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Tana narrows her eyes. “And why did he feel the need to buy you a dress?”
“Because I’m going to Turks and Caicos with him for the weekend. For a wedding.” I pause for effect. “He’s picking me up in an hour.”
To Tana’s credit, she doesn’t blink an eye. “Well, then let’s get you packed and you can tell me what the hell is going on.”
Twenty-five minutes later, my suitcase is packed and waiting by the door. Tana has dragged me into the kitchen instead of down to the office to make me a quick lunch. I’ve given her the recap of my discussion with the police and Max this morning, as well as a very brief report on my shopping trip.
The smell of melting cheese tempts Travis, as well as both cats, to join us in the kitchen, just as the news on the TV in the kitchen reports on Noam’s death.
“It’s going to be okay,” Tana assures me as she flips the grilled cheese with as much conviction, pressing the spatula on the bread hard enough for the cheese to begin to ooze out. She lays the sandwich on a plate and cuts it into four pieces like she must have done for her children. I know Tana sees herself as a mother figure for me, and some days, I want so much to lean against her shoulder and let her.
But I’ve always known leaning against others makes me weaker, so I stand on my own two feet.
The few bites I’ve managed of the grilled cheese sticks in my throat as I watch the coverage: it starts with the details of his death, shows family, mentions he was staying at one of his hotels after dinner with a business associate.
There’s no mention of me.
It isn’t until they give the highlights of his career and then move on to sports that I start to relax.
“I think we dodged a bullet there.” Tana sighs with relief. “No further word from the family?”
I shake my head and reach for my phone to double-check.
Nothing. Not since nine thirty this morning, which was around the time I had met with the police and Max.
No one seems to doubt I was with Max.
“Let me get this straight—you’re flying to Turks and Caicos with a man you just met,” Travis says, heavy on the skepticism.
“I’m his date for a wedding in return for telling the police I was with him last night instead of in Noam’s room,” I explain for the third time.
Travis scratches his head. He’s the complete opposite of his wife—tall and gangly, with a relaxed easiness about him rather than Tana’s intensity. “I know I don’t have to ask, but… Tate was alive when you left, wasn’t he?”
I try to rub away the tension headache that has been building since Tana first woke me this morning. Surprisingly, it didn’t bother me when we were shopping. “I’ve gone over it again and again. I’m ninety-nine percent sure he was breathing when I left.”
“But not one hundred percent sure?”
As much as I want to be positive, I can’t be. And it’s eating me up that there’s a small chance that I left the room while Noam was dead beside me.
Or dying. If I had stayed just a few minutes longer, could I have saved him? Would I have known what was happening to him?
And the worst of all—would I have done anything?
“No.” I shake my head. “I can’t be sure.”
Travis flicks a glance at his wife. “I’m sure he was alive and, while maybe not kicking, breathing normally.”
“I left around two-thirty. They must have a time of death…”
“On it,” Tana says.
“Is there anything I need to focus on this weekend?” I ask her. I packed my laptop and I’m planning on working as much as I can.
“Enjoying yourself,” Tana says firmly. “It’s long past the time when you should have had a holiday, so take this as an opportunity to have some fun.” She looks at me over the rims of her glasses. “You deserve it.”
“I second that. Do I need to check out this guy who whisking you away?” Travis wants to know.
“Maximus Steele,” Tana answers for me and gives me another searching glance. “Could be worse.”
