As I came around a tree, I caught sight of someone kneeling at Ali’s grave. I paused, at first thinking I was in the wrong section of the cemetery, momentarily confused about the grave’s location. Ithadbeen a while since I’d visited. But then the figure came into focus.
Fury rippled through me. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Lizzie Martins looked up, her face pale and narrow. As I got closer, I realized she was crying. Tears streamed down her face. My stomach coiled. If I needed proof that Ali meant a great deal to Lizzie Martins, the evidence was sobbing right in front of me.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be here,” she said in a watery voice. “I don’t want to bother you.”
“Why are you here?” I kept my voice calm, almost soothing. I didn’t want to risk having her run off again like she had at the lawyer’s office.
A sob escaped her. “I just heard that Ali had drugs in his system. That he might have tried to kill himself.”
I stiffened. “Where did you hear that?”
She blew her nose. “The police came to see me.”
“They told you Ali killed himself?” Who else had they shared their theory with? Fury shot through me. What if the kids heard?
“They said it was possible.” She crumpled the tissue in her fist. “They also said he had drugs in his system.”
Something rustled, and I thought I saw a shadow move in the corner of my eye. I looked toward an old tree but didn’t see anyone. The small cemetery appeared mostly empty except for a few cars pulled off to the side where people attended to their loved ones’ graves.
I was mildly surprised to see a familiar-looking vehicle parked nearby. It was the orange sports car I’d noticed at the gas station a few days earlier. The gas station and cemetery were located within a few miles of each other. The sports car owner must live in the area.
“I’m sorry,” Lizzie said to me, “very, very sorry about Ali. Did you realize that he was having ... emotional troubles?”
“He seemed to be doing fine.”
Lizzie looked at me, squinting her eyes like she was staring into the sun’s glare. “We don’t always know the people we love.”
“I thought I knew Ali. But now I have no idea what the truth is. And I’m definitely in the dark about why he bought you that house. Will you tell me?”
Instead of answering, she said, “The last time I saw him, he seemed off. As if he had something on his mind.”
Her words hit me like a punch in the ribs. Had they met regularly? “When did you last see Ali?”
“I don’t remember exactly. Maybe a month or so before he died. I ran into him by accident when I was in town visiting my mother. I told the police.”
“What exactly did you tell them?”
“The truth. That Ali seemed worried. I had the impression it had something to do with his work.”
I scoured my mind. I couldn’t remember anything out of the ordinary in the weeks before Ali’s accident. “He seemed fine to me.”
She moved restlessly, like a skittish horse. “Why did you give my name to the police?”
“I didn’t. They found out about you on their own. They want to know why Ali left you a house.”
She shook her head. “They’ve got it all wrong. I explained everything to them.”
“It would be nice if you’d extend the same courtesy to me.”
“They also asked me if my children could be Ali’s.”
Shock rippled through me. I felt sick. “Could they be?”
Her eyes flashed. Disgust twisted her features. “How can you even ask me that?”
“How could I not?” I lost my cool. “He supposedly gave you up to marry me. But here you are, twenty-three years later, sobbing at his grave and the proud owner of a house that Ali and I paid for. And you tell menothing. You offer no explanations.”
