Page 93 of Happy Wife

“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 thatthere 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.