I steal a glance at Drew. It’s clear from his expression that none of this is a surprise. It looks like Ihavehad it wrong, and I feel almost sick with embarrassment.
“Why hadn’t Jamie known about the properties until this summer?” I ask. I can’t let up until this all makes more sense to me.
“It wasn’t some big dark secret. But you know as well as I do that Jamie could act like a bit of a know-it-all when it came to financial stuff, and he liked to drop advice on me whether I needed it or not, so I made a point of keeping certain things to myself. When Taylor was home for Memorial Day weekend and we were all here at the house, Jamie overheard him talking about the condos I own in Florida, and itobviously got his attention. If he’d only asked me directly, I could have saved him a lot of trouble.”
I bite my lip, feeling utterly chagrined. “I apologize for misinterpreting the situation,” I say. “I—I just wanted to turn over every stone.”
Liam shakes his head in disgust. “Is that what you call it: turning over every stone? No, you convinced yourself that Jamie was murdered—contrary to the findings of both the local and state police—and you decided I had a motive for killing him.”
I just stand there, unable to refute his points.
“Have you been to the cops with your theory?” he asks. “Should Tori and I be expecting a visit from them?”
“No, I haven’t said anything about the real estate,” I stammer. “I did tell them I thought Jamie’s death wasn’t a suicide, but that’s the extent of it.”
Liam shakes his head again, but his mouth is clamped shut now. I shoot a glance toward Tori, hoping for an ounce of sympathy, but she’s staring off into the middle of the room, as if too disturbed to meet my eye.
“Are we done now?” Drew interjects. His volume is back to normal, but his tone is still hostile. “Have we satisfied your nosiness, or is there more in store?”
“I’m sorry,” I mutter. “I just want to find the truth.”
“As shattering as it is, weknowthe truth,” he says. “You need to pack your bags, vacate Jamie’s house, and go back to where you belong. We’re beside ourselves with grief, and your presence and reckless actions have made it even worse. Am I making myself clear?”
“Yes,” I say, my voice not much more than a squeak.
“Good. Mel will see you out now.”
I spin around to find Drew’s assistant in the doorway. Maybe she’s been hovering nearby all along.
“Please follow me, Kiki,” Mel says calmly, as if she’s a restaurant hostess showing me to my table. The next few moments are a blur. When I’m finally in the front seat of my rental car, I can barely recall leaving the house, making my way through those large, silent rooms. If Mel said anything else to me, I have no memory of it.
There are so many emotions flailing inside me right now, it’s hard to sort them all. My burning cheeks tell me that for starters I’m ashamed—of deciding Liam was a murderer, of involving a sick elderly woman in the situation and leaving her in a state.
At the same time, I’m angry at myself. I was so eager for contact with the Larssons that I didn’t take a step back and think about what the purpose of the meeting today was going to be.
But more than anything, I feel overwhelmed with despair. Liam didn’t kill Jamie—which is largely a relief—but I know thatsomeonedid, and that person is still out there. And Drew has no interest in pressuring the cops to do more. I wish Sam had been more persuasive with him, and that he hadn’t made it seem like all the doubts were coming from me.
I count slowly to ten, trying to calm myself enough to make it home, though when I stick the key in the ignition, my hand shakes a little. Justdrive, I tell myself. I don’t want to be anywhere near here for another moment.
The trip home is a blur, too, and once I reach the house, I stagger inside, open a couple of windows, and collapse onto the couch. As I lie there, finally feeling my pulse slow, I think through where things currently stand. It still seems pretty clear that the problem Jamie hinted about to Sam must have related to the list of properties. But according to Liam, the two of them addressed it shortly before the party. During the mudroom conversation I overheard between Jamie and Sam, Jamie told his friend he had something he wanted to circle back about, and that very well could have been it.
But if Liam didn’t have a motive for murder, then who did?
My mind soon finds its way back to Percy. If I believe my own eyes rather than what she told me, Jamie was giving her the cold shoulder at the party and obviously couldn’t have cared less about her. That must not have been pleasant. But once again I ask myself: Does a woman spurned after three or four dates choosemurderas a form of payback?
I could go back to the police, I suppose, and remind them of her existence. But I’ve pleaded my case with them before without success, and it’s hard to believe that this time I’d make a difference. Has the moment finally come to return to New York, to pack up my bags like Drew just ordered me to do? I have two more days, Thursday and Friday, on my contract for the house here, but perhaps I should cut it short. What’s the point in staying if I can’t do anything for Jamie?
I let my eyes close and as soon as I do, memories of him flash across my mind in quick succession. I see him smiling flirtatiously at me at the bike rack on the day we met, beaming the night we got engaged, and tearing up the morning I broke his heart.
I’m sorry, Jamie, I think.I’m sorry I failed you yet again.
24
AT SEVEN THIRTY THAT NIGHT I WALK INTO TOWN AGAIN,to the small bistro where I had a glass of wine the first night I arrived. I still have a couple of chicken breasts in the freezer, but I need to be out of the house, distracting myself. I’m still reeling from my confrontation with the Larssons and all its ramifications.
It’s another very warm evening, almost sticky, but I ask for one of the sidewalk tables again, under the strings of fairy lights. The hostess seats me in a spot toward the very end, several tables away from other diners, so thankfully I’m not stuck listening to someone else’s conversation.
As soon as the waiter appears at my table, I order a glass of wine and fettuccine Alfredo at the same time—because I don’t want to linger at the restaurant. Just being out has helped calm me a little, but I haven’t forgotten the car tailing mine and then nearly ramming my bumper. It probably wasn’t Liam, I realize now—he and Drew had a different game plan for how to deal with me—but that leaves the question of who the driver was and whether he was after me specifically. I feel a need to watch my back.
