Page 40

I thought the surreality of the funeral couldn’t be beaten, but then I got to Interlachen for the reception.

If aliens descend from space, the level of confusion over what this party is might send them packing to explain to their leaders that Earth is too complicated for their own kind.

Consider a different galaxy.

I am watching Constance work the room better than I could even imagine doing. We keep catching looks at each other and trading icy glares. Gone is the illusion of playing nice in God’s house.

I spot Mia and debate whether to approach her. She’s stock-still as the party moves around her. Her wide, tired eyes watch the scene playing out like she’s stuck in a horror movie. I want to pull her into a hug. As if it could shield her from any of this.

When I move toward her, Ardell steps in front of me.

“Nora. How are you holding up?” He tips his head to one side. He’s going through the correct motions to convey sympathy, saying all the right words. But there’s a current of something else in his body language. Something that feels like condemnation.

“Thanks for coming,” I say, trying to dodge the possibility of him questioning me more. Here of all places.

“It’s the least I can do to pay my respects.”

When he doesn’t offer anything else, I make up an excuse about needing to say hello to a few more people—trying to ignore the feeling of his eyes on me. Este finds me with what looks like a club soda but mercifully is a very, very large glass of tequila with a hint of lime.

“What the fuck is going on here?” She slams back whatever’s in her glass and looks to see which of the five— five— bars in the room has the shortest line.

“I have no idea. But this tequila was a clutch choice.”

“I just heard Constance tell some sappy story about Will and then go on to say how hard it is to be a widow. She’s not a fucking widow. She’s the ex-wife. The—”

“She broke into Will’s house and stole his wine.”

“Wait, what?”

“When we first started dating. She stole his wine. Just the expensive labels.”

Este laughs so hard she snorts. Which cracks me up.

But I can’t crack up. Autumn is about ten feet away and will tackle me if I do.

I bite my lip to keep it together. For a second, I think Este is going to hurt herself laughing so hard.

But then a flash of recognition changes her expression, and she snaps into place.

I follow her gaze and see Mia, standing in a corner on the opposite side of the room.

She looks lost and so little. I smile and wave a little wave.

She waves back, but I can tell she’s dying to be anywhere but here.

“Este, no matter how weird this is, we get through it. For Mia.”

“For Mia.”

Este and I clink glasses as Carol Parker walks up to me, and I realize that behind her, there’s a line of people waiting to talk tome.

There’s a receiving line now? Like it’s my fucked-up widow coronation, and they’ve come to kiss my sad-girl-widow ring.

Twenty minutes and four hugs from Alma later, I’m longing for hand sanitizer and a new way to say “I’m holding up as well as can be expected” when I spot Lenore bringing up the end of the line. I’m so happy to see her I throw my arms around her.

Finally. I’m in the company of someone who doesn’t submit to the pretenses of these people.

When she says, “Nora, honey, I’m so sorry. What a nightmare this must be for you,” I know she means it, unlike half of the people I just spoke to.

I’ve lost any filters I had at the start of today. “It’s utter bullshit, Lenore.”

She pulls me into another hug. “I thought Fritz had a lot of nice things to say about Will today. I’m glad. They’ve had so many fights recently at work.”

“About what?”

“Oh, this and that. Being business partners is hard.”

The wheels turn in my brain. “Lenore, do you know if Will was meant to meet with someone named Dean?”

“Yes. But I’m not sure it actually happened, since…” Lenore looks at me knowingly.

They’re both dead…but why?

Lenore’s expression tightens a little. “We shouldn’t talk about work today.”

Then I remember something from the night we went to dinner with Gianna and Fritz. “What about that Martinez case of Will’s?”

Lenore’s face registers surprise—as if I am not supposed to know about it.

“Gianna mentioned it one night over dinner,” I continue.

Why is it fine for Gianna to know about this case and not me?

“Oh, I see. There was a difference of opinion on whether they should have taken the case at all, but you know what, we don’t need to talk about this today. Today is for Mia, and…”

Constance, Autumn, and Gianna? Me? It sure as shit isn’t for Will.

I don’t want her to stop talking. Something was clearly up with Fritz and Will. I want to tell her to pull up a chair. I want to grab a notebook and hear everything.

What did Lenore hear? What does she know?

“Would it be okay if I stopped by sometime to talk?” I ask.

She bobs her head noncommittally. “We’re all here for you. I just loved Will.”

“Thanks, Lenore. I might come by for a few things from his office this week.”

“Of course, whatever you need.”

Without another word, Lenore turns to go, and I feel the tingling in my hands. I set my glass down and quietly slip out a side door.

I’m not sure if it’s the tequila or the fact that I’m at my husband’s funeral, but I want to escape. Through the door and down a hallway, I find a small nook with a bench, hiding where I hope no one can find me. Except that Marcus does.

“I saw you sneak out,” he says. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I am definitely not okay.”

“It would be weird if you were.” Marcus closes in on me a little. I know he means to offer kindness and consolation, but I find myself almost recoiling. I don’t feel deserving of any comfort.

“I should’ve gone to check on him.” My voice cracks as I say it. “I should’ve gotten up and gone down to the dock—”

“You can’t go there, Nora. Whatever happened, it’s not your fault. You did nothing wrong here.”

“Tell the press that.”

Marcus brushes a piece of hair out of my eyes, and I let him. But there’s an unintended intimacy about it that I can’t handle, sending my dissociative stare back toward that ballroom we’re hiding from.

That’s when I see Ardell is watching us from the door I slipped through. His judgment of me is plain now. I can see the disapproval etched into the frown on his face as he holds my gaze.

To an outsider, Marcus and I might appear to be standing too close. But to the man investigating my husband’s murder, I might as well be wearing a scarlet letter with blood on my hands.

Fucking perfect.

“I have to go. Thanks for coming today, Marcus.”

When I look back at the door, Ardell is gone. I slip out of the nook, brushing past Marcus, and I disappear back into the ballroom.

—

Este and Beau stay with me for an hour after we get home.

We are all exhausted beyond words, and we sit in my living room—staring at nothing, barely speaking, and sipping whatever cocktail Este mixed up.

As they get up to let themselves out the side door—the press is still en masse out front—I see Perry is outside, and he’s about to ring my doorbell.

“Who the fuck…,” Este says as she walks toward the door.

I’m on my feet in an instant, feeling fully alert for the first time in maybe days. “I’ll get it.”

Perry, what did you find?

I rush past Este and pull the door open, hurrying Perry inside before the reporters can snap any more photos.

“Come in,” I insist. “Perry. I’m so glad you’re here. What’s up? What did you find?”

“We’re talking to weird old townies now?” Este whispers, but she’s not quiet enough.

Perry looks sheepish. “Oh, Nora, well, hi. So sorry to bother you, I know the funeral was today, and—”

“It’s okay,” I insist.

The only thing that can salvage my day of playing Pretty Princess Funeral Barbie is news about what Perry’s been able to find on Will.

Desperation pinches my voice as I say, “Did you find anything?”

“Find anything?” Este looks at me sideways. “Who is this guy?”

“Este, this is Perry.” I try to speed through the introduction. “He’s a friend of Will’s who—”

“Perry, the weird gray car stalker?” Este looks unimpressed.

I don’t let her rattle me as I continue, “Perry was doing some digging into Will’s phone records to see if he could figure out who Will was talking to the night he…”

“Shouldn’t we leave that to the police, Nora?” Este’s tone is on the edge of scolding.

“You can’t be serious. You’re choosing right now to put your trust in Travis fucking Ardell?”

“At least we know a little bit about Ardell, unlike Pierre here.”

“Perry,” I correct, but I think she’s gotten it wrong on purpose.

“Nora,” she says and pulls on my arm. “Can we talk?”

I shake her off. “No, because I want to talk to Perry.”

Perry looks down at his tattered boat shoes.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much of an update today.

Some folks back home are still trying to see what they can do.

” He’s crestfallen to be letting me down.

His eyes go a little watery as he says, “I came to pay my respects. I’m just so sorry about Will’s passing.

I wanted a different outcome for this whole thing. ”

“Oh.” My gaze falls to the floor.

“Listen.” Este looks to Perry and in her kindest hostess voice says, “Maybe you should come back some other time. It’s been a difficult day.”

Difficult. As if the day was just a tricky puzzle we were trying to solve. Difficulty level: soul-crushing.

There’s no update. Perry doesn’t have anything that will help me. And Dean is still dead. And now there is no more Will. And I am trapped here in this life. A life without Will and without answers. And I’m starting to wonder if Ardell thinks I killed my husband.

I can practically hear it, like the click of a door closing. Or the last tick on a time bomb. Something inside of me detonates. “Fuck.”

“What?” Este turns her head toward me.

“What the fuck is happening? Damnit. I didn’t choose this—Ididn’t want—” I stop myself.

I can’t say that. I did choose this. In every way.

The Hot Mean Lawyer picked me, and I leaned in so hard, even when things got bad and then worse.

And now look at me. The press is hounding me, there are no answers to how Will ended up dead in the lake, and I’m…

all alone. Worse than alone, I’m a murder suspect.

Did you get what you were after, Nora?

I look at Perry and then to Este and Beau, and their sympathetic faces are more than I can handle.

The dam breaks. But it’s not what I thought it was going to be.

It’s not the puddles of tears I’ve refused to cry over the recent days.

Instead, I’m marching down the back lawn, Este calling after me, and I can hear my voice, but I don’t even know what I am saying.

And when I get to the dock, I pick up my pace, and run right off the end of it. Hair, makeup, and a two-thousand-dollar designer dress be damned.

Grief is ugly.

The water hits me, and I just stay under the surface. It’s silent here. Maybe I’ll never come back up. But my lungs start to burn. I hadn’t exactly taken a good breath before jumping.

I kick my way to the surface. Este’s on the end of the dock, pulling a towel out of the storage bin beside the boat.

She doesn’t say anything—just offers me a hand out of the water.

Perry and Beau are on the pool deck. I watch Perry clap Beau on the back gently and mutter something I can’t hear.

Beau nods as Perry heads up the side yard, presumably to avoid this epic shit show.

Este wraps me up in a towel and pulls me into a big hug.

Something snaps me back to reality, and then the truths I haven’t wanted to believe are suffocatingly real. And that’s when I finally let it all go. Thick, choking sobs fight their way to the top of my throat as I gasp and wail. Este doubles down on her squeeze as the tears come in crushing waves.

Will is dead. Will is dead. Will is dead.

And then a sickening thought comes to me.

What if his killer was at the funeral?