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Just to help sell the doting new husband thing.
I don’t even notice the softness of her skin against my palm.
“Um, where should I start?” she asks.
“How about you start with when you left work,” he suggests. “Unless of course something happened at work that you think might be relevant, seeing as the victim was your boss.”
“Oh.” Nora frowns, pretending to think. “Well, nothing unusual that I can recall at work, but I should tell you that when I left work late yesterday evening, I discovered I had a flat tire.”
I try not to let my grip on her hand tighten as she speaks. I know she has to disclose this information since both the security guard and the tow truck driver are aware that it happened. But that doesn’t mean I’m happy about her having to tell Anderson who gave her a ride home last night.
“Ian was leaving at the same time as me. He offered me a ride home.” Anderson’s response to this admission, or should I say his lack of response, gives nothing away. His face is a blank slate.
Lucy and Emily, on the other hand, both gasp loudly. Mel chokes on the sip of water she just took and Becca knocks her glass clean off its coaster, splashing water across my coffee table.
“Whoops!” she cries, “I’m so sorry.” She grabs a handful of tissues from the box nearby and starts blotting at the table. And that right there is why I did not want to give her hot chocolate.
“Wait, did you take it?” Lucy interjects, unphased by her former roommate’s spill.
“Uh, yes,” Nora says carefully. “I mean, it was late at night. I didn’t want to sit alone in the parking lot waiting for a tow truck.”
I keep my hand over hers, doing my best to support her. In my periphery I can see Stafford leaning forward to focus on what Nora is saying. Across from us in a chair he brought in from the kitchen, Montgomery’s face is grave. He’s a serious guy, though, I remind myself. Could be nothing.
“Okay, so Ian Wharfman gave you a ride home,” Andserson says carefully. “Then what?”
“Well, actually,” Nora heaves in a breath, glancing my way, “I ended up having him bring me here, to Jack’s house.”
“Oh?” One of Anderson’s eyebrows pops up in surprise and his gaze swivels my way for the briefest of seconds. “And why did you do that?”
Nora swallows, but when she answers her voice is strong and clear. “I had him bring me here because Jack’s house is closer to my work and Ian was starting to make some… unwanted advances. I wanted to get out of his car as soon as possible. So I asked him to drop me off here and told him that Jack was my boyfriend.”
“That’s why you came over last night?” Lucy exclaims. “Oh that is so much better than the popping-over-to-clear-the-air-before-Mel’s-wedding thing,” she goes on happily. “Obviously not the unwanted advances part,” she amends quickly, “but the fake boyfriend angle is really cute.”
“You told them you came over to clear the air before our wedding?” Anderson asks. “Why lie?”
Nora flushes. I can feel her getting flustered, so I run a thumb over her hand and bump her thigh gently with mine.
“It’s okay,” I whisper at a volume designed to seem like I’m trying to speak just to her but that’s still loud enough for all of them to hear. “You’ve got nothing to hide, lying about inconsequential matters is not a crime.”
Nora nods once in response, then focuses back on Anderson. “It wasn’t a total lie. I had been thinking about Jack. How I was going to be seeing him again at your wedding. What that would be like.” She lifts her free hand to fiddle with her earring. “Plus, well, I’m vying for a promotion at work. I wanted to keep what happened in the car under wraps until that was over. It was Mr. Wharfman’s decision who would get the job, and I worried bringing up accusations would make them seem like malicious lies intended to blackmail him into a decision in my favor or worse that someone might accuse me of having been trying to curry favor with him.”
Wow. That was a good answer. Depressingly believable.
“I see.” Anderson’s expression turns sympathetic. “I’m very sorry you had to go through that, Nora.”
Nora’s eyes rim with tears, and for the first time my composure slips. Some of the white hot rage I felt last night upon hearing of Ian Wharfman’s attempts at assaulting Nora resurfaces and a growl escapes my body.
“If he weren’t already dead, I’d pummel that man like a punching bag,” I state, my voice low and deadly.
Nora looks over at me in shock.
“Sorry,” I grunt, even though I’m not sorry at all. I probably should’ve kept this thought to myself, given that we’re caught up in a murder investigation, but at this moment I don’t care about what I should do. Anger has replaced my sound judgment.
Anderson’s gaze is now locked on me thanks to my outburst, and I start to feel the tiniest twinge of regret.
Nora framed his assault attempt as something more akin to sexual harassment. The intensity of my response might seem like overkill considering part of Nora’s story is that Ian Wharfman did as she asked and dropped her off here, rather than continuing with his so-called ‘unwanted advances’.
“Sorry,” I grunt again. “Pummel might be a strong word choice. I just meant, when she told me what brought her to my door, I definitely had the urge to go find the guy and give him a good punch.”
