Page 47

Thirteen days after

I turn on the TV in the bedroom while I’m waiting for the shower water to heat up.

I tell myself it’s opposition research while I’m pacing and rerunning my conversation with Ardell at the police station.

It takes effort not to flinch at the photo of me and Marcus as Lindy Bedford flashes it up on the screen for the umpteenth time.

As I step under the hot water, Lindy Bedford’s voice is jabbering on in the background, echoing off the shower glass.

Este’s right. I can’t shut out what they’re saying about me or hide from the fact that I might be one step away from being arrested for murder.

What the hell happened that night? How did Will and I end up like this?

“We’re told this man, Marcus Campbell, owns and operates a very popular restaurant in Winter Park.

And the way they’re standing next to each other in the photo, you have to wonder, just how close are these two?

And does the chef know anything about what happened to Will Somerset that night?

” Lindy says. “We’ll be joined by a body language expert after the break. ”

A fucking body language expert. Is this a joke? There must be bigger news happening elsewhere. What’s the karma of praying for a natural disaster at a time like this?

I kill the shower water and have just started to dry off when I hear the trilling of my phone. It’s Fritz.

“Shit.” I pause for a second, wanting to duck the call, but I know I can’t. “Hello?”

“Nora, Ardell called. They have the murder weapon.”

“What?”

The murder weapon?

I feel dizzy. A fog of disbelief settles around me, and I want to curl up in a ball. But I remember what Este said.

Pay attention.

Fritz exhales a heavy sigh. “The divers found it buried in the mud under your dock.”

“What was it?” I ask.

He hesitates before saying, “A hammer.”

I’m gripping the phone so hard that my fingers go numb. I stand in my bathroom, naked, water pooling all around my feet.

“I want to see it,” I finally say, trying to make my voice sound assertive.

“That’s not going to happen. Forensics has it now.”

A fucking hammer.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the mental images that rush forward. No matter what I do, though, I can’t stop imagining the sound of a hammer making contact with someone’s head. Will’s head.

Fritz walks me through a few scenarios of what could happen.

“Hopefully, there’s nothing that could tie the hammer to you,” he says. And it’s not at all comforting.

I feel lightheaded at the thought of Will being attacked, of him enduring such a violent death. I put a hand out and hold on to the wall to make sure I stay upright.

“Nora,” Fritz calls through the line. “You still there?” He sounds almost annoyed.

I hang up and my hands are shaking. My memory flashes to the last time I had seen someone with a hammer.

Fucking hell. This is not real.