“I used to be. Or I tried to be. To be honest, I can’t remember anymore.” She walked around the room, a slow perusal of the space. There was still a blue tarp spread over the floor and the plastic crinkled as her heels landed against it with every step.
I leaned against the door frame and tried to imagine Carmen Savino-Sharp in a soft and delicate space, only to come up lacking.
The condo redesign was minimalist and modern, all long lines and stark white walls with broad windows and lots of marble. I found her design choices more sterile than the hospital, and mentally designed myself a middle ground, somewhere between cold and welcoming.
“I think we grow into our tastes,” I said.
“Maybe. Or we’re pushed into them.” Carmen brushed past me, stepping into the main office space. I followed her, giving the work my own appraisal to make sure there wouldn’t be anything for her to find fault with.
“Maybe,” I agreed, thinking about Colton who had accidentally found his.
“Self-discovery is such an oddly personal thing, don’t you think?” she asked, leaning against the windowsill and folding her arms across her chest.
“I do.”
“It’s unfortunate when people get caught in the crossfire.”
I frowned. “I don’t follow.”
“Take me, for example.” She shoved herself off the windowsill and walked out of the office, heels clacking against the floor. I followed her down the hallway to the master bedroom, where she started the same level of inspection. “I was three years into a marriage when I found out my husband was a murderer.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I sputtered.
She threw me a smile over her shoulder, like what she’d said was the most casual thing in the world.
“A murderer.” She smirked, conspiratorially. “Saying it out loud is so…I don’t know. Ridiculous, considering my ex-husband is a waif of a man who used to refuse to hurt a fly.”
“Is he…what happened? Is he in prison?”
Carmen laughed. “No. He’s not. I’m working on trying to find a more permanent solution for him, though.”
I skidded to a halt in the hallway, watching her disappear into the en suite at the far end of the master bedroom. This conversation had taken a turn for the very bizarre and I wasn’t sure I wanted to be a part of it anymore.
“Did you want to talk about Ben?” I asked, hoping to steer things back on track. “I know he’s gone, but I’m sure he’ll show up. And even if he doesn’t, the build is nearly done and everything looks in order to me.”
“He won’t show up.”
“Eh.” I shrugged, trying to play it cool. “You don’t know that.”
“No. I know that.” She came back into the bedroom space, a handful of feet away from me, now with a gun in her hand.
“Carmen.” I took a step back and raised my hands.
“Ask me how I know.”
“How do you know?” I took another step backward, my shoulders bumping the wall.
“Because my ex-husband killed him.” She gave me a face like that was cute. Like she was amused. A soft smile and a shrug of her shoulders. “He shot him and then disposed of the body.”
“Okay.”
My heart raced, my pulse quickening to a level I didn’t know how to manage, and white fireworks dotted the corners of my vision. I recognized the adrenaline and knew I needed to get myself under control or I was going to black out in her hallway and probably end up alongside Ben’s missing—and apparently dead—body.
“Carmen!”
A voice I didn’t recognize called out from downstairs, the syllables of her name echoing around the bare walls.
She rolled her eyes and checked her watch, waving the gun around a little more casually than I would have liked. I glanced toward the stairs, not willing to fully take my stare off the woman with the gun in front of me.
