it.
What do you mean "who did it"? Of course it was the husband.
First he vanishes, and now he's turned himself in.
It's always the f... husband.
Well, he didn't vanish. That was fake news.
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