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“Honestly?”
“That would be preferable.”
“She was ruining my vacation. I knew there was enough physical evidence to show that she was a danger to herself or someone else.”
“I see. Mr. Baker, please tell me about the forty-three-minute video chat you had with Mrs. Baker last night before she ingested half a bottle of pills. The coroner determined she passed sometime during that video call.”
My head swiveled in Jonathan’s direction. Detective Prescott wasn’t the only one waiting for an answer.
“I’m sorry,” Jonathan murmured, reaching for a tissue from his desk.
“It’s okay. Take your time,” Detective Prescott urged.
“This is awful,” Jonathan cried, dabbing away at his tears like a woman who had been notified that her abusive husband died in a car accident. “The kids will be devastated.”
Grant will. The others—not so much.
“Eliza had called me. I had planned on ignoring her call, but I needed to know why she came to the house yesterday and why she sent law enforcement to the house for a welfare check on the children. She was drinking, and it was clear she’d been drinking for a while because her speech was slurred.”
Jonathan paused to wipe away more fallen tears as Detective Prescott took notes.
“What was the nature of this conversation?”
“She begged me to take her back. She said we could try to be a family again. I told her that I had moved on and that wouldn’tbe a possibility. She started flying off the handle, but I was distracted.”
“What were you distracted by?”
“We keep a baby monitor in my youngest daughter’s bedroom. She started crying, and I rushed to see what was happening. I think she had a nightmare, and it took a while to calm her down. I’d left my phone in my bedroom, and Eliza was slumped over when I returned. I thought she passed out from drinking and hung up. If…if I had known. I would’ve called for help. I’ll never be able to forgive myself.”
“Don’t beat yourself up,” Detective Prescott said.
“I know it’s not my fault, but I can’t help but feel responsible.”
“You should talk to someone about that. Thank you for your time. Your testimony has been insightful. Mrs. Baker’s death will be ruled an intentional suicide.”
I have mixed feelings. Jonathan’s tears are convincing. The detective is eating them up, completely missing the minuscule twitch at the corner of Jonathan’s mouth. I know this man like the back of my hand, which is why I can say without a shadow of a doubt he’s lying about his ex-wife’s death.The question is…do I confront him or let it go?
Chapter Fifty-One
Jonathan
A somber veil fell over the Baker residence after Detective Prescott left. Kierra grew quiet and insisted that she needed to return to bed. I didn’t argue with her. I tucked her in, turned on her favorite murder mystery show, and returned half an hour later with her breakfast on a tray. She offered me condolences, and I nearly told her she should save it for someone who cared, but I couldn’t do that. I had to continue to play the guilt-ridden, empathetic ex.
Breaking the news to my children that Eliza was dead went exactly how I thought it would. Daisy didn’t give a fuck and inched out of my office as if I couldn’t see her leaving and the matter didn’t concern her. Casey asked a million questions, and I answered them as straightforwardly as possible. And Grant…poor Grant. Devastated was not the word. He had a meltdown and began destroying my office. I allowed it until he reduced himself to crying on the floor in the fetal position. It was the least I could do for inadvertently killing his mother.
I picked him up, laid on the couch with him on my chest, and allowed him to soak my shirt with his tears. He cried about how much he would miss Eliza and made it clear that he was angry with me for not letting him see her on Thanksgiving. I didn’t take it to heart because I could see how frustrating that could be fromhis point of view. Grant sobbed until he passed out, and I spent the remainder of the day cleaning my office and fielding calls from Eliza’s sister.
It was nearly ten in the evening when I finally answered her.
“Hello?”
“You son-of-a-bitch!”
“Don’t talk about my mother like that,” I warned.
“Fuck your mother!” she spat.
My blood heated as it coursed through my veins. Disparaging remarks regarding my mother were not allowed.
