Chapter 18 #2
She didn’t miss the subtle grin that crossed his features as she said the words. “Of course, we can. Whatever you want, Sparky.”
“Sorry,” she answered with a shrug, “I just…feel like a quiet night.”
He reached for her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. “Yeah, that’s fine. You don’t have to apologize.”
“Well, if you wanted to go out–”
“Avs, it’s fine. I’m happy to spend quiet time with you.”
Her eyebrows pinched as he seemed like he wanted to say more. For a moment, she wondered if he was going to kiss her hand. She dismissed the idea as he spoke again.
“I only wanted to go out to show off my hot wife.”
A laugh escaped her. “Sorry to ruin your plan. Maybe tomorrow.”
“Got it…hot wife excursion tomorrow.”
“Gosh, I hope they pay as much attention to Marianne Wells as they do to our relationship.”
“And your body,” he said with a groan. “What do you want to eat?”
“Burger, fries, chocolate shake,” she said as she pulled his phone out of her pocket.
“Your wish is my command.” He whipped his car into the lot of a fast-food restaurant and killed the engine. “Be right back.”
“Okay,” she said, her eyes stuck on the screen as she bypassed his lock code and toggled into the photos she’d taken.
She swiped through the images she’d taken, her eyebrows pinching. Something was off to her. Something glaring yet hidden. What?
She stared at the frozen image and all its gory details, imagining the gunshot echoing, the blood spattering.
The opening of the door startled her, and she sucked in a breath as Alex climbed into the car. The scent of fried food quickly permeated her nostrils, making her stomach growl.
“Ew, why are you looking at those?” he asked.
“Something’s off. I can’t figure out what.” She tapped on the phone a few times. “I sent them to my phone so you can delete them.”
She leaned toward the bag and sucked in a deep breath. “Mmm, that smells so good.”
He grinned at her as he fired the engine and drove the short distance to the house. Within minutes, they were settled on the couch with their food in hand.
Ava found her phone on the coffee table. She grabbed it as she took a long sip of the milkshake. “Ugh, this is so good. I haven’t had one in forever.”
“What? No milkshakes? Oh, wait, you’re trying to maintain your hot body.”
“Yes, that’s it,” she answered with a giggle as she tried to toggle on her phone. “Dang, it’s dead.”
She tossed it to the side. “Give me yours again.”
“I thought you deleted the pictures?” he asked as he dug it from his pocket and handed it back to her.
“Not yet. I said you could if you wanted. And the real reason is Chris hates fast food.”
She toggled on his phone and opened the pictures again.
“Ava, stop looking at those while we’re eating.”
“I can’t stop thinking of it, though. I’m missing something. I don’t know what.”
He set his milkshake aside and bit into his burger before he retrieved her dead phone and set it on the wireless charger. “I’m charging your phone so you can use it to look at disgusting pictures instead of mine.”
She settled back into the cushions, biting into a fry as she leaned closer to him. “Do you notice anything about this note?”
“I’m not looking,” he said with his eyes closed.
She nudged him with her elbow. “I don’t have the blood and stuff up. Just the note.”
He slid one eye open slightly and glanced at the screen before he opened them both. “Uhh…oh…oh, that’s awful. Why did you make me read that?”
“I want your take on it.”
“My take is that’s her suicide note, and now I feel guilty because she killed herself because we were investigating the financials.”
“Really?” Ava asked as she tilted her head, tossing another fry into her mouth. “I mean, yes, she says ‘I can’t take the guilt anymore. I worry every day they’ll figure out it was me who tampered with the books. I’m sorry.’”
“Which sounds just like a suicide note. What other take is there?”
She puckered her lips, staring at it, unable to shake the feeling that something was amiss. The note, the positioning of the pen, it all seemed wrong.
“It’s too clean. Why leave a note so…impersonal?”
Her mind raced, piecing together the inconsistencies like a jigsaw puzzle–one that held deep, dark secrets. Secrets that someone wanted to be buried with Marianne Wells.
She puckered her lips, staring at it. “It’s too clean.”
He fluttered his eyelashes. “Are you joking?”
“Come on. You find out about this Thursday, and by Sunday, the guilty party who has bilked you out of millions kills herself?” She grabbed her milkshake and took another sip.
“What else?”
She blew up the photo and flashed it at him. “What hand does she use to write?”
“I don’t know. I never met the woman.”
“Use that big brain you have,” Ava said. “Think, Ace.”
He glanced at it again with a shrug. “Uhh, looks like a lefty. The slant, the location of the pen next to it.”
“I thought the same. And that’s what’s wrong here.”
“I wasn’t aware it was a crime to be a southpaw. You do realize I am, right?”
She offered him a coy glance. “Yes, I do realize that. That’s how I recognized it. Here’s the thing though–” She shifted back to the picture of Marianne.
“Ugh, please, Ava. I’m eating.”
“Look, Alex. What side is the wound on?”
He pressed his lips together, squinting at the photo before he said. “Right.”
“Exactly. Lefties don’t commit suicide with their right hand. Someone murdered her.”