“Not for most writers, but my husband wasn’t most writers. His first book was a massive hit.” She knows she sounds defensive, and is surprised that a part of her is still invested in everyone seeing Anton as a success. She’s not willing to tell him that there had been no second massive hit, that they had run out of money and were now relying on her parents for their car and mortgage payments.
“I see.”
“It’s sold more than two million copies worldwide.The Last Cyclamen.That’s the title.”
“Never heard of it.” Salazar shakes his head. “But I’m not much of a reader, to be honest. I think the last book I read was in high school. What about you? Do you work?”
“Part-time. At Blue Dot Public Relations in Georgetown.” Gwen unfolds her legs and stretches them out. She doesn’t like this topic. When she and Anton were first dating, she worked at a public relations firm in New York City. Her parents had subsidized her; the pay was abysmal. She hoped to one day make partner, maybe even open her own shop, but marriage and motherhood derailed those plans. She continued working, doing PR in Boston, but when they moved to D.C. she had to take what she could get, part-time work, freelance. She had finally scored an entry-level position at a boutique PR firm in Georgetown, mostly writing press releases for nonfiction authors and public speakers. It had been a major step down for her.
“So, money was not an issue?”
Gwen chews the inside of her mouth, remembering all those fights about Anton’s spending. It’s how she discovered he was cheating three years ago—an unknown charge on the credit card bill during a weekend when she was out of town with thekids, visiting her parents in Virginia. When she looked into it, it turned out to be for a couple’s massage at a spa at a luxury hotel in Boston. Taking control of the finances was one of the conditions Gwen insisted on if he wanted her to stay. “No, money was not an issue.”
“Did he like to gamble?”
“Gamble?” The word comes out shrill. “Of course not. Why would you even ask that?”
The detective’s eyebrow shoots up. “These are standard questions. No offense intended.”
Aimee lets herself in the front door, looking sheepish. Gwen speaks to her, past the detective. “The boys all set?”
“They’re all at Lisa’s,” Aimee says. “It’s no problem.”
The detective stands. “Again, Mrs. Khoury, I am very sorry for your loss.” He writes something on a piece of paper. “If you call this number, you can arrange a time to view your husband’s body and collect his things. I’ll be in touch.”
He walks to the door and Aimee opens it for him. Once he is gone, Aimee shuts it and rushes over. Gwen stands and lets Aimee embrace her. “Oh my God, Gwen, this is so awful.”
Gwen pulls back. “I’m in shock.”
“What happened?”
“He was hit by a car, last night, in the alley next to Villain & Saint. They think it was intentional.”
“You mean murder? Who would want to kill Anton?”
Gwen’s mind goes blank. She can’t do this. Not right now. “I’m sorry, Aimee. I’ve got to go. I have to call people.” She holds up the piece of paper the detective gave her like some kind of morbid hall pass.
“That’s fine. I should probably make an appearance at work, anyway,” Aimee says and then pauses. “Unless you want me to cancel and stay with you?”
“No. Don’t. I appreciate it, but I have so much to do.”
“Just text me if you change your mind and want company.Lisa will watch the kids and when I come back, I’ll handle dinner.”
Together they walk toward the front door. Aimee stops and frowns. “I think I stepped on something.” She bends down and pulls something from her shoe.
“Don’t worry about it,” Gwen says. But it’s too late. Aimee straightens up, holding a ceramic shard. Gwen was so sure she had cleaned everything up last night.
“Is that blood?” Aimee asks, holding the shard up to the light.
Gwen lets out a halfhearted laugh. “I broke a coffee cup in the sink the other day. I must have cut myself. Here, give it to me, I’ll throw it away.” She holds out her hand and watches Aimee drop the jagged piece into her palm.
“Thank you for everything.” She embraces Aimee before her friend can speak, and then just as quickly opens the front door.
As she watches Aimee leave, she curses herself for that stupid lie. If she broke the cup in the sink, how did the shard get on the living room floor? She just prays Aimee didn’t notice. The last thing she needs is for her friend to start prying.
6
NOW