Page 35 of She Didn’t See It Coming

Jayne regards Alice coldly; the gloves have come off.

Alice hesitates, raises her eyebrows at her. “Am I no longer free to go? Am I being detained? Shouldn’t you read me my rights?”

“Why do I have a feeling you already know your rights?” Jayne says. “But yes, read her her rights, Detective Kilgour.”

Kilgour does so, as Alice sits back down in her chair.

“Do you want an attorney?” Jayne asks, when he’s done.

“No, of course not,” Alice says coolly.

“Your husband has cheated on you before,” Jayne says.

She says it with confidence because they know this for a fact.

They have checked all the local hotels and shown photographs of Derek Gardner and Bryden Frost. He had been seen taking a room in one particular hotel, the White Stag, on more than one occasion, with a woman who does not match the description of his wife, but does not match the photograph of Bryden Frost either.

But she’s not going to tell his wife that.

They are now seeking this other woman, to see what she might have to say about Derek Gardner—perhaps he likes to play asphyxiation games—but they have little to go on.

No photo, no name—just a vague physical description.

She could be anyone. Jayne is hoping that when they go public with Derek Gardner as a person of interest, the mystery woman will come forward.

Alice eyes her carefully but says nothing.

Jayne says, “In fact, I can provide details.” Alice regards her stonily as she continues.

“He’s been seen visiting hotel rooms at the White Stag with women other than yourself.

” She provides the relevant dates. “One of them was Bryden Frost,” she lies.

“I don’t know the other woman’s name, unfortunately. Do you?”

Still Alice says nothing.

“Just one more thing,” Jayne says, “and then you can go.” She leans forward. “I’d like to talk about how your mother died.”

···

Alice is surprised at the mention of her mother but is careful not to show it. It makes her realize, now, that this detective is serious. That she’s really going after Derek, that she thinks he slept with this woman, killed her, and stuffed her in a suitcase. Well, it’s possible. “Sure,” she says.

“Your mother was killed in a hit-and-run accident that was never solved,” the detective says. “That must have been difficult for you.”

“Very,” Alice says.

“Were the two of you close?”

“Yes, we were. I was an only child. And my father died of a heart attack about ten years ago.”

“What did your father do?”

“What difference does it make?”

“He left your mother rather comfortably off.”

“He was a smart man. He worked in tech and made some good investments.”

“And when your mother died, that money—about three million dollars, I believe—went to you.”

Alice experiences an immediate, intense dislike for Detective Salter. She says blithely, “As I said, I was an only child. And both of my parents were as well. There were no other relatives.”

“That’s rather fortunate.”

“Is it? I think I would have liked to have siblings, aunts and uncles, cousins. It was rather lonely growing up.”

“But it was fortunate that, when she died, you got all her money.”

“Where is this going, Detective?” Alice asks.

“What did you do with the money?” the detective asks, ignoring her question.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but some of it we invested in Derek’s company.”

“How much did you invest in his company?”

“About half of it. The rest went into the house.”

“I see,” the detective says. “And I understand you and your husband were never formally interviewed by police about the hit-and-run when it happened.”

“Someone came to tell us.”

“But you weren’t interviewed as suspects in the hit-and-run.”

“No, why would we be?”

“Because you were the ones who stood to benefit from your mother’s death.”

Alice leans forward. “Detective, my mother was killed in New Hampshire. My husband and I were two states away, at home in Albany at the time. Of course we weren’t suspects.”

“And you can prove that?”

“I’m sorry? Are you seriously accusing my husband and me…of somehow being involved in my mother’s death?”

“The case is unsolved, still open. So please answer the question. Can you prove where you both were at the time your mother was killed?”

Alice smiles. “I don’t know how. Derek and I were at home together. I remember it well, because the next morning, very early, the police came to the door and informed us of what had happened.”

The detective leans in closer and says, “I understand that you feel you need to protect him, Alice. But think about what he might have done. Was he really home with you the night of the hit-and-run, or are you just giving him an alibi? Did he tell you he was somewhere else, and you believed him? Because Alice, as hard as you might find it to believe, if you’re covering up for him, it’s possible he is the one who killed your mother.

And he might have killed Bryden Frost. Do you really want to live with a man like that? ”

Alice doesn’t dignify that with an answer.

When the detective says she may go, Alice gets up and walks out with all the poise she can muster.

She’s raging inside, but you wouldn’t know it to look at her.

She knows she appears unruffled, because she catches sight of her reflection in a window on the way out.

She’s worked on cultivating that unflappable exterior her whole life.

She knows how important appearances are.

She can’t let people know what’s going on inside, what she’s really thinking—she learned that early.

That detective—Alice hates her. She wants something terrible to happen to her.

She thinks it would be nice if Detective Salter were hit by a bus on the way home tonight.

She hopes that her partner, if she has one, is nasty and abusive and decides that tonight is the night to finish her off.

If only Detective Salter were out of the picture.

She thinks about that as she gets in her car and drives home. She must talk to Derek.

···

Lizzie drops Clara at day care and then drives home to her own apartment.

She wants to spend all day online, but her parents are there.

She wishes they would go to a hotel. That’s uncharitable of her, she knows, but she’s finding it a strain to host them, especially in the current circumstances.

They’re all emotionally raw. But she can’t help wondering if they would be hurting quite as much if it were Lizzie who’d been found dead in a storage locker.

She’s always been the disappointing daughter—not as pretty, not as accomplished.

She hasn’t set the world on fire, she hasn’t married and provided grandchildren, which seems to be a ridiculous expectation in this day and age, but nonetheless her parents seem to expect it.

And now she’s almost getting too old. She tries to push these thoughts aside, but when her parents are staying with her, these are the thoughts that crowd her.

Somehow, when she’s around her parents she slips into old thought patterns and behaviors that she’d hoped she’d left behind.

Lizzie loved her sister. She misses her already.

But their relationship had always been complicated, conflicted.

Bryden was always prettier, more lovable, got better grades in school.

She did everything right, without even seeming to try.

Lizzie wasn’t valedictorian. Lizzie didn’t get a date for the prom.

Lizzie didn’t get a scholarship to college.

Lizzie didn’t marry a wonderful husband and produce a lovely child. Lizzie always felt lesser-than.

Lizzie can’t deny that she feels a certain freedom now that Bryden is gone.

Is that wrong? Is it wrong to enjoy the fact that maybe Bryden wasn’t so perfect after all, and that maybe now her parents are starting to realize it?

Now her parents think Sam might have killed her.

Maybe for once, they think their favorite daughter might have made a mistake .

And she had an affair ! What do her parents think of their perfect daughter now?

She feels the urge to hole up in her bedroom and get online; it’s pulling her, but she has to ignore it for now. She has to make do with scrolling on her phone, reading the posts on the Facebook group with her parents hovering, oblivious.

She hadn’t learned anything further from Sam this morning. She’d hoped he might tell her more about his latest police interview when they were alone, which had been the whole point of her offering to go over this morning and take Clara to day care for him. But he’d given her nothing new.

She remembers his reaction when she’d said she could help, that she knew people.

He’d pulled back from her, given her an odd look.

Had she revealed too much? Should she have toned it down?

She feels uneasy about it now. The truth is, her online sleuthing is an obsession.

It has been for some time now. But she should be more careful. No more slipups.

Bryden wasn’t the only one hiding a part of her life from everyone else.