Page 124 of Over Her Dead Body

“Mr. Adams?”

“Apparently.”

“Your husband.”

“My husband who died ten years ago and suddenly materialized in the Austin airport last week.”

He studies me for a second.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“You left together.”

“We walked out together. I went back to my hotel.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

He glances at the guard.

“I went back alone then,” I say. “Later, I had a date. Your men interrupted it.”

I have never wanted a man to corroborate a date more in my life. Unfortunately, André’s principal contribution would be confirming that I am considerably more trouble than advertised.

The guard returns with a cloth and kneels beside the empty chair.

“I came here to assess the collection,” I say. “That is the beginning and end of my involvement in whatever this is.”

The man taps something on the computer and turns the screen toward me.

My email.

Confirmation of the appointment. My name sits confidently at the bottom.

I had no idea how badly the meeting would go.

“I know why you came here,” he says.

“Excellent. That saves us some time.”

“Mr. Adams—Reid—came here with you.”

“He came here pretending to work with me.”

“And left with something that belongs to me.”

I lean forward. “What?”

He turns the screen back around.

“Where is he?”

“I told you. I don’t know.”

The guard wipes the floor. He moves the chair. He misses a small patch near my left shoe.