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“How did he die? I assume you’re dancing around the fact that my husband was murdered.”
The officer shifted his weight uncomfortably. “I’d rather discuss the details down at the station, ma’am.”
“My husband is dead. I deserve to know how he died.”
“I’m not arguing with you, but I do think a matter this sensitive is best discussed in private.”
Eliza waited him out. While the news of her husband’s death was somewhat alarming, she couldn’t say she was entirely surprised, especially after her day yesterday. She just wasn’t sure who’d had the guts to do it.
The officer glanced around, surveying the bustling brunch scene. He wiped his brow and glanced toward Penny’s rapid approach. Still, Eliza waited. She drew her lips into the thin line she knew to be intimidating and made eye contact with the officer from behind the shield of her reflective lenses. Silence could do wonders to intimidate a man.
“He died from multiple stab wounds,” the officer finally said. “At his house.”
“Our house.”
“What?”
“It was our house.”
“Of course. I’m sorry.”
Eliza sank back in her chair, sickened. Weak. More sweat beaded. Her head throbbed. A knife clattered against a plate, a dog barked, a baby hiccupped and gurgled. The noises of the world were magnified in Eliza’s ears. They echoed like sounds shouted into a deserted tunnel, banged around inside her skull, then faded into nothingness.
The cacophony of sound from the bustling café dimmed to nothing. The air suddenly felt too stale to breathe, and the sun burned too hot on Eliza’s hand. Her fingertips felt scorched as she rested them against her mug.
“Ma’am?” he asked. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Eliza?” Penny’s hand clutched at Eliza’s shoulder. “What’s going on?”
Eliza winced. The girl’s nails were digging into her, piercing at her skin. It was too tight, too forced.
The cop turned to Penny. “If I could have a moment alone with Mrs. Tate, I would appreciate it.”
“She can stay,” Eliza snipped. “We don’t have secrets between us. Not anymore.”
The officer gave a longer look at Penny, then turned back to Eliza. “Mrs. Tate, it would be beneficial for all involved if you could join me at the station to answer a few questions.”
Penny’s fingers dug excruciatingly deeper into Eliza’s muscle. “Oh my God,” she murmured. “Is it Roman?”
Eliza’s gaze flicked up at the young woman before turning a deadened stare at the cop. “I’d like my lawyer.”
THIRTY-TWO
The Morning After
February 15, 2019
Anne Wilkes tried hard to mask her hangover, but she was unsuccessful.
“Mom, please.” Anne looked over to where her mother had begun to reorganize her cupboards at 8:00 a.m. on a Saturday morning. “That banging is driving me insane.”
“It’s unbecoming for a lady to drink so much.” Anne’s mother, Beatrice Harper, sniffed. “It lacks class. And it’s not safe. For you or the kids.”
“Mom. Please.”
“I just wish you’d get help, Anne.”
“I don’t have a problem. I can stop drinking if I want, okay? I’m not going to fucking leave the kids.”
