“Ava’s right,” Vic says, his voice subdued.
Isn’t it possible, though, to push someone over the brink? Byyouractions?
“I should go,” I announce, my voice shaky. “Thank you for all your help.”
“Would you like me or Vic to drive you to the inn and then you can retrieve your car later?” Ava asks.
All I want right now is to be on my own, to be able to sob my eyes out and not worry about being seen or overheard. I need to call both my mom and my friend Megan to tell them what’s happened.
I shake my head. “Thanks, but I’m okay.”
“Let’s check in with each other later,” Ava says as I struggle up from the table.
After grabbing my purse, I hug my hosts goodbye. Ava’s embrace is full and effused with her usual warmth, but Vic’s hug is an awkward one, his body stiff with tension. Despite what he said, he might be blaming me.
With trembling hands, I back the rental car out of the driveway, past the empty police vehicles, and point it toward the Salisbury Inn.
THE DESK CLERK GREETS ME CHEERILY, PAYING NO APPARENTmind to the fact that in my cocktail dress and stilettos, I appear to be doing a walk of shame. I’m the only guest in the lobby, but I can hear muted conversations emanating from the breakfast room down the hall, which also serves as a local café with a separate entrance.
I make my way upstairs and into my room, with its pretty gold-and-white-striped wallpaper and soft white duvet. Though I spent a couple of hours here before the party—reading, nursing a cup of tea, and prepping for several client meetings I have this coming week—I barely recognize the space. If it weren’t for my roller bag on the luggage rack, I’d think I’d somehow gained entry into a stranger’s room by accident.
After taking a swig of water from the complimentary bottle, I strip off my clothes and stagger into the bathroom to shower. For a few minutes I let the hot water soothe me, losing myself in the sensation. I’m sure that this is the moment when the tears will come gushing forth, but they still seem trapped deep inside me.
Back in the room, with just a towel around me, I sit on the edge of the bed and force my mind back to the party, realizing that some things aren’t making sense to me. Don’t people kill themselves when they’re in the throes of depression? Jamie didn’tdodepression. I livedwith him for more than a year, and I never saw even a sustained bad mood. Yes, the breakup upset him deeply, but that was nearly five months ago, and I believed him in the solarium when he told me he’d moved on. After all, his whole life has been about getting back on his horse again—like when he lost his mom early in his life, and then later his dad.
And I always thought the idea of suicide is something people agonize over for weeks or months, toy with, fantasize about, research online, and then plan out. Am I really supposed to believe that he was so upset by my presence at the party, which wasn’t a surprise to him, that he walked out the door and on the spur of the moment took his own life?
Could the gut-wrenching information that Vic shared be wrong, the word of a police source who’s not at the center of things?
It’s now close to nine. I take a few more swigs of water, dig my phone from my purse, and call Heather Larsson, the second wife of Jamie’s uncle Drew, who’s twenty years her husband’s junior. It seems better to connect with her first since Drew must be incredibly distraught, and though I’m dreading this call with every fiber of my being, I can’t let the day gain any more ground without making it. Not surprisingly, it goes to voicemail. The family has so much to cope with now.
“Heather, it’s Kiki,” I say. “I’m so horribly sorry for you and Drew. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do. Anything at all.”
My words sound lame to my ears, but I don’t know what else to say. Next, I try Tori, who doesn’t pick up, either. I leave her a message, too, explaining that I’m eager to see how she’s doing.
It’s too early yet to call my mom in Phoenix so I try Megan next. Not only has she been my closest friend since we met in college, but she’s also a therapist, and I’m certain that speaking to her will helpease the pain. Because she’s an early riser, even on Sundays, I’m surprised her phone goes to voicemail, too. There’s no way I’m going to break the news in a voicemail, so I just ask her to call me as soon as she can.
Despair starts to overwhelm me again, in part because I feel so alone.Get a grip, I tell myself. The trip back to the city will take close to three hours, and I can’t be a total basket case.
After dressing in jeans and a cotton V-neck sweater, I call downstairs to tell the desk clerk I’m checking out. Within minutes, I’m rolling my bag off the porch of the inn, headed toward the parking lot.
And then, with a jolt, I see someone I recognize; I can barely believe my eyes—it’s Jamie’s date from last night. She’s striding across the parking lot from the café, dressed in tight jeans and a slim-fitting gray T-shirt, and carrying a take-out coffee. Though the expression she’s wearing is as pinched as it was last night, it’s hardly grief-stricken, suggesting she hasn’t heard the news yet. She and Jamie obviously weren’t a good fit, which means she might not be devastated when she learns what’s happened, but still, it will be a terrible shock. I lower my head to make certain she doesn’t get a glimpse of my face. I’m certainly not going to be the one to break the news to her.
As soon as I’m on the road, I try Megan again, thinking she might not have seen my message, but she doesn’t answer. Next, I try the number for Detective Calistro, which I’ve programmed into my phone. Though that goes to voicemail, too, he returns my call minutes later.
“Is it true that you think Jamie Larsson’s death is a suicide?” I say, after quickly identifying myself.
“Do you mind telling me where you got that piece of information?” he asks.
“From someone with a contact in the police force. Is it true?”
I hold my breath, hoping for a miracle.
“I’m not at liberty to share any specifics from the investigation at this time, but I will tell you there’s been no ruling yet.”
“Really?”
“The autopsy isn’t scheduled until tomorrow. We’re also awaiting results from a tox screen, which could take up to ten days. Please give us time to do our work, Ms. Reed, and we’ll let the family know as soon as we’ve made a determination.”
