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“But you’re not concerned?”
“I didn’t say that!”
“Whoa!” Will Faulkner said, holding up a hand and taking a half step forward, putting himself ever so slightly in front of Melissa Mercier. “Let’s slow this down and start from the beginning here. This is sounding like an interrogation.”
“Not at all,” Nick said calmly. “I’m just trying to get a sense of things. Have you been in contact with Mr. Mercier?”
“Me? No.”
“Are you friends?”
“I’ve known Marc for years.”
An answer that wasn’t an answer.
Nick stared at Faulkner for a moment, letting the silence hang to see if he would say something more, wanting to see how uncomfortable he might become with the scrutiny. Faulkner glanced at Melissa and took a step back.
“When did you last speak with your husband?” Nick asked.
“Saturday night.”
“About what time?”
“Six thirty, quarter to seven.”
“And then what?”
“He left. We had an argument,” she admitted quietly, “and he left.”
“Have you tried to contact him since?”
“No,” she said, pressing her fingertips to her temples as if to rub at a sudden headache. “Because I was angry. I’m still angry. And now I’m scared, too.”
Tears filled her eyes, and she looked down at the desktop.
“Mrs. Mercier, would you be more comfortable having this conversation in private?” Nick asked.
She shook her head, composing herself. “No, it’s fine. There’s nothing about Marc and me Will doesn’t already know. He’s probably sick to death of hearing about it, though.”
“Not at all,” Faulkner said, touching her shoulder again to reassure her. “That’s what friends are for.”
“What was the fight about?” Nick asked.
She sniffed and swiped at an errant tear. “He came home pulling that stupid boat and announced he was going to go hunting yesterday with his brother, but yesterday was my birthday, and I thought I should outrank shooting things.” She forced a sad, crooked smile. “Turns out, I don’t. Marc stormed out. I assumed he went to Luc’s house.”
“Luc says he hasn’t seen or heard from him,” Nick said. “And when he didn’t come home last night, what did you do?”
“I made myself a nice dinner and had a glass of wine,” she said with a touch of defiance.
“His mother says she called you last night and got no answer.”
“I wasn’t interested in making my evening worse by having a conversation with Kiki.”
“At that point you were still not concerned about your husband’s whereabouts?”
“No. I didn’t expect him to come home, just to spite me.”
“And you didn’t wonder where he might be at? Or did you have an idea?”
