“What about Anton Khoury? What was your husband’s relationship with him?”
Aimee blinks, startled. “Anton? What does he have to do with this?”
“How often did the two of them spend time alone?”
“Basically never. Not that I know of. It was always as part of a larger group or sometimes just us four. Me and Scott. Anton and Gwen.”
“How did Scott react to Anton’s death?”
Stunned, Aimee stands. “I’m not comfortable where this is going. My husband is missing. He might be hurt somewhere, and you’re asking me all these questions about Anton Khoury.”
The detective stands as well. “You have street parking, right? No garage?”
“What does that have to do with—”
“You said you were asleep when Scott went out. That you didn’t hear him leave. If Scott did drive to Villain & Saint on Saturday, there would be no garage door opening to alert you.”
“We have a doorbell camera, remember?” she asks. “It would be on the video I sent you.”
“Ah, the video.” He gets up and walks to the front window, peering out. “It cuts off at the hedge. If your truck is parked right in front, as it is now, Scott would have to park past the hedge. And if that were the case, the camera wouldn’t catch him driving away.”
Aimee feels like she’s been slapped. She invited Salazar here to help her find Scott, and now he’s twisting everything around, talking about the night Anton died. “I don’t understand. Why do you keep implying that Scott is involved in Anton’s death?” Her voice has risen to a sharp shrill, but she can’t stop it. She is on the edge of hysteria. “He explained it to you! Anton came here drunk and he took him home. You talked to his friend from the bar, right? He must have told you that Anton wasn’t there.So why do you keep coming back to that? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
He turns back from the window, giving her a long, hard look. He’s evaluating her. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the details of this case with you,” he says. “But if your husband should contact you, you need to tell him we want to speak with him immediately.”
26
NOW
Tuesday morning and Gwen is up early, awakened by a panic dream and unable to drift back to sleep. Down in the kitchen she notices movement through the window and peers out. A familiar sedan pulls up in front of Aimee’s house, and Detective Salazar gets out.
Her stomach does a little flip. What could he want with Aimee and Scott? She remembers what Aimee said the other day, that Scott had gone to Villain & Saint. Yes, it was the closest bar to where they lived and Anton could have been going there to have a drink.
But she feared it wasn’t just a coincidence.
She’s scared Anton went after Scott, went to confess everything.
She wonders what the detective is saying inside that house. She’d love to be a fly on the wall.
“It’s quiet down here. I suppose the boys are still sleeping.” Barb opens the fridge and begins taking out eggs. She holds up a bottle of maple syrup. “Thought I’d make breakfast. Pancakes? French toast?”
“Pancakes are good.”
“The boys were up very late last night. Too late. We don’t want them to get into an unhealthy sleep schedule. Just because they aren’t going to school doesn’t mean they shouldn’t have a routine.”
“It’s fine. It’s not even nine o’clock in the morning. And they only found out yesterday that their dad is gone. I think they’re allowed to sleep in.”
“Have you called the school? Told them the boys will be out for the week?”
Gwen winces. “No, but I will.”
“I can do that, right after I make breakfast. Have you thought about the funeral?”
“Mom, I haven’t had coffee yet.”
“I’m putting on a pot as I speak,” Barb says. “This isn’t one of those things you can put off. Arrangements need to be made.” Barb works as she talks, efficient, although the tremble in her hands gives her away. Gwen wonders whether she’ll turn into her mother, especially if she keeps drinking. Brittle and strong, yet trembling and fragile. “When will the police release the body?”
“I told you,” Gwen says. “When the investigation is done.” Whatever energy she had drains right out of her by the rat-a-tat of questions from her mother’s mouth.