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“No. I think everyone’s pretty spread out.”
“What about a cottage?”
Paige shook her head.
“Close friends?”
“They didn’t socialize much, other than for Matt’s work. But Matt was a player…”
“A player?” Detective Gordon asked.
“You know. He had…women on the side,” Paige explained. “Lots of them. He was on multiple dating sites. Chloe found out. That’s why she was divorcing him.”
“What dating sites?”
“Match Sticks, Tinder, Perfect Strangers—you name them, he’s on them. At least, hewas.He might have pulled his profile because he was trying to win Chloe back.” She watched the detective jot this information down in his notepad.
“Hell of a way to go about it,” the detective remarked. “Is there anything else you can think of that might help us find him?”
Paige tried to think of something—anything—that might be useful to the detectives. But her mind was a jungle of disparate thoughts, impossible to hack her way through.While she was waiting to be manicured and waxed, her best friend in the world lay bleeding, possibly dying, on the floor of her lunatic mother’s apartment, shot by her maniac of a husband, a man who would screw a keyhole if he felt the urge, a man who wasn’t used to women saying no, a man who would rather murder the mother of his children than see her move on without him. If only she’d gone to help Chloe instead of getting her hair done, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Or maybe Matt would have shot her, too.“Has anybody notified Chloe’s mother?” she heard herself ask.
“I’d have to check,” Detective Gordon said, referring to his notes. “We understand from the neighbor that her mother is currently out of town.”
“Yes. She’s in Las Vegas. On her honeymoon.”
“Chloe’s mother got married?” Joan Hamilton exclaimed.
“Her mother’s name is Jennifer Powadiuk. Is that correct?” Detective McMillan asked.
“Yes. Someone should call her. I’m sure her number is in Chloe’s phone.”
The detectives moved just out of earshot to confer.
“I wondered why Chloe was cleaning out her mother’s apartment,” Joan remarked.
If only Jennifer Powadiuk hadn’t gotten married again. If only she hadn’t called Chloe and asked her to pack up her things. If only she hadn’t been such a selfish, narcissistic bitch, maybe Chloe wouldn’t have married a man just like her. She wouldn’t be lying on an operating table with three bullets in her body. She wouldn’t be clinging to life.
We go with what’s familiar, Paige understood, no matter how unpleasant. We’re always seeking to make things right, to find that elusive happy ending.
Looking for Mr. Right.
Finding Mr. Right Now,she thought, a sound halfway between a laugh and a cry escaping her lips.
“Did you think of something?” Detective Gordon asked, returning to her side, notebook and pencil poised and ready.
Paige shook her head. “Did you get ahold of Chloe’s mother?”
“She’s not answering her phone. We’ve left several messages, informing her there’s an emergency and asking her to get in touch as soon as possible.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” Paige said.
The detective raised one bushy eyebrow. “Well, if you think of anything else, no matter how insignificant it may seem, please don’t hesitate to let us know.”
“And if there’s any news about…anything,” Paige said, “we’ll be right here.”
The detectives retreated down the hall as Paige and her mother resumed their seats, their hands interlocked, their fingers intertwined.
“Thanks for being here,” Paige said, leaning her head against her mother’s shoulder.
“No thanks necessary.”
“Do you think Chloe will be all right?”
“I don’t know, darling,” her mother said, hugging her daughter tight. “I just don’t know.”
