Page 44

Eleven days after

Time is passing. I know that it is. Because I’m watching the sun move across my living room trying to think of something to do other than sleep or wander aimlessly from room to room.

The funeral ended, people went back to their lives, and I am here.

Sitting in this house, wondering what the hell is next.

Wondering what the hell I am going to do.

I haven’t heard from Ardell. Fritz says we have to give Ardell space to do his job.

Fritz also says I’m not supposed to leave my house.

What the fuck does Fritz know anyway?

“Wow, you’re vertical.” Este chases a mosquito out of the house and slides the door shut again. It’s been so hot here the past few days, and I can feel the AC trying to keep up. The house has the edge of humidity to it.

“My back hurt from being in bed too long.” I can feel Este eyeing me as I pull some last little wedge of a casserole out of my refrigerator. The kitchen counter is littered with dishes and half-full glasses of almost every different kind of beverage.

“Where’s Alma?”

“There’s a clause in her contract that she gets bereavement if someone dies. Ironic, isn’t it?” I put the casserole in the microwave and dump out a few glasses, but putting them in the dishwasher feels too hard. At least they’re in the sink.

I absentmindedly walk to the front window as Este goes over to finish the dishes for me.

That’s when I see the police car pull into my driveway. And then another one. Then three more.

I should have seen this part coming.

“Uh…Nora…,” Este says.

Ardell gets out and a dozen officers exit the cars behind him.

They’re coming for me.

Ardell makes eye contact with me and holds my gaze. I’ve got you now.

I open the front door, and Ardell closes the distance, saying something that I think sounds like “official capacity,” and then I’m sure I hear the words “search warrant.”

The reporters are shouting questions from the street, and I’m horrified as Ardell hands me a piece of paper.

“Nora, we have a search warrant for the house and cars. Are both cars here?”

“What?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to step aside and not touch anything.”

I look down at the piece of paper he’s handed me, but I can’t make out what it says. Este pulls it from my hand.

“Is this really necessary? What the hell are you looking for?”

“I’m afraid I can’t discuss that with either of you.”

Ardell nods back at his team and they all start filing in the house, none of them making eye contact with me. Out the window, I see a team of divers heading down toward the dock.

“Mrs. Somerset, you can’t be here when they search the premises. Anyway, I’m going to need you to come to the station with me to answer some questions. I can drive you down.”

Mrs. Somerset? Is he for real?

Este instinctively steps in front of me. “What for?”

“I need her to come down to the station with me, and I think it’s best that she does so willingly.”

“Am I under arrest?” I am so confused about what is happening. The room is spinning a little and I don’t really know what to do. I reach out to Este, my hand gently squeezing her arm.

“We just need you to answer some questions at the station.”

“Oh. Okay. I, uh, just need to get my shoes,” I say as I walk off dazed in search of some sneakers.

“Nora, you need to call Fritz,” Este says behind me.

I don’t want to.

“It’s okay, Este. I’ll just go with Ardell and then he will bring me home. Whatever this is will be over then.” It’s a weird turn for me to be placating Este.

I really hope it will be over by then. It has to be.

She looks like she’s ready to lunge at Ardell and snap his neck. I slide into some shoes and grab my purse.

“Really, Este,” I say. “It’s fine. You stay here and close up when they leave.”

It’s the first time I have ever seen Este look genuinely scared. She reaches out and squeezes my hand. I squeeze back, wishing it was enough to reassure us both.

Walking to the car is chaos. The crush of reporters camped out at the edge of the neighborhood goes wild.

I can hear pictures being taken and questions being hurled my way, but once the car doors slam shut, the air gets tense and quiet and stays that way for the duration of the trip to the station.

Ardell doesn’t say anything. I am certain he is now following some protocol, and while I am completely scared out of my mind, I am trying not to show it.

Ardell parks his cruiser toward the back of the lot and hurries me by the elbow to a back door, but a few photographers and press from the front of my house have clearly been on our heels, and I can hear them yelling my name.

Inside, we walk past a bunch of offices and down a hallway where Ardell stops and opens a door to a windowless room with a table and a few chairs around it. There’s a metal loop in the middle of the table, presumably to hook handcuffs to.

“Is this really necessary?”

“I’m afraid so.”

I feel my body go numb and start to tingle as I walk across the threshold into this room. My hands start to shake, and I know that there is nothing I can do to hide it. I sit down in the chair, unsure where to look.

“I’ll be right back.”

He walks out and closes the door, and I have to do everything in my power not to throw up all over the table.

A few minutes pass before Ardell walks back in with a notebook and a bottle of water.

He slides the water across the table to me and sits down, then puts a digital recorder in between us on the table.

“I need you to state your full name and date of birth, as well as acknowledge that you know that this conversation is being recorded.”

This is bad. I have no alibi, and they know it.

“I’m, uh—” My voice is shaky and meek. I clear my throat and try again. “My name is Nora Davies Somerset. My date of birth is April 6th, 1996, and I’m aware that this is being recorded.”

“Thank you.” Ardell opens his steno pad and pulls a pen out of his suit jacket. “When was the last time you saw Will?”

“Haven’t I already done this?”

“Yes, but I need you to do it again.”

A blend of frustration and fear rushes through my bloodstream. “We had a party at the house for his birthday. After everyone had gone home, he and I were upstairs…”

Over the next five minutes, I do my best to recount the story of the night of the party exactly the way that I have told it since this all began.

Exactly the way it fucking happened.

Ardell listens with his eyes narrowed like he’s focusing hard on me, and every now and then I’ll say something that inspires him to scribble down a quick note. I catch myself trying to figure out the rhyme or reason to what gets jotted down.

“You said there’s just a security camera on your doorbell, right?”

How do I explain that the richer people are the less security they seem to have? Sure, Este and Beau’s place is all smart-housed to the gills, but that’s because Beau likes to be able to run everything from his phone. Will could not have cared less about that kind of stuff.

I nod my head.

“That’s weird, right?” Ardell says. “A big house like that and no cameras. Do any of your neighbors have cameras?”

“I don’t know.” I try to sound helpful as I ask, “Are you looking for something in particular?”

“We’ve got some new questions about that night.”

“Like what kind of questions?” Under different circumstances, I would be thrilled. I have questions—God knows I have questions. But I’m in an interrogation room. And my house is being searched.

I feel my palms go clammy. How many cumulative hours has Lindy Bedford spent on cable news implying that Will is dead because of me, the young wife? Winter Park is small, and it is fueled by optics.

Is Ardell getting pressure to arrest me?

“Why don’t you tell me what happened at the end of the night?

” His pen stays at the ready in his hand, balanced over the notebook, which he angles away from my line of sight.

“You were waiting for Will to come to bed, and you believe that you fell asleep around one a.m. , but you don’t have anyone who can corroborate that for you, right? ”

“I was in bed, alone, yes. And because I was in bed, alone in my own house, where I live, it’s accurate that I don’t have anyone who can verify that. But I was alone. In bed. In my own house.” I am not even trying to hide the defensiveness in my voice now.

“You didn’t think it was strange that your husband never came back to bed?”

“Maybe I would have if I’d been conscious.”

“And then you wake up, and he’s still not there. Tell me about the next two days. What did you do then?”

I want to tell him to shut the fuck up, but I also want to avoid the inside of a jail cell. I purse my lips and say nothing.

“Look, Nora, I am going to level with you. We’ve had some evidence come to light—”

“What evidence?” I ask.

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Then why am I here?”

“Because something very bad happened to Will.”

“No shit, Travis. He’s DEAD!” I slap my hands on the table between us.

Silence falls over the room, and I’m acutely aware that I’m in the middle of a storm.

“You think the evidence points to me,” I say grimly.

Travis doesn’t respond, and I look around, feeling the cameras, the two-way mirrors, the weight of suspicion bearing down on me.

I’m not the enemy here. I did not kill my husband. I did not kill Will.

The words finally come rushing out of me. “Why aren’t any of you looking at Constance?”

“Constance?” Ardell says her name with an offensive level of incredulity.

“Yes. Constance. She didn’t have a party the night of Will’s party like everyone said she did.

She doesn’t have an alibi. No one can account for where she was.

And she was angry. She yelled at her food delivery guy.

I bet you could get the time from the delivery service, but that night, all her friends came to Will’s house instead of being with her. That’s a motive.”