“Convenient,” I repeat. “Oh, yes, this has all been soconvenient!” I stand up. “Bruce, if I’m some diabolical criminal, why was I dumb enough to drop a tube of my own lipstick in the contraband? Do I strike you as a careless person?”
He chuckles. “No, Allison, you do not.”
“Okay, what about the school security video?” Louise asks. “The thumb drive that was found in Trinity’s car.”
I sit back down. “What about it?”
“Is that you on that video?”
“Yes, it is.”
“And are you cutting the brake lines on your brother’s bike?”
“Does the video show me doing that?”
“It’s not clear,” says Louise. “It’s obscured. But I’m asking you.”
I shrug. “I wouldn’t want to spoil Trinity’s documentary. You’ll have to tune in.”
I’m pretty sure she won’t be making that documentary after what I did for her. But I gave her the green light. If she wants to do it, I’ll admit to what I did. It will be embarrassing, sure, but nothing more. I can’t be prosecuted for something I did at age twelve. I doubt it would be a big enough deal to reach the attention of my law firm, but those folks won’t care, anyway, as long as I keep bringing in the big cases and ringing the cash register.
“That’s no answer,” says Louise.
“Maybe not, but what possible relevance does it have to Finley’s murder?”
“The relevance is that you desperately did not want Finley to see that video, true? You had that text exchange with Luke—”
“That is absolutely true. I didn’t want him to see that video. And as far as I know, he never did.”
That’s actuallynottrue, of course. Fin told me over the phone that he’d seen it. But he’s not here to contradict me. Had he texted me, I’d be stuck.
“And if we have information that Finleyhadseen that video?”
“Like, from Trinity or Luke? Okay, fine. Then he did. But I didn’t know that. And where’s this going, anyway? Do you honestly think that I had something to do with Finley’s death? After the case you’ve built against Marlow Luckett? No. You couldn’t possibly think that. Which means you’re just wasting everyone’s time.” I get to my feet again. “Anything else? I need to get back to work.”
“Um, not at the moment, no,” says Bruce.
Notever, he means. There’s no way they’re looking at anyone besides Marlow.
I grab my bag and face them one last time. “I was difficult to deal with through this process. I apologize. But everything I did was premised on the idea that you’d follow the evidence and find my husband’s killer. And you did. Thankyou.”
Epilogue
73
Allison
The crowd is on its feet, roaring, a sea of purple and gold. The bleachers vibrate under us, a living thing pulsing with joy and noise. Grayson is shouting, clapping so hard his palms must sting, and Luke—Luke just stands there beside me, his arm around Trinity, chin lifted toward the field like he’s trying to absorb every second of it.
Classic Park, home to the Division III College World Series, looks almost dreamlike under the stadium lights, the night hazy with the drift of fireworks and breathless energy. Down on the field, Coach Alan McIntyre is surrounded by his players—hiskids, as he calls them—all wild with victory. They hoist him up; someone hands him the trophy. Alan’s grin is pure disbelief.
Then he takes the microphone. “This,” he shouts over the cheers, voice cracking with emotion, “this is for Skip!”
For Luke.
The sound crashes over us like a wave. The players erupt again, chanting Luke’s old nickname, pounding the dugout roof, slapping each other’s backs. Even from this distance, I can see Alan searching the stands, his eyes glinting. When he spots Luke, he raises the trophy in his direction.
I glance at my brother. His jaw works once, tight, and then he exhales, a small, uneven sound that could almost be a laugh. The lights catch the tears in his eyes, and he doesn’t bother to hide them.
