She sidestepped away from me, toward the wall. “You know what? Never mind. I’m just going to go.” She tapped the button to open the garage door. The motor kicked on, whirring above our heads, but the door didn’t budge.
“Wait! I can explain.”
“Nothing to explain,” she insisted, smacking the button again, harder this time, her eyes darting between me and the garage door. “I didn’t see anything. I don’t know anything. I don’t care about the dead guy,” she said over the hum of the motor.
“Please,” I said. She jabbed her thumb at the button, cursing the garage door when it didn’t move. “Vero.” I lowered my voice, struggling to keep it steady. “I know how this must look, but it’s not what you think. This man is not a nice person. He did some very bad things.”
“I’m guessing he’s not the only one.” Vero backed toward the kitchen, muttering under her breath as the motor fell quiet, looking frantically around her, probably for a weapon. “You know what? You’re both crazy. You and your husband.”
“Ex!” I snapped. “Ex-husband!”
“Fine! Your ex-husband. Whatever. You’re both nuts!” She held the cardboard box out between us like some kind of a shield. A familiar stainless-steel handle protruded from the loose flaps on top.
“Hey!” I pointed at my favorite nonstick pan. “That’s mine! What are you doing with that?” I reached for the handle, but Vero grabbed it, letting the rest of the box fall to the floor. She crouched, wielding the frying pan like a bludgeon.
“Worker’s comp,” she said, her stance daring me to come near her.
“You think you’re entitled to cookware because my ex-husband laid you off?” She took a swing at me and I leapt backward, nearly falling over Harris’s body.
“Your husband didn’t lay me off! I quit!”
“Quit?” I reached behind me for the workbench, my fingers skimming the surface for a screwdriver or a hammer. Anything I could use to defend myself against my favorite All-Clad pan. My grip closed around the small pink gardening trowel and I held it out in front of me, crab walking around the perimeter of the garage away from her. “I thought you liked my kids!”
“I love your kids!”
“If you love my kids then why would you quit?”
“Because when I went to your ex’s house to collect my check, he told me he’d only keep paying me if I slept with him!”
My hand went limp. The garden shovel dropped to the floor with a hollow thud.
I laughed, silently at first, then out loud through my painfully tight throat, just to keep myself from crying. “Oh … Oh, that is so Steven.” I sank down on the rough wooden step to the kitchen. “You know what? Keep the damn pan.” She’d put up with enough. She deserved that much. I buried my face in my hands, revolted by the smell of vodka and Harris Mickler’s mouth on my own breath. “You’re right. We’re both nuts,” I muttered, swatting at a tear.
Vero eyed me sideways. She crouched a safe distance away, carefully placing the last of her spilled contents back inside her cardboard box as if she was afraid to make any sudden movements. She stood up slowly, the box tucked under her arm. I didn’t care how much of it was mine. What did it matter? I was going to lose everything anyway.
“It was stupid to think I could do this,” I said as she tiptoed to the garage door. She heaved it open a few inches with one arm, the box still propped under the other.
Great. The garage door was broken. Just one more thing Steven knew how to fix, and I didn’t. And now I’d have to pay some handyman to repair it.
I shook my head, mentally stacking one more bill on the pile outside on the stoop. “If Steven hadn’t insisted on being such an asshole, I never would have thought about it,” I said to myself. “I never would have gone to that bar and brought this creep home. But can you blame me? Anyone in my shoes would have considered it for fifty thousand dollars.”
Vero’s hand froze. The door hung open, level with her knee. “What did you say?”
I choked out a dark, desperate laugh. She already thought I was nuts. There was a dead guy on the floor of my garage and now I was talking to myself. “I said you’re right. My ex is an asshole. I’m sorry for what he did to you.”
The door fell closed, the clatter reverberating off the walls of the garage. I lifted my head, expecting her to be gone, but Vero was still there, holding her box to her chest.
“How bad?” Her eyes darted curiously to Harris’s body. Her ponytail bounced as she jutted her chin at him. “You said he did some bad things. How bad are we talking?”
“Really bad.”
“Fifty thousand dollars bad?”
Vero’s fingers closed tighter around the frying pan as I rose slowly to my feet. I crossed the garage to the van and fished under the seat for Harris’s cell phone. Angling it toward her, I swiped open his photo album and held it out for her to see.
“What’s this?” She set down the box, clutching the pan as she took the phone from me. I told her everything … about my meeting with my agent and the conversation Patricia Mickler had overheard. About the note Patricia had left me and what I had witnessed at the bar. Her expression warped with equal parts horror and disgust as she swiped from one image to the next.
“I never meant for this to happen,” I explained. “I only followed him because I was curious about why his wife would want him dead. I tried to tell her she had the wrong person, but then I saw him put that drug in that woman’s glass, and the next thing I knew—”
“You killed him.”
I winced. “Not intentionally.”
She passed me Harris’s phone. “What are you going to do?”
“I was going to turn him over to my sister, but then…” I glanced down at Harris. I’d made the decision to turn him over to Georgia while he was still breathing. Before I knew he was dead. “If I explain to the police that it was an accident, it won’t be so bad, right? It’s not like I murdered him. Manslaughter’s a lesser charge.”
“I don’t know, Finlay.” Vero set down her pan. “After the Play-Doh incident, this looks pretty bad.” She was right. The charges Theresa had filed against me were a matter of record. I had never intended to hurt her—only to damage her car—but to the police, it might look like I had used my car to poison Harris on purpose. Especially after I’d stalked him, drugged him, and brought him home.
I sniffed, exhaling a shaky breath as I considered what I was about to do. “Delia and Zach are already at Georgia’s place. If I turn myself in and the police arrest me, will you help her with the kids?”
Vero nodded, her full lips turning down at the edges.
“I guess I should tell Patricia that he’s…” We both looked over at Harris’s ashen face. If I told the police everything, Patricia would be implicated for conspiracy to commit murder. She would serve time in prison right alongside me. The least I could do was give her fair warning. With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone and dialed Patricia’s number.
“Is it done?” she asked with a desperation I finally understood. Harris was a horrible man. I couldn’t blame her for wanting him dead.