Page 5 of (My Accidental) Killer Summer

She nods. I sit across from her.

“You said your husband left Saturday?”

“Yes. Same cabin, same lake, a few times every year.” Her throat works as she swallows. “I packed his cooler. Kissed him goodbye. That was it.”

“Did he seem different this time?”

She shakes her head, trembling. “No. He was fine. Joked about the fish being better company than me.”

Charming.

“Do you know anyone who might’ve wanted to hurt him?”

Her eyes go wide. “No. People liked Tom. He volunteered at the VFW, had his gun clubs, his podcast—he wasn’t—” She breaks off, sobbing.

I give her a moment, then ask, “What about a calendar? Laptop? Phone?”

She shakes her head. “He might have a laptop upstairs. He would work in the guest room sometimes. At the car lot his secretary handles all of that for him.”

I nod and rise to my feet. “Thank you. We’ll need to take that.”

Back in the hallway, one of the officers falls into step beside me. “You think she did it?”

“She’s rattled and not thinking too clearly. Let’s see what turns up at the car lot, with the neighbors, any friends. We’ll circle back if we need to.”

He nods and jots a few notes down in his notebook. We climb the stairs. I can feel the day getting heavier. Not just the heat or the mess of this case—but the weight of being back. Of breathing the same air as my kids again. Of knowing Elle’s ten blocks away, probably replaying this morning just like I am.

I open the bedroom door. It’s clean, meticulously so. As if grief hasn’t had time to settle in yet. No dust on the furniture. Nothing to indicate anyone ever used the room. But most noticeably, no laptop.

“Find it,” I tell the officer. “Work, home, I want it all.”

He moves around the room; I glance out the window at cookie-cutter lawns, kids’ bikes, basketball hoops. Safety on display, the illusion of it unbroken even with sirens parked out front.

I rub the back of my neck. The case is heavy. But not as heavy as the thought of Elle at home with that look still in her eyes. The one that said she didn’t know whether to slam the door in my face or let me back in.

I didn’t just come back for the job. I came back for her.

And after this morning, I know I’m already fucked. Because I didn’t just see Elle. I remembered what it feels like to want her. And I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to stop.

three

. . .

Elle

I don’t even makeit out of the parking lot before my hands are shaking.

I pull onto Main, dig my phone out of my purse, and hit Amy’s contact like it’s 911.

“Amy, I have an emergency!” I cry when she finally answers on the second ring.

“If you’re calling to bail on hosting the coffee thing, too late. I already told people you’d have gluten-free muffins,” she says.

“This is a different emergency.” My voice is high and breathy, like I just outran a serial killer instead of crouched by cilantro. “I saw Noah.”

Silence.

Then,“Like—NoahNoah?”