Eliza studied Penny curiously. The young woman’s face had gone as white as Eliza’s frothed milk, and her posture was stiff, sharply pointed, like the blade of a knife. Her hand gave a nervous twitch, and as Eliza watched, Penny’s car keys clattered to the cement walkway. The sound shook Eliza back to reality.
“No, here is fine,” Eliza said, trying to hurry the officer along. She gestured toward Penny. “I’m busy at the moment, meeting some friends for brunch. Is it a parking ticket?”
“I’m sorry, but I really think—”
“For God’s sake, spit it out. I don’t have all day.”
The cop’s face twitched with an unidentified emotion. So many unidentified emotions, Eliza thought sullenly. If people just wore their hearts on their sleeves, it would solve a lot of issues.
“I’m very sorry to have to inform you, Mrs. Tate, that we found your husband’s body this morning.”
Eliza felt shards of glass in her throat. Scratchy, bloody pieces.
“My husband’s body?” she repeated. “His body?”
“Your husband passed away late last night. I’m so sorry.”
Eliza pressed her hands to her forehead. It wasn’t enough. She reached for the complimentary glass of ice water, pressed it against her cheek. Beads of sweat bloomed on the back of her neck, slid down her skin, and soaked into her blouse. She asked weakly, “Was it a car accident?”
“We suspect foul play,” the officer said. “I’m sorry again to have to break the news to you. I hope you’ll understand that we need to ask you a few questions. Mrs. Tate, where were you last night?”
“I stayed at a hotel,” Eliza said. “My husband and I…”
The cop waited.
“I was out late with the girls,” Eliza revised. “I got a room at the Pelican Hotel. You can check.”
“I will. Now, if you wouldn’t mind—”
“How did he die? I assume you’re dancing around the fact that my husband was murdered.”
The officer shifted his weight uncomfortably. “I’d rather discuss the details down at the station, ma’am.”
“My husband is dead. I deserve to know how he died.”
“I’m not arguing with you, but I do think a matter this sensitive is best discussed in private.”
Eliza waited him out. While the news of her husband’s death was somewhat alarming, she couldn’t say she was entirely surprised, especially after her day yesterday. She just wasn’t sure who’d had the guts to do it.
The officer glanced around, surveying the bustling brunch scene. He wiped his brow and glanced toward Penny’s rapid approach. Still, Eliza waited. She drew her lips into the thin line she knew to be intimidating and made eye contact with the officer from behind the shield of her reflective lenses. Silence could do wonders to intimidate a man.
“He died from multiple stab wounds,” the officer finally said. “At his house.”
“Our house.”
“What?”
“It was our house.”
“Of course. I’m sorry.”
Eliza sank back in her chair, sickened. Weak. More sweat beaded. Her head throbbed. A knife clattered against a plate, a dog barked, a baby hiccupped and gurgled. The noises of the world were magnified in Eliza’s ears. They echoed like sounds shouted into a deserted tunnel, banged around inside her skull, then faded into nothingness.
The cacophony of sound from the bustling café dimmed to nothing. The air suddenly felt too stale to breathe, and the sun burned too hot on Eliza’s hand. Her fingertips felt scorched as she rested them against her mug.
“Ma’am?” he asked. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Eliza?” Penny’s hand clutched at Eliza’s shoulder. “What’s going on?”
Eliza winced. The girl’s nails were digging into her, piercing at her skin. It was too tight, too forced.
The cop turned to Penny. “If I could have a moment alone with Mrs. Tate, I would appreciate it.”
“She can stay,” Eliza snipped. “We don’t have secrets between us. Not anymore.”
The officer gave a longer look at Penny, then turned back to Eliza. “Mrs. Tate, it would be beneficial for all involved if you could join me at the station to answer a few questions.”
Penny’s fingers dug excruciatingly deeper into Eliza’s muscle. “Oh my God,” she murmured. “Is it Roman?”
Eliza’s gaze flicked up at the young woman before turning a deadened stare at the cop. “I’d like my lawyer.”
THIRTY-TWO
The Morning After
February 15, 2019
Anne Wilkes tried hard to mask her hangover, but she was unsuccessful.
“Mom, please.” Anne looked over to where her mother had begun to reorganize her cupboards at 8:00 a.m. on a Saturday morning. “That banging is driving me insane.”
“It’s unbecoming for a lady to drink so much.” Anne’s mother, Beatrice Harper, sniffed. “It lacks class. And it’s not safe. For you or the kids.”
“Mom. Please.”
“I just wish you’d get help, Anne.”
“I don’t have a problem. I can stop drinking if I want, okay? I’m not going to fucking leave the kids.”
“Again.”
“Excuse me?”
“Leave them again,” Beatrice said evenly. “You’re very lucky the doctors wrote you a note the last time so you didn’t get in bigger trouble.”
“I had postpartum depression. It’s an actual illness—not an excuse.”
“Sure,” Beatrice said. “Even so, a civilized book club doesn’t last until three in the morning. And by the way, where was your husband last night?”
“Mark?” Anne swallowed. “He didn’t come home?”
“You didn’t know?” Beatrice said. “How could you not know?”
Because, Anne wanted to say, Mark has a lot of secrets.
“I didn’t hear Mark come home,” Beatrice said. “And I can’t believe you didn’t notice.”
The reason Anne hadn’t noticed was because she’d fallen asleep the second her head had hit the pillow. Anne’s bedtime was 10:00 p.m. on a good night. An evening of drinking at a bar with her friends was enough to knock her out cold for a week. Anne had come home, seen the basement light on, and assumed Mark was working late out of his home office.
Not feeling particularly inclined to start a conversation with him that would likely last all night, she’d gone upstairs and fallen asleep. When he wasn’t in bed when she woke up the next morning, she figured he’d gotten an early start in the office. He’d been doing that a lot lately.
Anne leaned against the doorway to her own kitchen and felt like an outsider. As always, her mother had transformed Anne’s average house into something fit for a magazine spread. The dishes were put away, the counters wiped spotlessly clean. The twins were chattering away happily in their Pack ’n Play in the living room while her older children had miraculously found ways to occupy themselves. With startling clarity, Anne realized that her mother was even capable of organizing the children.