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Eliza squinted ahead to where she could see the peak of the Runyon Canyon trail, LA’s hottest hike. Celeb sightings were frequent on these trails. It was not a place to spend time if one was trying to stay out of the spotlight. But Eliza wasn’t trying to stay out of the spotlight. She was trying to live her life.
“Damn it, slow down,” Anne said. “I’m fat. I can’t keep up with you.”
“You’re not fat,” Eliza said, though even she knew it sounded mechanical. She was just too focused on sweating out her frustrations with the investigation to pay all that much attention to Anne’s fitness complaints. “It’s good for us. Plus, I’m trying to make a point. I won’t swap out my friends because of a stupid rumor.”
“Maybe it’s not—”
“The top is just ahead. You can do it.”
“For crying out loud, Eliza! Stop. Just stop.” Anne threw her hands up in the air. She was sweating, her face pink, her arms glistening under the toasty afternoon temps. “Just stop.”
Eliza spun around, wiping her brow with the edge of her tank top. “What?”
“I am hiding something.”
“What?”
Eliza felt the first tingles of wariness creep down her scalp at the look in Anne’s eye. Roman had been dead for two weeks. The police were in the middle of a full-fledged investigation, and it seemed their only suspect was Eliza.
It’s always the wife, she thought dryly. These last few weeks, when the panic had tiptoed up Eliza’s spine and grabbed hold of her consciousness, the only thing that calmed her was to remember that she was innocent. And even if she wasn’t completely innocent, there was no evidence to put her in an orange jumpsuit.
“I lied to the police.”
“Why would you lie?” Eliza shifted to the edge of the path to allow a young, gloriously fit couple to power by. “And why are you telling me this now?”
“I didn’t know what to do. Everything happened so fast, but now… The weight of the secret has been killing me.”
“What did you do, Anne?”
“I didn’t do anything. But on the night Roman was murdered, Mark didn’t come home.”
Eliza let out a huge sigh tinged with relief and frustration. “What the hell, Anne? You scared me. Is this about Mark’s affair again? I’m telling you, there’s not—”
“It’s not about the affair,” Anne said. “It’s about Roman. I told the police that Mark was home with me. As you know, they’ve been asking everyone for alibis.”
“Right…and?”
“And that was a lie.”
“He was probably with—”
“He might not have been with her,” Anne said. “I don’t know where he was.”
“You don’t think he had anything to do with Roman’s death, do you?” Eliza eyed the path with skepticism, but they were alone. “Just because your husband is an adulterer doesn’t mean he’s a murderer. Sorry, but I think you’re being paranoid. He didn’t have any motive to want Roman dead.”
“What if I told you it’s not paranoia?” Anne swiped at her forehead with the back of her wrist. “What if I told you there was a reason?”
“Mark has only met Roman a handful of times. Why would he ever want Roman dead?”
“Trust me on this,” Anne said. “He’s not the only one. I wanted him dead, too.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Eliza, your husband made some bad choices,” Anne said. “I didn’t kill him. But what if my husband did?”
THIRTY-FOUR
One Month After
