“Alace?” Owen’s questioning use of her name sounded far away, as if through a tunnel, and Alace fought to bring her attention back to the kitchen. He was leaned against his side of the island, hips pressed tight so he could stretch across, his hand hovering over her arm. She watched it slowly descend, then latch on, fingers curling around and squeezing gently. “Alace, you okay?”
“What’s that reporter’s name?” She shook off his hand, spinning to look down at the printed reports on the countertop. “How much of this is truly public knowledge? How much did she know back at wife number three, when she first raised suspicions about him?”
“Everything I have is public. You have the report, not yet filed. Whenever it hits the county’s website, it’ll be public, too.” He traced along the edges of his teeth as he studied her. “What are you thinking?”
“She’s thinking the author could do an interview with a reporter and mention the prostitute angle, giving enough dates to prod the reporter’s brain about her interview with our good neighbor.” Doc nodded once, the gratitude on his face enough to express his feelings. “She’s going to make sure everyone is found.”
“The old blood at the scene of two of the wives’ deaths, those would be public too. Maybe not type, but if she pressured the officials, they could make a circumstantial case about that evidence.” Owen straightened, standing upright, his shoulders firming into rigid angles. “How can you drag all this information into it? And how can we do this knowing we’re on an awfully tight deadline to make sure current wifey doesn’t get dead?”
“I can present two distinct potential book outlines. One surrounding the male prostitute disappearances, and one built on anecdotal stories about a local man who’s survived multiple wives. I can point to Ashworth without pointing to him, and hopefully she’s smart enough to draw all correlations on her own.” Alace glanced over her shoulder to where the three children sat in front of the couch. “And I can do it without speaking about the neighborhood or any new residents, so you’ll be covered.”
“When would you do the interview?”
Alace smiled and brought out her day-to-day phone, the one that had Eric’s and his mother’s phone numbers, her fake-kind-of-real agent, and a couple of businesses she and Eric frequented. She pressed a button and lifted it to her ear, a moment later hearing the expected “Beloved” greeting.
“Eric, do you still have Grundella’s phone number?” Silence followed, and she had to fight to keep her amusement from her voice when she said, “Her sister’s a reporter, and I think my next book could use a boost.”
“I have Jessica’s phone number. In a moment, I’ll have her sister’s number, too. I’ll text both to you.” She listened to him breathe for the span of three inhalations before her phone pinged softly. “What are you doing, Alace?”
“Looking for a little good press.”
Eric’s soft hum highlighted his unease, but then he gave her everything, as if he knew she needed to hear it. “You’ll be brilliant, Alace. You always are.”
“I love you.” The stutter in his breathing was her reward.
She disconnected and looked at the screen. Eric texted almost immediately, and she tapped the second number he indicated was the sister, not letting herself consider the possible consequences of engaging with the press like this. Willingly. It rang twice, and a woman answered with a brusque, “Hello?”
“You have a sister named Jessica. She was my nurse recently. I’m calling to see if you’d be interested in an interview with me.”
Silence stretched for long enough Alace wondered if the call had dropped. A husky chuckle slipped through the speaker, and the reporter showed she was exactly as intelligent and able to connect the dots as Alace had hoped. “Alace Sweets, bestselling murder mystery author. Why are you calling me and not the entertainment coordinator?”
“Knowing Jessica as I do, I hoped I’d have a more personal connection with you.” Alace mimed a shrug, sighing in disappointment. “Sorry if I miscalculated.”
“Jessica said you were a righteous bitch.”
“Yeah, well, so was she.”
Laughter flooded the call, and Alace gripped the phone tighter, waiting. “You aren’t wrong. How’s your baby?”
“My child is doing well.” She and Eric hadn’t published any announcement about Lila’s birth, not allowing the hospital to include Lila’s name in their public messaging even anonymously.
“Oh, don’t worry, Ms. Sweets. Jessica is a stickler for privacy. She scarcely mentioned you to me, but I know she’s an OB/GYN nurse, so it stands to reason you’ve had a child recently. Girl or boy?”
“We could include the information in the article, if you wanted.” Alace bartered, knowing if Eric had a problem with the idea, she’d willingly renege on any verbal agreement surrounding their family.
“At least it would make it more of a human-interest story than simply a promo for your novels.” Paper rustled in the background, and Alace imagined her at an enormous desk, paging through a social calendar. “When were you thinking?”
“Now, actually.” She put the call on speaker and texted Eric, providing enough details for him to give her approval or not. “I could meet you downtown in twenty minutes.” A thumbs-up emoji came through, followed by a more verbose, I will be there. “My husband will be attending.”
The reporter named a coffee shop Alace knew, and the location was quickly agreed upon, the timing shifting to an hour from now to accommodate the need to secure a photographer.
Before hanging up, Alace said, “One more thing, if you don’t mind.”
“Yes?” The one word was guarded and quiet, as if the woman thought Alace was already having second thoughts.
“What’s your name? I can’t call you Jessica’s little sister in my head as we’re talking.”
That husky laughter was disarming, and Alace understood it was a triggered thing used to defuse awkward situations. At least I have one tell to watch for. “Colleen Houghton. And I’m the older sister by about fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll see you there, Ms. Houghton.” Alace disconnected and keyed in a few final details to Eric, then looked up to find Owen and Doc both staring at her. “What?”
Doc reached out with a shaking hand, silently asking for her to return the gesture. She did, and he clutched at her, weaving their fingers together, his grip painful in its intensity. “Matters more than you know, Alace.”
“What?” She eyed Owen, who was staring at their clasped hands, a peculiar expression on his face. “Owen?”
“You’re a better person than you’ll ever allow yourself to believe, Alace.” His gaze lifted to meet hers. “I’m proud to be your friend, you know that?”
“Can we cover Kuellen in twenty minutes?” She untangled her hand from Doc’s. But before they fully separated, she gave his fingers a tiny squeeze she hoped told him how much his reaction meant to her. “That’s all I have before I need to leave.” She looked over her shoulder at the kids again. “I should change Lila before we head out.”