Page 84 of Happy Wife

“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 thetingling 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.