“I think you should try with someone who isn’t cheating on you before you start catastrophizing.” Marius petted my hair. “You’re not paying me. That means I don’t have to stoically watch a woman cry.” He swung me to my feet. “Let’s go to the Christmas market. I’ll buy you some yarn. You can knit one of those cats a sweater.”
“I need to find clues first.”
Brooks’s study was a disorganized mess. He’d never wanted me to clean it. Now I knew it was because he was hiding multiple affairs.
“Do you see any jewelry receipts?” I asked. “I bet that bracelet I found in my kitchen belongs to Oakley. We need to prove it.”
“I don’t see how you can find anything in this dump,” Marius said, opening drawers.
In my craft room, which was almost as heart-wrenching as the nursery, Oakley had set up shop at my white desk with the brass trim.
Her laptop was open.
I opened up her search history and looked. She was searching for medicines that made someone sick.
I snapped a photo with my phone.
“Marius?” I wandered next door into the master bedroom, which was messy and smellier than I’d left it.
The lawyer was looking at something else. “Are these Brooks’s clothes?” he asked me, pointing at a suit draped haphazardly over the chair in the master bedroom. “I didn’t think he ever wore a suit.”
“Kris Kringle on a shingle,” I whispered. “Oakley is having an affair!” I jumped into his arms, hugging him and giving him a big kiss on the cheek. “And you say you’re not a detective.” I snapped my fingers. “Ooh, I bet that baby isn’t Brooks’s!”
10
MARIUS
Emmie was happily sipping on the Christmas-themed drink I’d bought her.
“Yes, I need this!” She picked up a wooden hand-painted cat ornament.
“Buy two, get one free!” a lady chirped.
“Which other two do you want?” I asked Emmie.
She gaped up at me. “You can’t just buy these for me.”
“Sure I can.”
“Well, which one do you—sorry. Never mind. Brooks would get mad when I asked him that question.”
I let my hand rest on her back then trailed my fingers through her hair. “You forget I like cats.”
“Brooks hated cats.”
“It’s well established that Brooks was an idiot in a number of ways,” I told her. “Cats are amazing.” I picked up one ornament. “This one looks like Moose.”
“Aww, it’s got his little snaggletooth. Do you think he’s okay with the other cats?” Emmie turned to stare up at me.
“He’s a Bengal cat, so I’ll do anything to get some energy out of him. He’s been playing hard with the other cats. He actually sleeps at night now,” I joked.
“He needs a furry friend,” Emmie said as the stall owner handed us the bag.
I ushered Emmie away.
I didn’t need her looking too closely at the stall catty-corner to this one or draw the attention of its owner. We didn’t need to muddy the waters.
“I don’t think the feral-cat committee would appreciate that. They seem very anti adoption.”
