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Driving back to my house, I am simultaneously beating myself up over accusing Marcus and trying to figure out what my next play is going to be. Processing the public shaming from Gianna will have to wait.

I have to find a way to prove I didn’t do this. I have to find out who did.

There’s a missed call from Perry on my phone, and I try him back, but it goes to voicemail.

Pulling into my driveway reminds me why I can’t just drive around to try to find him.

The reporters and press trucks that have flocked to Winter Park to cover Will’s murder are everywhere, but the center of their operation seems to be the entrance to the Isle of Sicily.

They snap frantic photos of me and yell as I drive past them now.

Their energy is voracious, their breath bated.

It’s clear they understand that I’m the prime suspect and they want B-roll for the six o’clock news.

I would love to give Lindy Bedford the same treatment she gives to others. Splash her name all over the tabloids for being so close to something spectacularly terrible. Though, sadly, she probably enjoys attention of any variety. She chose her line of work for a reason.

God, when she gets the intel about the hammer…

I’m not sure anyone can do anything for me now. Except maybe Perry. I need to know if he called because he found something.

When I get inside, Este is in the kitchen.

“Hey,” I say.

“You okay? Marcus just called and asked me to come check on you.”

I sigh. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

“He said you stopped by the restaurant looking pretty upset. I thought you were showering.”

“I was, but then I got a call.”

“Did the caller tell you to go accuse Marcus of murder?” She folds her arms. I am being scolded, and I probably deserve it.

I definitely deserve it.

“He mentioned that?”

“Marcus is a golden retriever in human form, he wouldn’t—”

“I know. It’s like every time I think I’ve hit rock bottom there’s a mini-earthquake and a new layer of low opens just for me,” I say. “It was wrong. I’ll apologize, but listen, I need to find Perry. I’m pretty sure Will hired Dean to look into me.”

“About what?” Este’s eyes go wide.

“Maybe the Marcus thing? If you saw me getting out of his car early in the morning, maybe Will did, too. I have no idea.” My brain catches up to my mouth. “But none of it might matter now. They have the murder weapon.”

“What? How? Where?”

“A hammer. Under my dock.”

“That sounds bad.”

“It’s bad.”

“Like really bad.”

“Yes, the level of badness knows no bounds, Este. That’s why I need to find Perry, see if he’s found anything.”

“Well, then, how much do you love me?”

“The most?”

“Perry is staying at the Citrus Inn on Lee Road. I’ll drive.”

My jaw drops. “Why do you know that?”

“You sent him away in a bit of a…state after Will’s funeral, and I got his information as he was leaving.”

Everyone should have an Este.

—

The hotel is only about fifteen minutes away, but it takes us almost as long to get past the reporters.

“Damnit.” Este inches her car slowly out of the driveway. “We’ve got to start sneaking through the hedge to my house. The last thing we need is to run over one of these asshole’s feet.”

“But it’d feel kind of nice if you did.”

She giggles and so do I—nothing has been funny about the press being camped in front of my house. The thought of smashing a few toes sounds delightful.

It should be said that not every square foot of Winter Park is historic sprawling mansions and aspirational McMansions.

And the houses get lower and smaller as we drive away from the Vias.

The Citrus Inn is just a block from Eatonville, the oldest black-incorporated municipality in the country, and the town where Zora Neale Hurston grew up.

It’s a tight-knit community beloved for its charm and history.

But none of that charm can be felt at the Citrus Inn. The motel is more of a sad relic of another era in Florida than anything else. One so old that they actually do have a pink flamingo in the patch of grass in front of the entrance. Ironic or not, I applaud their moxie.

We bypass a small building that houses a check-in desk and pull into the parking lot. All of the rooms have exterior-facing doors, and Este spots Perry’s gray sedan parked beside one. “My guess is he’s a first-floor guy. Probably has at least one busted knee.”

“Hey. Maybe don’t call him weird and old like last time?”

“Don’t you think that if I could censor myself I would?”

“I do not think that. No.”

“Fine. I’ll do my best.”

I climb out of the car, see the gray sedan I’ve come to know so well, and take the chance of knocking on the door it’s parked in front of. We wait a minute, and no one answers. Este rolls her eyes and knocks much more loudly. A moment later, an exhausted looking Perry cracks open the door.

“Nora. What are you doing here?” Over his shoulder, Lindy Bedford is on a muted TV with another talking head. I see a picture of Will pop across the screen, and then one of me walking into the police station.

Neat.

I can’t get sucked into self-pity, though. I launch into my apology speech, knowing I need to make things right with Perry before I even consider asking him for a favor.

“Perry, I’m really sorry for the way I lost it the other day. The funeral and everything just got to me, and I felt really bad.”

“Oh, there’s no need…no need to apologize. I can’t imagine what all you’re going through. But I’m glad you’re here. I was able to collect Dean’s personal effects from the hospital yesterday. Do you want to come in?”

Perry moves out of the doorway and motions us inside the room.

He quickly tidies up the bed and turns off the TV.

He moves some clothes off the couch and motions for us to sit.

He’s been living here for two weeks now, just trying to help his friend.

The gloom is practically wafting off the old polyester curtains hanging around his windows.

“Aren’t those a fire hazard?” Este whispers.

“Shh,” I hiss. “Clearly, you’ve seen what’s going on with me, Perry.” I motion toward the now blank screen on the TV.

He shakes his head. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything quite like this town. Seems a lot of these people have more money than sense.”

Este snickers.

“You’re not wrong, Perry.” I offer a faint smile. “And I’m obviously in a bit of a bind. So, I was hoping that you might still be willing to talk to me, despite what the news says—”

“She didn’t kill Will, obviously—”

“Thanks, Este.” I look at her, sternly. “But the police have taken a shine to Lindy Bedford’s young-wife-killed-her-rich-husband storyline, and we need to know what you know so that we can find out who did this. So, Perry, I’m really hoping you’ve been able to find something that can help.”

He sighs the way he talks, long and drawn out. “It took some doing, and my friend with the phone company might lose their job for this. It wasn’t Mia who called Will that night. The call came from Fritz Hall’s phone.”

All the air leaves my lungs.

Finally…the one thing I had to know.

“Fritz? Are you sure?” I gasp.

Perry nods, like he really hates to be the bearer of such bad news.

Este and I trade glances, and my brain is already racing as I try to digest this information. “I don’t follow.”

But maybe I do?

When Ardell interrogated me at the precinct, he said Mia hadn’t called Will. He hadn’t said who called—before Fritz stormedin.

All the acrimony between Will and Fritz over the last few months runs through my mind. They seemed to be disagreeing about everything.

Was it bad enough that Fritz would kill Will?

I hear Will’s voice in my head. Fritz is going to bury me if I don’t clean up the mess he’s made.

“Well, the, uh, thing I had found on my own was that there were some calls between Fritz and Dean in the phone records I got ahold of, but that’s not much of anything to go on.

From the look of it, Dean was running down all kinds of different angles about Fritz.

Affairs, business dealings, all of it. Will wanted Dean to take a hard look at Mr. Hall. ”

Perry’s words land on me like a ton of bricks. Dean was looking into Fritz.

Which means Will was looking into Fritz. Why?

I am up and pacing.

“What are you thinking, Nora?” Este asks.

“The night of the party. Will and Fritz were arguing. It was heated and I didn’t catch the context, but they had been fighting for months. Will said they were at odds over some big case and how to handle it. Maybe it came to a head that night at the party. But why would he lie and say Mia called?”

Perry shakes his head, clueless about that as well.

“How long did they talk?” Este perks up and leans in.

Perry shuffles through some papers he has on a nearby table and pulls up a phone record, flipping through the pages until he lands on the night of Will’s birthday party.

For a heart-rending second, I hear Will in my head from that night. He was so happy. I have a good feeling about forty-six.

“It looks like they talked for about forty seconds.”

What did Fritz say? Did he tell Will to meet him on the dock? Or did they go somewhere else?

“What the hell does that mean?” Este throws up her hands.

I look at her. “I have no idea. We have to find out why Will asked Dean to dig into Fritz. There must be more there.”

Perry nods. “I agree.”

“I’ll go to Will’s office and see if I can find anything.”

“I will keep digging, too.”

“Won’t Fritz be at the office?” Este asks.

“Not this time of day. This is about the time he posts up at the bar at the club for his ‘afternoon meetings.’ Drop me by the house, Este?”

Este lobbies hard to come with me, but I hold my ground.

I have to do this myself. I’m not sure if it’s the blinding rage of knowing that Fritz has a hand in what happened, or my own desperation to do something to find justice for Will.

Either way, I hope Will would be proud of me for taking matters into my own hands. It’s what he would have done.

Get ready, Fritz. I’m headed straight at you.