he could see now that even in that first year of marriage, an emotional crack had formed between them, one that had steadily widened until neither of them had the means or desire to bridge the gap.
And hadn’t he resented Lindsay for his own decision to limit, then to end, his visits to Bluff House? He wanted to save his marriage, but more out of principle than for love of his wife.
That was just sad, he thought.
Still, he hadn’t cheated, so points for him.
He’d spent a lot of time trying to calculate when her infidelity had begun. Conclusion? Not quite two years into the marriage, when she’d claimed to be working late, when she’d started to take solo weekend trips to recharge, when their sex life had gone to hell.
He wrote down the approximate date, her name, her closest friends, family members, coworkers. Then drew a line from one, Eden Suskind. Both casual friend and coworker, and the wife of Justin Suskind, Lindsay’s lover at the time of her death.
Eli circled Justin Suskind’s name before continuing his notes.
Eden stood as her cheating husband’s alibi for the night of Lindsay’s murder. He’d hardly had a motive in any case. All evidence pointed to his plans to take her on a romantic getaway in Maine at what had proven to be a favorite hotel.
His wife certainly had no reason to lie for him, and had been humiliated and devastated when the affair came to light.
Eli’s investigator had pursued the possibility of an ex-lover or a second one, one who’d confronted Lindsay and killed her in a fit of temper and passion. But that seed hadn’t borne fruit.
Yet, Eli reminded himself.
She’d let someone into the house that night. No forced entry, no signs of struggle. Her phone and e-mail records—home and work—had shown no communications with anyone who hadn’t been cleared. Then again, Wolfe had been focused on him, and his investigator could have missed something. Someone.
Dutifully, Eli wrote down all the names he remembered, right down to her hairdresser.
At the end of two hours, he’d filled several pages of the tablet, had cross-references, unanswered questions, two assaults, if he counted his grandmother’s fall, and a second murder.
He’d take a walk, he decided, let it simmer.
He felt good, he realized. Despite—maybe even because of—the muscle aches, he felt damn good. Because he knew as he walked out of the library he’d never let himself be railroaded a second time.
Kirby Duncan’s killer had done him a horrible kind of favor.
Twelve
ABRA RANG THE BELL FIRST AS MUCH FOR MANNERS AS THE need for a little assistance. When no one answered, she dug out her house key, unlocked the door, then maneuvered her massage table inside. An automatic glance at the alarm panel and its blinking light had her muttering the new code as she punched it in.
“Eli! Are you up there? I could use a little help here.”
After silence, she huffed out a breath, used her table to prop the door open before heading back to her car for the market bags.
She carted them inside, dumped them, muscled her table and tote into the big parlor. Went back for more market bags, carried them into the kitchen.
After she’d put away the fresh groceries, pinned the market receipt to the little bulletin board, she unpacked the container of potato and ham soup she’d made that afternoon, the beer bread she’d baked and, since he apparently had a taste for them, the rest of her chocolate chip cookies.
Rather than hunt him down, she walked back, set up her table, arranged the candles she’d chosen, stirred up the fire, then added a log. Maybe he intended to make an excuse about not wanting or needing his scheduled massage, but he’d have a hard time with that since she had everything in place.
Satisfied with that, she wandered upstairs on the off chance he was too engrossed in his work to hear her, taking a serious nap, in the shower, in the gym.
She didn’t find him, but did find his method of making the bed was hauling up the duvet. She fluffed it, and the pillows—a tidy bed was a restful bed to her way of thinking—folded the sweater he’d dropped on a chair, tossed the socks on the floor beside it in the hamper.
Wandering out, she tried the gym, and took the yoga mat stretched out on the floor as a positive sign. Curious, she poked through his wing of the second floor, then went down again to look