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After taking in the uncustomary messiness, she said, “How did you dress yourself without help? Was Stella here?” she asked, referring to their part-time housekeeper.
“No. I managed.”
“Please tell me that you didn’t drive yourself.”
“I took Uber. Both ways. Okay?”
“Where did they meet with you?”
“Same precinct where the press conference was held.”
Her eyes rounded. “You were there at two-forty-five and knew about the press conference? Why didn’t you let me know you were there? You could have stuck around and—”
“And given you another opportunity to nag me about going on TV? No thanks.”
Her reserve snapped. “What’s the matter with you? Why are you being so hateful?” She leaned forward and sniffed. “Are you drunk?”
“I’m trying my best.” He reached down and picked up the highball glass, which had been out of her line of sight. He’d set it on the floor within easy reach of his right hand.
“Honestly, Calder.” She exhaled a gust of annoyance, left the sofa, and stalked over to the bar. With a lot of clatter, she took a bottle of vodka and ice cubes from the appliances under the counter and poured a drink. She added a wedge of lime and took a hefty swallow before returning to the sofa. She didn’t sit. She stood over him. “You’re not even supposed to be drinking.”
“I wasn’t supposed to be at that goddamn county fair, either.”
She fell back a step and gave a bitter laugh. “Oh, I’ve been waiting for that. I insisted that you come, so it’s my fault that you got shot.”
He set his glass on his stomach, holding it with his right hand. “No,” he said softly and with remorse. “It wasn’t your fault. The asshole who did it is to blame. Now I don’t have the satisfaction of knowing that he’s dead, or even who he is.”
She sat down close to him and placed her hand on his thigh. “The announcement stunned everyone at the press conference. I can only imagine how upsetting this news must have been for you, for all of you who were directly affected.”
“That’s why the detectives called us in individually. I guess they were worried about how some would react when told.”
“How did you react?”
“I wanted to hit somebody, but I didn’t know who. Probably a good thing. I can’t afford another injured arm.”
“I’ll drink to that.” She clinked her glass against his, but he didn’t pick up on her attempted levity.
He said, “The woman you interviewed was there.”
“Dawn Whitley?”
“We met in the hallway.”
“How was she?”
“Chatty.”
“What did she say?”
“That you and I are living together but aren’t married yet.”
“Well? Aren’t we?”
“Why was that important for her to know? What did that have to do with the subject of the interview?” He gave her a baleful look. “I specifically asked you to keep me and our relationship out of it.”
She removed her hand from his thigh and raised her chin defensively. “The interview with her had already been recorded when you laid down that law.”
He wanted to back her into a corner and tell her that he knew about her subterfuge, about all the times she’d approached Elle Portman, but he didn’t want to bring Elle into their argument. “Don’t do it again.”
