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Lying in bed that night, Thom downstairs watching the World Series, Wendy wondered why she simply hadn’t told Thom her suspicions about his new friend, Stan. Maybe because it would sound like she was being paranoid, but she didn’t think that was it. Because, in truth, she didn’t think she was being paranoid. When Bryce, her first husband, had died, it had been very clear to her that Bryce’s older sister, Sloane, firmly believed that Wendy had been responsible. She’d said as much at the funeral, and she’d also managed, along with a few other members of the Barrington clan, to hold up Wendy’s inheritance as long as she could. It wouldn’t surprise Wendy at all if Sloane had decided to hire a private investigator to take another look at Bryce’s death. Stan—had he told her his last name? She didn’t think so—was from Texas, an ex-cop, weirdly interested in talking with Thom. His story didn’t exactly add up either. If he was on an “epic road trip” to different fishing areas all around the country, wouldn’t he be doing that in his own car? Possibly, but maybe not. Still, shedidn’t see any cars with Texas plates outside of the Tavern, and she had spotted a very obvious rental car. Who knew if it was his. Still, she felt in her gut that Stan was bad news somehow. The question was: Why now?
The following night Thom was playing trivia at a brewery in Beverly with a few of his work colleagues and Jason was over at his friend Julia’s house to watch a movie. Wendy went down to the Tavern by herself after dinner, surprised again by how crowded it was but not surprised to see Stan at the bar. There was a free seat next to him, and she went and sat there. Stan swiveled to face her. “Just you tonight?”
“Just me.”
Howard brought her a gin and tonic, unprompted but at least it wasn’t a martini, and Stan began peppering her with questions, mostly about the town, how long she’d lived there, what she did for work. Basic stuff. She began to think she was wrong about her suspicions, but after she’d asked for her bill, Stan said, “Thom said you used to live in Texas?”
“Well, a lifetime ago.”
“Where exactly?”
“Near Lubbock, like I told you already. It was for a total of about two years.”
“What did your husband do?”
Wendy decided that even if this Stan character wasn’t somehow sent by some member of her ex-husband’s family, he was annoying her with his constant questions.
“He was a musician,” she said. “His name was Declan MacManus.”
Stan was nodding, but he’d given himself away. She could tell by the expression on his face that he was trying to figure out how to deal with the fact that she’d just lied to him.
“You’re either a very nosy person, Stan,” Wendy said, “or you’re a very mediocre private detective.”
He laughed, and she realized it was the first time she’d seen him open his mouth that wide. His teeth were stained yellow by a lifetime of smoking. “Why do you say that?”
“Because you’re prying. And because you’re being very obvious about it. I’m going to guess that you were hired by my ex-sister-in-law, and that you’re looking into the death of Bryce Barrington.”
She watched him think about how to answer, and then he said, “Did you know that your current husband was in Austin, Texas, on the weekend that your previous husband drowned in his pool?”
Her chest tightened, and she hoped that her voice sounded normal as she said, “So you are a private detective. Did Sloane hire you?”
“I’m afraid I can’t disclose my client, but, yes, I will disclose that I’m looking into the death of Bryce Barrington. My client believes there’s significant new information to warrant reopening an investigation.”
“Is this new information that Thom, who I didn’t know at the time, happened to be in the same state when Bryce drowned?”
“Not just that. And you did know him already.”
“Not at the time,” Wendy said, alarm rising in her.
“Weren’t you at school with him in Ringwood, New Hampshire?”
Wendy, somewhat impressed, said, “Yes, we knew each other when we were fourteen, but I didn’t know him at all when I was first married. We met again long after my husband died. Do you think my husband fell in love with me in middle school and then flew to Texas to murder my husband so he could have me all for himself?”
“I don’t really think anything at all,” Stan said. “I’m just trying to figure out any and all possibilities. For instance, maybe the two of you did stay in contact with each other after you were kids, and because no one really knew that you two knew each other, he was the perfect person to come and murder your husband while you were out of town.”
“My husband wasn’t murdered. He drowned in his own swimming pool.”
“What about Alexandra Fritsch?”
Wendy said, “I don’t know who that is.”
“She died the same night as your husband did. She was a college student who was stabbed to death in downtown Lubbock. She was also part of the Caprock College prostitution ring. You remember that whole scandal?”
Wendy had been jarred by the fact that this hired detective had figured out that Thom had been in Texas when Bryce had died,andknew that Thom and she had attended the same middle school, but now he was talking about a college prostitution ring and she realized that he probably had nothing. “None of this is ringing any bells for me, but it wouldn’t surprise me if my husband had some connection with prostitution. It was not a good marriage. I’m sure you know that. He was out drinking every night without me. I’m sure he wasn’t faithful.”
“So you wouldn’t say that your marriage to Bryce Barrington was a happy one.”
“I’m not sure any of that is your business, but, no, it wasn’t happy. And, no, I didn’t kill him. Did you tell my husband who you really were?”