“Wait,” I say. “Where are you going?”
“The recipe calls for red wine.” He points down the stairs. “Is that a problem?”
“I’m pregnant.” I caress the curves of my stomach. “I can’t have wine.”
“It’s for flavor. The alcohol burns off in the cooking. Besides, a little wine wouldn’t hurt you.”
He finishes his tea and sets down the mug. Then he disappears down the stairs and returns a few minutes later with a bottle. Pulling zucchini, onion, and tomato from the fridge, he sets everything on the counter next to the stove and pours oil in the pan. He spins the burner dial to high, checks the flame, and then waits for the oil to bubble.
“All right, you said you knew how Joanna was killed.” Sliding a knife from the block, he chops the vegetables with rapid, erratic slices. “Let’s hear it.”
“You and Joanna were close near the end, weren’t you?”
He nods. But he’s frowning now, rubbing his hand over his eyes as if the big, gleaming kitchen were suddenly enveloped in fog. “I was one of the only people she trusted.”
“Well, then I’m sure you know about her visits to the women’s clinic in June, and what happened to her near the end.”
“What did that maid tell you?” he grunts. “Because you can’t believe half of it.”
As the oil spits, he slides toward the sink to wash his hands. Reaching for the soap, he grasps nothing but air. He chuckles darkly before trying to pump out the suds again. The Restoril is working fast. He’ll be out on the couch in twenty minutes, maybe less.
“Joanna was happy when she lost the baby, Dean.”
He wags a spatula at me. “You’re trying to get a rise out of me.” He’s starting to slur his words.
“I’m not.” My heartbeat strums in my ears. “It wasn’t a rumor Samara told me, either. It’s the truth. The detectives have probably figured it out by now too. Joanna didn’t even want the baby in the first place.”
“The detectives didn’t know her, and you didn’t either, for that matter. How could any of you determine how she felt about the baby?” Dropping the dish towel on the counter beside the stove, he spins toward me, staggering a little. “She wanted that child because it was ours—hers and mine.”
He pauses, eyeing me for some kind of shocked reaction. When I don’t respond, he continues, “The baby was our future, and she was distraught when she lost it. Distraught!” He swipes sweat from his forehead. “Christ, I can’t see straight.”
“You’re wrong, Dean.” I take a deep breath and steady myself for the final blow. “What happened at the clinic explains everything, and shows her true feelings about the pregnancy.”
“What?” The word explodes out of him. “What the devil are you talking about?”
“She had her tubes tied in July. So she couldn’t get pregnant again.”
Squeezing his eyes shut, Dean sways into the counter. “But I don’t—why would—you’re wrong. You don’t know anything.”
“Once you see the autopsy results, you’ll see that I’m right. She lied to you, Dean. She didn’t want your baby, and she took matters into her own hands to ensure she’d never get pregnant again. You were never going to have a family with her.”
“Noooo. She was going to run away with me, and leave him and—it wasn’t supposed to end this way.”
I need to bait him further. “Don’t you see? After everything that’d happened, she was going to stay with Michael. She chose Michael over you.”
“No,” he seethes. “She chose wealth, and where did that get her? Buried in the mud in the goddamn grove. She should’ve stayed with me, married me, had my child. If she’d done that, she would still be alive. Oh, Joanna,” he moans.
I slide off the stool so I’m able to run if he charges. There’s no telling what he’ll do in his dazed state. I glance