loomed large behind the frosted glass. He reached down and pressed the doorbell.
They both flinched at the sound.
Lydia indicated that Claire should stay silent. She was making Nolan wait, which was probably a good idea. At the very least, Claire could take the time to get her breathing under control.
Nolan pressed the doorbell again.
Lydia lifted her feet and made a walking sound. She opened the door a crack and stuck out her head. Claire could see her on the video screen. She had to look up at Nolan because he was so tall.
“Good evening, ma’am.” Nolan tipped an imaginary hat. “I’m here to speak to the lady of the house.”
Lydia’s voice still sounded squeaky and afraid. “She’s sleeping.”
“She’s not standing behind you?” Nolan pressed his hand against the door until Lydia had to open it or fall over. He smiled at Claire. The bruise around his eye had started to yellow. “Funny thing about frosted glass—doesn’t really hide anything.”
Lydia asked, “What do you want?”
“That’s a loaded question.” Nolan kept his hand on the door so Lydia couldn’t close it. He looked up at the night sky. There was no shelter over the front porch. Paul had said it would ruin the line of the house.
Nolan said, “Looks like the rain’s passing.”
Claire and Lydia didn’t respond.
“Me, I like the rain.” Nolan stepped inside the house. He glanced around the entryway. “Great time to sit back and read a book. Or watch a movie. You like movies?”
Claire tried to swallow. Why was he talking about movies? Had he spoken with Mayhew? Was there a tracker on the computers? Claire had used Paul’s laptop to access the wi-fi. Had Nolan monitored all of her activity?
“Mrs. Scott?”
Claire managed to take a shallow breath. She forced herself not to ask him point-blank if he was here to arrest her.
“That your truck out there?”
Lydia stiffened. Nolan was talking to her now.
He held out his hand. He didn’t have to reach far. He was standing so close to Lydia that he barely had to bend his elbow. “We haven’t been introduced. Agent Fred Nolan, FBI.”
Lydia didn’t shake the offered hand.
“I could get your parole officer over here.” He was looking at Claire again. “Setting aside that knowingly and willfully lying or materially misleading a federal agent is punishable by five years in prison, you’re technically not allowed to ignore your PO’s questions. Terms of your parole. No right to remain silent.” He leaned forward and studied Claire’s eyes. “No right to get stoned.”
Lydia said, “My name is Mindy Parker. The truck is a loaner from my mechanic. I’m a friend of Claire’s.”
Nolan gave Lydia a careful once-over, because Lydia didn’t look like one of Claire’s friends. Her jeans were more spandex than denim. Her black T-shirt had a bleach stain at the hem and her gray cardigan was raveled at the edges as if an animal had chewed on it. She didn’t even look like the housekeeper of one of Claire’s friends.
“Mindy Parker.” Nolan made a great show of pulling out a spiral-bound notebook and pen. He wrote down Lydia’s fake name. “Trust but verify. Isn’t that what Reagan said?”
“Why are you here?” Lydia demanded. “It’s almost midnight. Claire’s husband just died. She wants to be left in peace.”
“Still wearing her funeral clothes.” Nolan let his eyes travel up and down Claire’s body. “Not that you don’t look great in them.”
Claire smiled reflexively, because that’s what she always did when she was complimented.
Nolan said, “I’m wondering, Mrs. Scott, if your husband’s business partner has been in touch?”
Claire’s mouth went dry as salt.
“Mrs. Scott? Has Mr. Quinn been in touch?”
Claire forced herself to answer. “He was at the funeral.”
“Yeah, I saw. Nice of him to be there, considering.” He pitched up his voice in a bad imitation of Claire. “‘Considering what, Agent Nolan?’ No, please, call me Fred. Do you mind if I call you Claire? ‘No, not at all, Fred.’”
Claire made her expression as hard as she could.
Nolan said, “I’m assuming you knew your husband was embezzling money from the company?”
Claire felt her mouth open in surprise. She had to repeat Nolan’s words back in her head before she could divine their meaning. Even then, she couldn’t believe what the man was saying. Paul was mind-numbingly fair with money. She’d once suffered through a thirty-minute round trip when he’d realized a cashier at a country store had given him too much change.
She told Nolan, “You’re lying.”
“Am I?”
Claire wanted to slap his smug face. This was some kind