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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The first thing Emily said when she opened the door was, “I knew Greg wasn’t gay.”
She was in a very-white nightgown at her very-white summer house in the tony (very-white?) Hamptons. She and Greg had bought the beach house for $18 million. Myron knew this because Win had helped with the financing.
“Where’s Jeremy?” Myron asked.
“Where’s your car?”
“I took a car service. Where’s Jeremy?”
“His plane landed half an hour ago. He should be here soon.”
“Where is he flying in from?”
“He would only tell me it was someplace overseas. You know his rules of engagement.” She backed up so Myron could step inside. “So what happened?”
“I searched for Greg.”
“Right, I figured that.”
“The feds were tracking me. When I found him, so did they.”
“And he was with a woman, right?”
“Yes.”
“So my husband ran off with another woman.”
Myron looked at her. “I thought you were married in name only.”
“We were, but I was—am?—still his wife. Why not tell me he met someone? I would have been fine with it. Why would he just run off like that?”
“I don’t know. He said something about running away and escaping.”
“Do you think he killed Cecelia?”
Myron ignored the question. “I need you to think, Emily.”
“About?”
“What’s Greg’s real connection to Cecelia Callister?”
“You asked me that on the phone. I’ve been racking my brain.”
“And?”
“I don’t think he was sleeping with her.”
“Okay.”
“But he might have been.”
“Helpful,” Myron said.
“Hey, what do you want from me? I don’t know.”
“If it matters, Greg told me he hadn’t.”
