Page 49

Thirteen days after

I killed the call with Fritz and flew into action, making no effort to dry off. The black T-shirt I had yanked on as I was running for the door is wet and sticking to my skin. The next thing I know, I’m banging on the service door of Lemon & Fig—my hair still stringy and knotted from the shower.

“Nora.” His face is stricken by the sight of me.

“Come in. Are you okay?” He gently pulls me by the arm into a dry storage area of the kitchen, sending my eyes down to his toned forearms. I picture him holding the hammer.

He’s strong enough to pull it off. The thought makes me recoil, and I draw my arm back and wrap it around my waist.

“What time did you leave my house?” I shrug off his grip.

He frowns. “When?”

“The night of the party. The night Will died, Marcus. How late were you there?”

“I don’t know. Maybe midnight?”

“Maybe?” I don’t disguise my incredulity.

“What the fuck are we talking about here, Nora?”

“You were so upset about the fight with me and Will and the glass. Did you try to talk to him about it? Did you two get into a fight and something happened?”

Marcus’s face falls. “Are you asking me if I—”

“Everyone thinks I did it, but what about you? You were there and you didn’t like Will very much after I told you about that fight.”

“Nora…” He shakes his head slowly. “You need to go home.”

Marcus is the most benevolent person I know. Even now. Even when I’ve rushed over to his restaurant to accuse him of murder, he’s not angry, but I can tell he’s wounded.

Of course he is. What am I doing? Am I actually accusing him of murder?

My lower lip starts to tremble, and I rub at my face. “Fuck.” I cover my eyes as the tears rush down. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” He shakes his head. There’s a distance in the way he looks at me that makes it clear I’ve fucked up. Again. “Hey. What’s a murder accusation between friends?” The sarcasm in his voice stings.

Keeping my face hidden, I say, “Everyone is talking about me. Everyone thinks I killed him.” I already know I’ve taken this too far. But I can’t stop myself. “They think I killed him, Marcus. I have to ask you—”

“I didn’t kill him, Nora!” The boom in his voice startles me, and I drop my hands to look at him. The stormy expression in his eyes hollows me out. “Are you happy now?”

But even in his anger, there’s something about the way he says my name that makes my heart ache. Maybe it’s just that there’s an underlying tone of…he actually cares. He cares and I keep hurting him.

“You’re right. I should go.”

He doesn’t move to follow me, but I can feel his glare on my back. As I slip back into the alley, I wonder if he’ll ever forgive me.

Getting into Marcus’s restaurant unnoticed was easy once I found the alley where shops and restaurants on his strip receive deliveries and let in service teams. But getting to my car is going to be another story.

Parking on Park Avenue is always at a premium, so I had to take what I could get when I found a street spot near the park.

I put on my oversize sunglasses in the alley and skulk back toward Park Avenue to retrace my steps. I keep my head down and my eyes on the sidewalk to avoid catching anyone’s attention. But when I see the black scalloped Chloé ballerina flats headed straight for me, I know I’m a goner.

“Nora?” a saccharine-sweet voice trills. “Is that you? Goodness. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Fuckity fucking fuck.

I look up and see Gianna and her pack of tennis twits. They all fake-smile at me with barely restrained abhorrence. They are gleefully mainlining my demise. I bet they record Lindy’s program while they’re up at the club drinking spritzes.

Never mind the fact that someone died. They’re burning a second wife at the stake! Grab the popcorn!

I take small comfort in the fact that Constance isn’t with them today to witness my humiliation. She’s been lying low since the funeral. Probably because Fritz told her to, and she’s a better listener than I am.

“Hi,” I respond, wishing to sink into the sidewalk.

Gianna doesn’t miss a trick, looking me all the way up and down before she makes a tsking sound. “You’re too young to just give up on your appearance, dear.”

“Touché, Gianna,” I concede, knowing better than to bring a knife to a gunfight. Where the gunfight is trying to defend myself in front of Gianna and her minions, and the knife is the clumps of conditioner that might still be in my hair. “It’s good to see you.”

She makes a noncommittal “hmm” sound. “I’m surprised to see you. Fritz said you were trying to keep a low profile.”

The iciness in her eyes informs me the gloves are off. Now that Will’s funeral is behind us, I can either fade into the background or expect to be confronted with what she really thinks of me—thoughts she only vaguely showcased when Will was around to protect me.

“I had to pick something up.” I gesture behind myself at nothing in particular and hope she won’t notice the fact that I’m empty-handed.

“At Lemon and Fig?” She smirks. “Do you really think that’s wise? Did Will know you and Marcus were so…close?”

I will not punch Gianna Hall in public. I will not punch Gianna Hall in public.

“This has been… fun, ” I mutter. “But I have to go.”

“I would want to get home, too, if I were in your current state.”

I move past Gianna and her posse and pick up the pace to get to my car, dying on the inside the whole way.