Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
Duke glanced at his watch as they got out of the car. “Think we have enough time to talk to her and get to Ahab’s by six? We could split up?”
She would absolutely do that if this were her job, but it wasn’t. She couldn’t ask questions admissible in court without him and his badge present. “I think we have time. She isn’t going to let us ask much without calling her lawyer.” If Paul’s statements were true.
“True. Some people are trigger happy. She’s lawyer happy.”
Ferd wiped her face clear of emotions as they stepped onto the stoop.
The house was one of the nicest she’d seen in Piper’s Ridge.
Two stories tall, but likely the basement was also finished.
It probably boasted over 3000 finished square feet .
. . for one person since Monica Nosboum had no other marriages listed in her file.
A woman opened the door in a light pink cotton track suit embroidered with the word ‘pink’ in huge letters across the chest. A black cat dashed out between her legs.
“Agh!” She raced after the cat.
Ferd crouched slightly and reached out to catch the animal if it came her way. Cats liked her, but this one was avoiding everyone. It hissed as the woman Ferd presumed to be Bailey’s ex-wife pounced on the wayward feline.
The large, shiny black feline hissed and flailed, digging into Monica’s arms. “You beast!” She stomped to the front door and chucked the animal inside.
When she turned around, she held one hand over the bloody scratches. “Can I help you?” She glared daggers at them.
“Sorry about letting your cat out. He must do that often.” Duke nodded at her hands, covered in scratches. “Those look painful.”
“Yes. He gets out almost daily. The neighbor’s cat is in heat, and she refuses to spay her. I’ve even offered to pay for it. But no,” she elongated the last word and rolled her eyes.
“I’m Duke Campose and this is Ferd Kincade from the Piper’s Ridge PD. We’re here to talk to you about Bailey Nosboum. Can we come inside?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Can I say no? I have nothing to say about that man. He’s been nothing but a thorn in my side for a decade and a half.”
Interesting. She's already started defending herself.
“This would be about his death, ma’am,” Duke deadpanned.
Her eyes widened for a moment and her mouth dropped open. “Dead? Are you sure?”
Ferd watched multiple expressions play across her face. “When was the last time you heard from him?” Ferd asked without waiting for admittance.
Monica pursed her lips and opened the door slightly. “I guess you’d better come inside.” She stepped over the threshold. “I’m not his wife anymore, so I’m not a prime suspect, right?” She looked over her shoulder at them with tears making her eyes shine and tittered. “I have no reason . . .”
Why did she assume we’re here to talk about murder?
“Let’s talk inside.” Duke gestured lightly to the front door.
Monica hurried to the door, opened it, crouched, scooped up the wayward cat like a catcher, and tossed him back into the house. She quickly closed the door behind them.
The home looked like it belonged in a magazine. Every fixture was clean and white. Pristine. Neutral colors with hints of olive green. Just enough to fool the eye into thinking the house had color. Few walls broke up the space, making it feel cavernous.
“Go downstairs and play.” Monica quickly opened a door leading to the basement, tossed the cat in, and slammed the door shut. “I hope you don’t need anything down there because that cat will not leave us alone.”
“I think we can manage up here. We’re not here to search your home. Yet,” Duke said as he followed her to a seating area.
A large, thick-pile rug lay draped over one end of a sofa. The only way to tell the couch was not exactly white was because of the pristine brightness of the rug or blanket. Where do I sit where I won’t get anything dirty?
Duke took a seat on one sofa, and she sat next to him to create a united front. He took out his badge and showed it to Monica. “Bailey was found in his boat a little over a week ago. He’d been murdered. Were you aware?”
She rubbed the cat scratches on her arm that stood out on her perfect skin. Some fresh, some older. “I had no idea. I called my lawyer just yesterday to contact him. My payment is late again. I can’t be late on my house payment, or it will go into foreclosure.”
“Do you recall what you were doing the Wednesday before last? Specifically in the early morning?”
Ferd watched her closely. This kind of question usually tripped up guilty people. Lying became harder when wrong timing could come back to bite.
“I was here. The whole time. I have security cameras on the front of my house, and that’s where my car is parked. No way for me to go anywhere without that camera picking it up. If it removes me from suspicion, you can have it.”
Duke nodded. “I’d like to get that. I’ll give you the email to send it to before we leave. How long ago did you divorce?”
Monica picked at an older scratch.
Fresh enough to sting. Old enough to suggest it wasn't the first time.
She answered, “About fifteen years ago now. I was so young when we married. He was twenty-five, and I was freshly graduated. He drank. A lot. I still thought I had a catch because he also worked hard. One evening, he came home, pushed me down the stairs and told me he didn’t care about me anymore. He said he wanted a divorce.”
Wow. That came out of nowhere. “How long were you married?” Ferd asked.
“I gave him thirteen years. We tried to have children but couldn’t. Since I married him fresh out of high school and he promised to provide for me our entire lives, I had no skills to get a job when he left me.”
Duke tilted his head. “Is that why you got support from Bailey for so long after the divorce?”
She nodded and her eyes brightened. She yanked a tissue from an elaborate container on a side table.
“Yes, the judge saw my side. Bailey was a great provider, even with his faults, and he made more than enough money to make sure I could live comfortably after the divorce. Then, he left his job working as a government contractor. I lost my insurance and my guaranteed paycheck. He started working for that logging company and showed no income. He still paid me once a month, but it wasn’t nearly what it used to be.
My pantry is a ghost town.” She sniffled and dabbed her eyes.
Ferd held her tongue. The woman had to be forty-five if her math was correct. She could work a few years of her life. Her gravy train now lay in the morgue. At least Maddie respected him.
Duke glanced at his watch. “I think we have what we need for now.” He tugged a card from his wallet. “Send that footage to this email address.”
She glanced at it and set it down on the coffee table. “I’ll do that. Thank you.”