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“But you’re not with the police,” she says. “You’re contacting the witness list and reviewing the persons of interest list.” Her tone is matter-of-fact, not impressed. “Are you working for Alicia Morgan?”

Whatever crack I heard a moment ago is gone. Her posture goes erect, shoulders squared, chin lifted. The temperature drops ten degrees.

“I’m supporting her defense team,” I say. “You could call it that.”

“You don’t believe she’s guilty.”

It isn’t a question. Still, I answer.

“No. I don’t.”

“Is that because she hired you,” she asks, “or because you have specific reasons?”

“Both.” I let the word sit between us, then add, “It doesn’t fit. She had no motive. She hadn’t seen him in years. I’m doing due diligence. I think the detective rushed this case—if I can find who actually murdered your husband, I help her and I help you.”

“Do you have proof she hadn’t seen him in years?”

Silence stretches for a beat. Some things can’t be proven—it comes down to pattern, instinct, belief.

“Do you not believe that to be true?” I ask.

“I take it you know Matt and Alicia had an affair,” she says.

“Yes,” I answer. “A long time ago.”

She nods once, sharply. “It was…a painful time. We spent years in therapy. Forgiveness wasn’t easy. I want to believe he didn’t see her again. I want to believe I wasn’t blind a second time.” Her hands twist around her water bottle, the plastic rattling. “But I agreed to speak with you because while I don’t like Alicia Morgan, I also don’t want her to go to prison for a crime she didn’t commit.”

She takes a breath that sounds like it hurts. “And I’ll admit this, Mr. Bennett—if my alibi hadn’t been ironclad, I suspect I would’ve been on his list. A jilted wife?” Her fingers tap the face of her Apple watch. “I really do have ten minutes now. So. What can I tell you that’s useful?”

“How did you find out about the affair?” I ask. “I’m trying to understand how many people might have known.”

She slips off her sunglasses and lets them dangle loosely from one hand. Her eyes are red-rimmed but steady.

“Matt told me after it was over. Came up in therapy.” A bitter smile twists her mouth. “I’d suspected. You know when you know. I felt…completely gaslit. He agreed to step off her board. Did you know that? He helped her start her company. Recruited her board of advisors. I hosted her in my home.”

“You have every right to be angry,” I say quietly.

Her lips press together. She drags a fingertip under one eye, like she’s removing a stray lash, fighting the sting.

“I was furious,” she admits. “I went to group therapy. It helped more than one-on-one. Listening to other women rationalize men who didn’t deserve it…” She shakes her head. “Honestly, I would’ve left Matt, but we had three kids. Raising them alone felt harder than trying to fix us. And the last couple of years…” Her voice thins. “They were good. Or I thought they were good. I thought we’d done the work.”

She jams the sunglasses back on like armor. “If I find out I’ve been mourning—my children have been mourning—a man who cheated again…”

The anger humming in her tone is the kind that could burn a house down. But it doesn’t feel like the kind that poisoned a husband.

“Alicia maintains she hadn’t seen him in years,” I say. “I believe her.”

“I know,” Elizabeth answers. “The detective told me she says that—but she also didn’t tell him about the affair. Even so, I tend to believe her—I want to believe in him. I tracked his phone for a long time after the affair. At first because I didn’t trust him. Then because habit is easier to maintain than dismantle.” She gives a tiny shrug. “His office wasn’t near hers. A friend of mine was his assistant for years—she managed his schedule. I don’t see where they would have…fit it in. But now…”

Her voice fractures. She digs a tissue pack out of her tennis bag.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, blotting at her eyes. “I keep ping-ponging between missing him and wanting to resurrect him so I can strangle him. That detective kept asking if there was anyone else he could have had an affair with, and now that’s all I can think about.”

I file that away. “If it helps,” I say, “I’ve been digging into this case for weeks. I haven’t seen a whisper of another affair. Not with Alicia, not with anyone else.” Although, truthfully, an affair with a woman other than Alicia isn’t an angle I’ve fully vetted.

“Then who?” she asks, voice raw. “Why?”

“Do you know much about his workload lately?” I ask. “What he was dealing with?”