Page 152 of Trust No One

A smile tipped the edge of his lips. “That’s a nice way of putting it.”

“Did she tell you what happened?”

“She’s always been tight lipped about the details.”

“She seems steady to me.”

He shook his head. “She has her good days and bad.”

Ken’s talent for gaslighting was epic. “Tell me about the bad days.”

He drew in a breath. “Look, I’ll tell you, but don’t pass this around, okay?”

“Of course.”

“Her moods were part of the reason I started to spend more time at work. I often came home, and she’d have polished off a bottle or two of wine.”

“Stressful job, right?”

“She could work endlessly, almost obsessively, for months. And then she’d crash. She used up her vacation time to cover the downward spirals. She was either running a thousand miles an hour or at a dead stop. No in-between.”

I’d never sensed the volatility. “What were you doing in her house?”

Ken sipped his coffee. “I came by with bagels. As I stood at the front door, I heard a kid screaming. The door was unlocked. I rushed in. What would you have done?”

I’d have done the same—entered the residence and searched for a threat. “She’s about to be your ex-wife. Maybe call the cops?”

He smirked. “How long does it take the small sheriff’s department to get to Hale House? I was there, armed and ready to enter.” He tapped his stoneware cup with his ring finger. “I’m glad she’s not good at locking her doors.”

I’d seen Ken piledrive into a player’s back after the action had ended. The refs jumped all over him, but in the end, he’d had them all convinced the ball was active.

Everyone generally believed Ken.

But was he lying about Raine now?

The trick to a good lie was to weave it with truth. Ken was right. Raine had tried to kill herself. She’d had no reaction when her mother died. She’d walked away from an estate without looking back.

But in the time we were together, she’d been steady.

“Do you remember Amy?” I asked.

“Sure. Little Girl Lost. Ghost Girl. She was into some freaky shit.”

I’d heard rumors. “What do you know about Amy?”

“Dealt drugs. Hung with a rough crowd.”

“Who bought from her?”

“Gabe. Maria,” Ken said.

“And Raine?”

“She was clean then. It wasn’t until after we married that she started dabbling again.”

Ken wasn’t as slick as he used to be. Or maybe I’d interviewed enough liars to sense a spun narrative. He wasn’t describing the woman I’d made love to last night.

“Why do you think Raine helped Amy?” I asked.