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“Fine. I’ll get it.” I take my computer with me, leaving it on the kitchen counter when I retrieve my wallet from my purse.
As I give Rourke the license, I say a silent prayer that Eleanor did a thorough job creating my fake past.
With a glance at the license, Rourke hands it over to Porter, who photographs it with his phone before giving it back to me.
“That’s all for now. If you think of anything else that might be helpful,” he says and shoves a business card at me.
I shrink away from the card. “I won’t. I’ve told you everything already.”
“Don’t leave town, Miss Becker,” Rourke says and moves towards the house.
I hold the screen door open for them. “You can leave this way. My son’s asleep, and I don’t want you waking him up.”
As they pass by me, Officer Porter smiles, but Rourke avoids meeting my gaze.
I listen for the sound of their car engine starting and the crunch of gravel from their tires before lowering myself to a rocker. I woke up from one nightmare to find myself in another. I’m being framed for the murder of a woman I never even met. To prove I wasn’t having an affair with Will at the time of her death, I would have to blow my cover. Even if I wanted to leave town, doing so would make me appear guilty. I’m stuck with no choice but to wait for the cartel to come after me.
TWENTY-EIGHT
WILL
When Marlowe arrives promptly at nine, I offer him coffee and we walk onto the veranda.
“What is your first name?” I ask him. “Since we’re going to be working together, I should call you something other than Detective.”
He chuckles. “Technically, I’m no longer a detective. My name is Brice.”
I give him a curt nod. “Brice it is. So where do we start?”
He looks around, surveying the property before zeroing in on the dock. “Why don’t you show me your boat, the scene of the accident?”
The police impounded the boat for weeks after Tracy’s death. His forensic team went over the boat with a fine-tooth comb and found nothing. I assume he has an ulterior motive for wanting to see my boat.
Marlowe waits until we’re at the end of the dock before he says, “I don’t need to see the boat. I personally went over every inch of it. But I wanted to talk out of earshot of the house. Before I leave, with your permission, I’d like to sweep the interior for listening devices.”
My head rears back, as though I’ve been slapped. The thought of someone listening to my conversations with my sister and children makes my skin crawl. “You think my in-laws have bugged my house?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.” He leans back against a piling, crossing his long legs. “Before we move forward, I have some questions for you.” The hesitancy in his voice makes me wonder if he’s having second thoughts about working for me.
“Sure. You can ask me anything.”
“I wasn’t aware until recently that your kids were with your in-laws at the time of your wife’s death. Did they babysit for you often?”
I pause, considering how to respond. He’ll find out the truth anyway. He might as well hear it from me. “Tracy took the girls to stay with her parents in Savannah without my permission. We were having some problems in our marriage, although it’s not what you think. I was not having an affair.”
“What was it, then?” His calm demeanor leads me to believe he already knows the answer, and he’s testing me.
“Tracy found out about something that happened in my past. My best friend died in a freak accident when we were fifteen, and I was blamed for his death.”
Marlowe nods. “I know about Bert.”
“I’m not surprised. You don’t miss much. Tracy got it in her head that I have anger management issues. She wanted me to check myself into a mental health facility that specializes in anger issues.”
“You do have anger issues, Will. I’ve witnessed them myself.”
“I’m aware. I took your advice, and I’m getting help. I assume you already know this, too.”
“Yep.” He chuckles. “I’ve spent some time on Clemmy’s daybed swing myself.”
