“Did your husband’s mood change in any way in the last weeks or even months before he died?” Detective Lloyd asked.
“No.” I shook my head. “Not that I noticed.”
Detective Lloyd checked to make sure his phone was still recording. “There was no indication that he was possibly hiding something from you or felt guilty about something?”
“No,” I answered. “He seemed completely normal.”
“How would you describe your husband?” Detective Fox asked.
I thought about Ali, envisioning his smile. The quiet, easy laughter. What he’d said to me after our first kiss.I wondered if the chemistry was there. Wow. Just wow.
It seemed like it happened yesterday. But also, forever ago. Yet my body still remembered the sensations, the excitement that sparkled through me when he kissed me for the first time.
“Mrs. Abadi?” Detective Fox’s voice pried me away from my memories. “I asked how you would describe your husband.”
“As one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. An excellent father to our kids. Ali was our protector.” My voice thinned. I barely managed to choke the words out. “I mean, obviously he wasn’t perfect, but I miss him every day.”
It was silent for a moment, my grief, and my love for my husband, thickening the air. This roller coaster of emotions exhausted me. One minute I missed my husband with desperate longing. And then the next, I was so mad at him that I wished he were still alive so I could kill him myself.
“When did you find out that he left the house to his ex-girlfriend?” Detective Fox asked.
“After Ali died.” I firmed my voice, determined to keep it together. “I didn’t even know that house existed until I started trying to get a grip on our finances.”
“Just a moment.” Detective Fox held up a ring-laden, crimson-tipped finger. “You didn’t know that the house existed?”
I shook my head, realizing how stupid and unaware that made me sound. “No idea.”
Detective Lloyd gave me a sympathetic look. “How exactly was your husband able to purchase a house without your knowledge?”
I shrugged, feeling like an idiot. “He was an accountant. He handled all of the finances.”
“Did you all have enough income, as far as you know, to afford a second house?” Detective Fox asked.
“I guess so. Ali was frugal. He was a saver.” But not too cheap to buy his ex a house with the money he made me save. That stung.
“Hmm,” was all Fox said, but I felt judged. “And do you work?”
“I’m a museum scriptwriter.”
They both gave me a blank stare, a reaction I was used to. Few people had ever heard of my job.
“You know those cards displayed with artifacts in museums?” I said by way of explanation. “The labels that tell you about the item and its significance? I write those.”
“Oh,” Fox said. “I didn’t know that was a job. I assumed curators did that.”
“Curators are more accustomed to writing academic papers rather than labels normal people can understand.”
“I see.” Fox briskly returned to the business at hand. “So, both you and your husband had jobs. And you’re sending two kids to college?”
“That’s right.”
“Are the kids taking out loans to cover the cost of tuition?” she asked.
“No.” This was one financial question that I could answer. “We opened a college savings plan for each child when they were born. Tuition was all paid for by the time they started college.”
Detective Fox watched me carefully. “I don’t mean to be insensitive, but is it possible that Mrs. Price was your husband’s second wife?”
“Excuse me?” I was incredulous.
