Page 78 of The French Honeymoon

“Well, I know what you said. I read the transcript.”

Wait, did Iactuallycall Olivier and I don’t remember? “Will you read it to me?” I say.

“I’m not supposed to.”

“Please! I–I want to hold on to every possible memory of him.”

She sighs. “I guess there’s no harm in it, now that the investigation is over.” She clears her throat and then I hear the shuffling of paper. “This is what the transcript says: ‘Olivier, it’s me. I miss you. Please, I want to know if you’re okay. Give me a sign. Anything. I love you. I always will. I’m sorry about what happened, all of it. Forget everything else. I just want to be with you.’”

This wasn’t me. I didn’t say any of this. And if it was from my phone…

Detective Jackson lets out a sigh. “Let me reiterate, once again, how truly sorry I am for your loss.”

“Um, okay, thank you. So, this is it? You won’t be… I mean, it’s over?”

“Not quite. You said you had some news?”

“What?”

“Before, you wanted to bring up something?”

The edges of the hotel key card feel rough against my palm. I make a split decision. “No, I–I guess I’m just tired. I have nothing to say.”

“Are you sure?”

I’m not. But I need to think about that. Because if the investigation is over, why would I risk them reopening it and coming to a different conclusion? “Yes, I’m sure.” At least for now.

“All right. I wish you a good day, Ms. Laurent. Take care of yourself. Oh, and you might want to know the French authorities are releasing your husband’s body to his family today, if you wanted to be in touch with them.”

“Right, yes, his family.” I pause, still in shock. “I guess I should call them?”

“That’s entirely up to you, Ms. Laurent.”

So I won’t. I’m not even sure what they know about me, if anything.

Minutes after we hang up, my shoes are on and I’m out the door. I texted Darren to ask him to come get me, and his car rolls around the corner before I’ve reached the end of the street.

I slide into the passenger seat, a grin plastered on my face in spite of me.

“What’s going on?” Darren says, starting the car again. “You’re freaking me out.”

I squeeze my lips together; I can’t let him see my true feelings. “The police called. It was an accident. Accidental overdose, they said.”

Darren shoots me a glance out of the corner of his eye. “Okay.”

“I’m so relieved, you know. It was… I mean…”

“You’rerelieved?” I don’t respond. “Cassie, where are we going? What is happening right now?”

“Just drive,” I say, waving at the air in front of me.

He does.

We sit there in silence as I gather my thoughts. “I’m sorry about everything that happened. What I said on my last night in Paris. I know it must have sounded weird—”

“Weird? You told me you were afraid for your life. That your husband wanted to kill you and that you had to run away. And thenheturns up dead.”

“It’s not what you think.”