Chapter 31
31
I know I shouldn’t have been behind the wheel considering I was angry and in shock—and that my abilities as a driver are already somewhat impaired on a good day because I get easily distracted. It’s possible that I was also crying, but I would prefer not to acknowledge it. While my head was still going over the argument I just had with David, I decided not to take the freeway and to let the car do most of the steering.
Breaking up with two boyfriends on the same day had been mentally but also physically exhausting. Then again, that’s what you get when you’re a morally dubious woman, I guess. One who keeps two men on the side. I’m sure Marky Fitzsimmons would tell me that served me right for my impropriety and sluttery.
I realized then that David had lied to the police about being alone the night Henry died not because he wanted to spare me an uncomfortable conversation with Victor but to prevent his editors at the Voice from knowing about us. He was going to end the relationship, if you could call it that. That’s why he left my place early on Wednesday night, why he was so adamant about talking to me on Thursday. And yet, he hadn’t had the courage to say it: I can’t keep seeing you. I don’t want to continue this. My job is more important .
And all the while I’d been worried, I’d been doing everything to help him, using my family to help him, imagining he also wanted to talk things over and to be together together . I was so stupid. Na?ve. Dense. Slow. Credulous. Witless.
I was still mentally listing synonyms of my imbecility when I jumped into the elevator at the Eastern Columbia. At least I’d stopped crying by then. Not that I’d actually been crying or anything. As a rule of thumb, the Freire Valls clan doesn’t do crying, no matter the occasion.
“We finally meet.”
A voice took me out of my inner misery. I hadn’t even realized someone else had gotten inside the elevator before the doors closed. He was a bit taller than me and around my age, with tousled dark hair and an air that reminded me of Andrew Scott—a.k.a. Hot Priest of Fleabag fame. He was wearing medical scrubs and a smile.
“Finally?” I asked, confused. I had no clue who he was.
“I’m Andrew,” he said, accentuating his smile. I decided to privately refer to him as Hot Neighbor. “Apartment 10D?”
“Oh! Ah!” I said. “I’m in 10B, Elena.”
“Yes, I know,” Andrew said. “I met your boyfriend the other day.”
“Not my boyfriend,” I protested but felt bad. Andrew seemed nice. It wasn’t his fault that at present I hated all men, but especially my not-boyfriend David.
“I see,” he said, and he looked a bit uncomfortable. “Have you talked to the police by any chance?”
“The police?” I asked, confused.
“Yes, about the murder in the building,” he explained. “I work nights, you see. Not today but most nights. And during the day I just take an Ambien, throw some earplugs and an eye mask on, and I’m zoned out. I think they’ve been trying to talk to me. They left a card, some Detective Clooney or something. I was wondering if they’re making the rounds or I’m a suspect.” He laughed nervously.
“I think they just want to clear my not-boyfriend’s alibi,” I explained. “He told them he saw you on Wednesday night when he left my place.”
“When? This Wednesday?”
“Yes, the night of the murder in the building.”
Andrew frowned. “But I never saw him on Wednesday!”
“You just told me you met him the other day,” I said.
“I meant last week.”
The doors to the elevator opened then as we’d reached the tenth floor. Andrew exited and tried a nod as a way of saying goodbye and sorry I can’t corroborate your not-boyfriend’s alibi . He headed into his apartment. I remained immobile in front of my own door for a few minutes before I was able to snap out of it and open the door.
Considering this story has only one POV—mine—you may be wondering whether everything I tell you is accurate or if I’m missing anything. Do you feel tempted to think David is guilty, seeing all the things lining up against him? Don’t. You don’t want to get distracted by the red herrings. But then again, could I be the one fooling myself about him?