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12
BUT, PETER,”EMMA SAYS, UNABLE TO DISGUISE THE NOTEof pleading in her voice, “I didn’t even meet Tom until four months after Derrick died, and we didn’t really start dating until a couple of months after that. Why would that be something to takenoticeof? Aren’t I entitled to a life?”
“Of course you are, and let’s not get ahead of things. Send me the email with your recollections from the interview and I’ll check in with Detective Webster first thing tomorrow. Sound good?”
She doesn’t want to let him go. Part of her believes that if he’d only allow her more time to explain, Dunne would see that there’s nothing about Tom that should be a concern to either him or the police, but this is Sunday and he clearly has better things to do, maybe a golf game of his own. And then there’s his $1,000 an hour fee to consider.
Emma says goodbye and shakes her head as she disconnects the call. She’d been secretly hoping that Dunne would say she had absolutely nothing to worry about, but the factthat he’s not taking this lightly has her even more rattled than she was before the call.
Happy to have a task, she grabs her laptop from the kitchen and returns to the patio table, where she starts the document for Dunne, racking her brain for every possible thing she can remember from the conversation with Webster. Her anger flares several times as she considers what Dunne revealed, that Webster must have already checked out Tom, as well as their history as a couple. The detective’s chatty inquiries about him were clearly pure bullshit.
Finally, Emma does a last read-through, attaches the file to an email and hits send, then sinks against the back of the teak chair. It’s turned muggy out, and the air feels oppressive, adding to her sense that something she can’t quite identify is closing in on her. She decides to seek refuge in the air-conditioned house.
As she steps into the kitchen, she’s surprised to find Brittany there, dressed in a white terry cloth robe and peering intently into the fridge. She’d nearly forgotten Brittany was around.
“Morning,” Emma says, though it’s nearly midday.
Brittany swings her head around. “Oh, hi,” she says sleepily. “I thought you might be off golfing with Tom.”
“No, not my sport. But Tom should be back in an hour or so.”
The girl resumes her search in the fridge, plucks out a small container of yogurt, and pushes the door closed with her hip.
“Would you like to have lunch with us?” Emma asks.
“Thanks, but I’m going to take the extra bike into town,check out some of the new shops. But Tom texted me that he’s going to make pasta tonight so I can catch up with guys then.”
“Great, so glad you can join us.” Emma wishes she meant it, wishes she liked Brittany better than she does, and that her stay here didn’t feel like such a horrible imposition.
Shortly after Brittany departs for town, Tom arrives home with several containers of sushi and they sit down for a late lunch in the kitchen. He offers a few highlights from his golf game, but says he’s more eager to hear about her morning. “Did Addison seem to take Friday’s events in stride?” he asks.
“I guess, but it wasn’t the best coffee date. I have the sense she might be a little, I don’t know, gossipy, so I cut the visit short.”
That’s all she dares to share. She also decides not to burden Tom with details about the call she made to Kyle and the ugly reference he made to Tom.
“That seems smart, Em. I know there are some major gossips in this town, and talking about other people never leads anywhere good. Did you find something else to do with your morning?”
“I had a brief talk with Brittany, who’s looking forward to your pasta tonight. And I heard from Peter Dunne.”
“Oh, that’s good.”
“I don’t know how good it was, actually. For starters, he made it very clear I shouldn’t have spoken to Detective Webster on my own. He doesn’t think I shot myself in the foot, but he warned me not to do it again.”
“Okay, lesson learned.”
“But here’s the worst part. He thinks Webster will want to talk to you, too—and you’ll need to have an attorney present, one with the right expertise.”
“The police want to talk tome?” He laughs, setting down his chopsticks. “What could they think—that you might have blurted out something incriminating in your sleep, and they expect me to throw you under the bus?”
“Ha, no. Dunne just said when police do cold case investigations, they’re always looking for something new to latch on to, and a new spouse falls into that category.”
“You were hardly supposed to put your life on hold.”
“I know, and I said the same thing to Peter, who agreed. But it’s about perception—and also the timing. He said something about how soon afterward...”
She trails off, wondering whether Tom will grab the thread in his mind and begin to unspool it. Could the police really be thinking that the two of them have known each other far longer than they’ve let on, that she hired a hit man so she could be with him, that the two of them even cooked up the murder together? She’s certainly not going to give this absurd theory any airtime by putting it into words, though.
Tom reaches across the table and cups one side of her face in his hand. “Em, trust me, I’m not afraid of this Webster woman, and you shouldn’t be, either. And to hell with the timing. Scarlett O’Hara didn’t wait to remarry, so why should you have?”
