surprised—he rarely showers in the evening, except on weekends, after a late tennis game or bike ride.
“What’s going on, Ally?” he asks. I hear a tiny note of irritation entwined with his concern.
“Something awful happened.”
His eyes widen.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to me,” I say. “The detective I was using—the private eye. He was murdered last night.”
“My god.”
I unload the details, catching my breath a few times as I race through the story.
“That’s horrible,” Hugh says.
“It is. He was a nice guy. He seemed to want to help me.”
And in that moment, I can hear Mulroney again in my head. His husky voice, the way he chuckled about me paying him the big bucks.
“Ally, what is it?”
I press my hands hard against my eye sockets, still thinking it through.
“I can’t stop worrying that his death has something to do with my case. He told his partner he was working on it last night.”
“But what about your situation could make someone want to kill him?”
“What if I was witness to a crime during that time, and Mulroney was close to figuring it out?”
“That seems like an awful stretch.”
“Remember the bloody tissues in my pocket?”
“You said those could have been from a nosebleed.”
“But it wasn’t my blood type.”
“Right. But I just don’t see how—”
“Why do you keep dismissing everything I say, Hugh?” I’m practically shouting now. “I feel like I’m sitting on the wrong side of one of your depositions.”
“I’m not dismissing your ideas, Ally. I’m just playing devil’s advocate, as I’m sure you’d do if our roles were reversed.”
“Right, but I also need you to hear my concerns.”
He steps closer, as if he’s about to hug me, but as he does, his towel loosens. Using both hands, he rolls the top of the towel over a couple of times to keep it from sliding. “We can talk more about this after I’m dressed, okay?” he says. “I ordered Japanese takeout. It should be here any minute.”
Is that the best my husband can do on the comforting front tonight? Call out for sushi?
“Sure,” I say testily. “Why did you need to take a shower tonight anyway?”
“Just feeling grungy. I ended up working in the library at the office and it’s dusty in there.”
“The dust got in your hair, too?”
“Probably.”
He turns, and I follow him down the corridor. As he slips into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him, I check my phone. There’s a text from Sasha, sounding borderline annoyed and asking when we can review next week’s material.
And another, oddly enough, from Damien. How are you? is all he writes. Is he really concerned—or trying to control the narrative about Greenbacks? I don’t respond. Best to shut down contact with him going forward.
Before I can set my phone on my desk, it pings with yet another text, this one from Gabby.
I think I may live, she says.
r u really better? I respond.
Marginally. Soup eaten. Head now raised.
Can I do anything for u?
No, but thanks for all your texts. Sorry not to be there for u.
Now’s not the time to fill her in. dn’t worry about it. miss u! I reply.
I strip off my sweat-soaked blouse and swap it for a long-sleeved tee. As I’m wiggling into jeans, my eyes roam the bedroom. I’ve always loved all the white in here—walls, curtains, bedspread, the antique whitewashed dresser—and the space has always felt like a kind of sanctuary for me, and for us as a couple. But at this moment it seems stark and uninviting.
My gaze settles on Hugh’s bedside table. His phone is lying there, nestled beside his keys, his money clip, and a crinkled receipt. I approach, nearly on tiptoe, and pluck the receipt from the pile. It’s from a liquor store, for two bottles of wine, and my stomach clenches until I recall the plastic bag I spotted earlier on the top of the island.
I tuck the receipt back under the phone and listen. From the bathroom comes the sound of Hugh’s electric toothbrush. With my eye trained on the bathroom door, I reach now for the phone and quickly type in the password. I go to recent calls and scroll down.
It takes a few seconds before I see a call to Ashley Budd. I nearly gasp at the sight of her name. The call was made two and a half weeks ago. And there are two more a week before that.
The whirring sound from the bathroom ceases. I set the phone back down and flip it over, so Hugh won’t