“Who?”
“Margot, Callie—”
“Oh yes, of course, sorry.” I set my glass down, lean back into the chair. “At a fundraiser. An old friend of mine...” A sting of emotion pricks my chest as I think of Erin. “Is involved in that sort of thing.”
“Got it,” he says. “And Margot.” He drawls out her name and his eyes stay steady on mine. “You two have become close?”
He doesn’t say it but I can tell he doesn’t like Margot. I can imagine him trying to interview her, and how she probably came off to him. Snooty, icy. I bet he doesn’t like the others, either. He can tell I’m different from them, and he likes me, I decide.
Am I close to Margot?I’m obsessed with her. We’re not close but we played spin the bottle Friday night.
I raise my hand to my mouth, plant my chin in my palm. “I mean, we just met a month or so ago, so we’re not like super close or anything, but yeah, we hit it off, I guess you’d say.” I’m stammering now, dancing around the truth.
“Sophie, is there anything else you’re not telling me?” His eyes search mine. “You don’t have to protect anyone.”
The sun outside has torn through the clouds, and light spills between us. And I trust him, I do. I think of Margot and Brad, and I want to tell him everything I know. It’s right here, dangling from my lips, begging to be yanked out. I want to come clean, spill it all to him. I can’t believe I’m lying to the police. But I think of Graham, and my stomach lurches and I can’t say the words. I can’t tell him the truth. I would lose Graham forever and that’s a risk I’m not willing to take.
“I wish there was,” I say, my gaze meeting his, my hands now steady on my lap. “I wish there was some way I could help, but honestly, I’ve told you everything I remember about that night.”
His head hangs down and I register his disappointment. But he quickly recovers his sunny demeanor and stands. Fishes in his pocket and hands me his business card.
“My cell’s written on the back. Please do call me if you think of anything. I know this has been nerve-racking, and something might come to you later when you’re not being put on the spot.” He offers me his hand again and I shake it.
“Detective—”
“Please, it’s Mike—”
“Mike. Thank you,” I say, but I don’t even know what exactly I’m thanking him for. For being nicer than Wanda? For pretending to accept my lies? For not pushing me any further today?
“My pleasure, Sophie.” He gives my shoulder a pat with his broad hand before turning to leave. It smells woodsy and clean like soap. I follow him to the front door and watch as he steps out into the humid morning and climbs into the cruiser with Wanda, who cuts her eyes toward thehouse.
45
IT’S NIGHTTIME. I’Min the dimly lit kitchen, muddling bitters with sugar cubes for old-fashioneds. Graham’s second of the night and my first, after a glass of brisk chardonnay.
I need something stiff after this day, and also, before I spring the news on Graham about the cops stopping by today.
—
AS SOON ASWanda and Flynn left, my phone was lighting up with a call from Tina.
“Did the police come over to your house, too, today?”
“They just left actually.”
“What all did they ask you? What all did you tell them?” Tina’s voice was a rapid-fire assault weapon in my ear. I relayed everything I told them.
“This is getting seriously freaky.”
“I know.” I couldn’t muster more than two-word answers for Tina after being drilled by Flynn and Wanda this morning.
“Sophie,” Tina said, then lowered her voice. “Don’t you think it’s strange that Brad was the last one with her? I mean, do you think he killed her?”
Yes. Yes I do. Either alone or with Margot’s help.
“It is strange, I agree,” I offered. “But the detective confirmed to me what Jill told us, that Brad was with his friend Jamie for the rest of the night after he dropped Abby off.”
“The male detective?”
