I went straight to the cabinets under the built-in shelves, making a show of rooting around for the papers. “My mother was murdered,” I said without preamble, “and the police arrested the wrong person. I need your help to find the right one, Reynard, because no one spent more time with my mother in her final days than you.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he cried. “They arrested the wrong person? How could you know that?”
“Because I know Courtney, and she’d never kill anyone—let alone my mother.” I pulled out an accordion folder—flipping through, taking papers out, and putting them back without paying attention to a single one.
I learned my lesson with Rhodes. Coming at him head-on would put his back up. I needed him to lower his defenses, then I’d come at him from the side, getting him to tell me what he was doing smoking cigarettes in my garden in the middle of the night when he was supposed to be out with friends he hadn’t seen in months.
“Did she ever say anything to you about someone threatening her?” I asked.
“I would’ve told you if she had. You know I would’ve.”
“Sure, but maybe it wasn’t so direct. Of course you’d tell me ifshetold you someone threatened to sneak in and stab her. But maybe it was more like, ‘Mrs. Jeong still hasn’t forgiven me for getting drunk and making out with her husband at last year’s Christmas party,’” I said. “Know what I mean? The slightest mention of a grudge or bad blood could point the cops in the right direction.”
He hummed, tipping his gaze to the ceiling. “You’re right. It would’ve had to have been something slipped into conversation like that, because your mother usually kept details about her personal life close to the vest. But even so...” He shook his head. “I’ve been here for six months, but it was in the last two that her pain became so unmanageable, I had to up the doses on several of her meds—leading to confusion, paranoia, and cognitive decline.
“These last few months, she’s been in and out of time,” he confessed. “She did speak of people, friends, and family every now and then, but I could never be sure of what year she was in. I remember once she said, ‘that little slut showed up on my doorstep today, banging and screaming for me to come down. If it happens again, I’ll call the police.’” He shrugged. “Or something like that. But when I asked who she was speaking of, she told me to mind my own business.
“She never gave me the kind of details that could be useful, and before she started slipping, she wouldn’t say anything at all to me that wasn’t expected of a professional nurse-patient relationship. She also never spoke ofthat Courtney Thorne woman,” Reynard said, dropping his head to look at me. “If that means anything.”
Actually, I’m pretty sure she did speak of Courtney to you. Who else could thelittle slut banging and screamingbe but my closest friend in the world?
“I still think you should talk to the police.” I pushed the accordion file back in and pulled out the one next to it. “Maybe you saw or heard something that night that could help them.”
“Saw something?” Confusion laced his voice. “What do you mean? I couldn’t have seen anything. I wasn’t here.”
And there it is. Your first fucking lie.
“No? My mistake— Or, I guess Rhodes’s mistake. He said he saw you smoking in the garden a little after nine thirty.” Getting up, I crossed to the window—looking out over the garden. “The garden lamp bulbs burned out a long time ago, and no one’s replaced them. So if Rhodes saw you clear enough from the third floor, more light would’ve been shining on you than the light from a cigarette.
“That light must’ve been the light from my mother’s bedroom.”
A deep, heavy silence smothered us—smothered me.
“Mrs. Kim.” Something in his voice changed, and it wasn’t just the dropping of my first name. “Are you accusing me of something?”
Turning to him, I gave him a crazy look. “Accusing? What are you talking about? Of course I’m not accusing you. If you were downstairs smoking at nine forty, then you weren’t up here wiping off the blood at nine forty. At this point, you’re the only one I know it wasn’t, and that’s why”—I rushed him, making him cry out when I pounced and grabbed his hands—“I need you to tell me the truth, Reynard.
“You saw something, didn’t you,” I cried, blowing his brows up. “I remember every awful fucking second and every awful fucking detail of what I saw when I walked into that room. The shades were pulled down, but the drapes weren’t drawn. As a kid, I spent enough nights reading in the garden to know you can see the outline of people moving around the room through the shades when the lights are on. So who did you see?” I shrieked.
“Sue—"
“Who was in this room that night? Who killed my mother!”
“I don’t know— I don’t know!” The man looked a little afraid of me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Of course you do! You would’ve seen! Oh my—” My eyes narrowed to slits. “They’re threatening you, aren’t they.”
“Threatening?!”
“The same disgusting, weaselly bastard that framed Courtney. They realized you saw something or—or maybe you’re scared they’ll do the same thing to you that they did to my mother and Mrs. Prado.” I grabbed his shoulders, shaking him. “You don’t have to be afraid. I swear, I’ll protect you. I’ll pay for you to live in a five-star, luxury safe house until the trial starts if that’s what it takes! You just have to tell me who it—”
“Sue, stop!” he burst out, blowing me back. Reynard immediately pulled back and sucked in a deep breath. “Sorry. I’m sorry, but, please, just slow down, listen, and hear me. No one is threatening me. No one saw me in the garden that night—including your husband, because I wasn’t there. He must’ve mistaken me for someone else, which would’ve been easy to do from the third floor. He would’ve been looking down on nothing more than a top of the head.
“No,” he said clearly. “It wasn’t me in the garden, and I can prove it.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone. Within a minute, I was looking at a grinning, tipsy Reynard sitting in a booth with five other tipsy, handsome gentlemen. “Look at the clock.”
I squinted to see, but I didn’t need to. He zoomed in, letting me read 9:21 p.m. clear as day on the bar clock over their heads. “This bar is an hour away. Not even if I sped all the way could I have been back here in twenty minutes to smoke in the garden. I also”—he gave me a soft smile—“don’t smoke. I’ve watched enough people slowly die from lung cancer. I’ve no interest in being one of them.”
“Oh.” I deflated like a limp balloon, my hands falling off him. “So you didn’t see anyone in here... and I’m right back where I started—with my mother gone and my best friend framed for her murder.”
