Chapter Twenty-Three
Now
The detectives returned a few days later, after arranging the meeting through Nasser.
“Where’s Cujo?” Nasser asked while we waited for the police to arrive.
“Her name is Binti and she’s a sweetie. Don’t worry, she’s behind a closed door upstairs.” I’d locked her up in my bedroom where she could sleep to her heart’s content in her favorite ray of sunshine. “Why are you so dressed up?”
Nasser straightened the cuff of his expensive-looking navy suit. “It’s part of the game. Detectives dress well. I dress well.”
“What is this? A clothes-off?” I pulled open the refrigerator to pour Nasser a glass of water. “Are you trying to intimidate them?”
“Something like that.”
“I’d be intimidated if I were going up against you.”
He chuckled. “I doubt that.”
We were settling back into a more comfortable rapport. We were friends and family, but nothing more. I handed him the water. “Why didn’t they just call me directly?”
“When I walked them out the other day, I told them that I’m your attorney, which means any contact they want to make with you goes through me.”
“Why?” I bristled a little. “I don’t need to be taken care of.” I’d let Ali call the shots most of the time, and look where that got me. I vowed never again to be so oblivious and trusting that my husband could buy an entire house from our joint account without my having a clue.
“I know that. But I’m a defense attorney. This is what I do. And it’s what Ali would expect of me.”
“Why are you being so protective?” I eyed him. “Are you worried the police think I’ve done something wrong?”
“I’m just being extra careful. I automatically tell all of my clients to speak to the police as little as possible.”
“They can’t really believe I did something to Ali, can they?” Maybe I was in denial because I hadn’t taken this possibility seriously. Mostly because I didn’t have the capacity to add another potential problem to my already-overflowing plate of troubles.
“If the detectives ask you any questions, answer calmly and succinctly. Try not to get emotional, and don’t add anything extra. Just answer the direct question.”
“I shouldn’t be emotional that my husband’s dead?”
The doorbell rang. Upstairs, Binti’s barking erupted.
“My dog is right on cue.”
I went to let the police in, eager to hear what they had to say. Maybe they’d learned how the Xanax got into Ali’s bloodstream.
The two detectives stood on my doorstep looking as polished and well dressed as last time. There were polite greetings all around before I showed them into the living room.
Once we were all settled, Detective Lloyd pulled out his phone. “I’m going to record this. For my notes.”
“I’ve no objection to that if Amira doesn’t.” Nasser retrieved his phone and started recording as well.
I stared at the dueling phone recorders. All of this felt completely surreal. “It’s fine with me.”
Detective Lloyd dipped his chin. “Great, let’s get started, then.”
“Before we do,” Nasser interjected, “I’d like to request a copy of your recording of this interview.”
“Noted, Counselor.” The detective turned his attention to me. “Mrs. Abadi, do you know a woman named Samantha Price?”
I felt the blood rush from my face. I hadn’t expected Lizzie Martins to be part of this conversation. “Um . . . yes.”
“And how do you know her?”
“Well, I don’t know her, know her.” I swallowed hard. “I met her briefly once.”
“I see,” Detective Lloyd said. “How would you describe the nature of your relationship?”
I looked at Nasser, suddenly very grateful that he’d insisted on being present. He nodded almost imperceptibly.
“I don’t have a relationship with her.”
“So not friends,” Detective Fox finally spoke up. “Enemies, then?”
“I don’t know her well enough to like her or hate her.” I might resent her. Was a little jealous of her. But hate? “Like I said, I’ve met her once, and it was very brief.”
The detective kept her unwavering gaze on me. Her eyes were the palest green, so light you could practically see right through them. “To your knowledge, what was the nature of your husband’s relationship with Ms. Price?”
I shifted in my chair. “She was Ali’s college girlfriend.”
“I see.” Detective Fox’s brows lifted ever so slightly. “And the nature of his relationship with her at the time of his death?”
Emotion twisted in my throat. “I can’t say.”
“Can’t say or won’t say?” she persisted.
“I honestly can’t say.” I released a long breath. “Before my husband died, I would have said that there was no relationship. To my understanding, Ali hadn’t seen Lizzie . . . um . . . Mrs. Price in more than twenty years.”
“I see.” Detective Fox sat back in her chair. “It must have been quite a shock to learn that your husband left a house to his college girlfriend who, to your knowledge, had been out of the picture for decades.”
So they knew about Cozy Glenn Lane. I shouldn’t have been surprised. They were investigators, after all, with access to all kinds of information.
Nasser spoke up before I could. “Is there a question in there, Detective? Because I didn’t hear one.”
She gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Mrs. Abadi, how did you react when you found out your husband left a house to Mrs. Price?”
“I was shocked. And in complete and utter disbelief. Sometimes, I still think there has to be some misunderstanding.”
Detective Lloyd leaned forward. “What sort of misunderstanding?”
“I know what the facts are. That Ali left a house to Samantha Price. I know that, but I don’t understand it.”
“Do you believe your husband was having an affair with Mrs. Price?” Detective Fox asked.
The bluntness of her question took me by surprise. “I don’t know,” I snapped. “Are you here to tell me that he was?”
“Easy,” Nasser murmured under his breath while the two detectives exchanged a glance I couldn’t interpret.
“No, we’re not making any assumptions,” Fox answered. “We’re just asking questions. That’s our job.”
I forced myself to calm down. “I don’t know when Ali would have had the time to conduct an affair.
He rarely traveled. He usually came home straight from the office.
He was busy coaching the kids’ sports or attending their events in the evenings and on weekends.
I just don’t know when Ali would have had time to run to North Carolina to see that woman. ”
Both sets of eyes watched me intently as Fox asked her next question. “How would you describe the state of your marriage at the time of your husband’s death?”
“We had a good marriage. Solid, loving.” I couldn’t help the bitterness that leaked into my words. “Or so I thought.”
“What do you think now?” Fox asked.
“Beats me.” I couldn’t hide my agitation. “The man I thought I was married to would never, in a million years, cheat on me. But then how do you explain that house?”
“Did your husband’s mood change in any way in the last weeks or even months before he died?” Detective Lloyd asked.
“No.” I shook my head. “Not that I noticed.”
Detective Lloyd checked to make sure his phone was still recording. “There was no indication that he was possibly hiding something from you or felt guilty about something?”
“No,” I answered. “He seemed completely normal.”
“How would you describe your husband?” Detective Fox asked.
I thought about Ali, envisioning his smile. The quiet, easy laughter. What he’d said to me after our first kiss. I wondered if the chemistry was there. Wow. Just wow.
It seemed like it happened yesterday. But also, forever ago. Yet my body still remembered the sensations, the excitement that sparkled through me when he kissed me for the first time.
“Mrs. Abadi?” Detective Fox’s voice pried me away from my memories. “I asked how you would describe your husband.”
“As one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. An excellent father to our kids. Ali was our protector.” My voice thinned. I barely managed to choke the words out. “I mean, obviously he wasn’t perfect, but I miss him every day.”
It was silent for a moment, my grief, and my love for my husband, thickening the air. This roller coaster of emotions exhausted me. One minute I missed my husband with desperate longing. And then the next, I was so mad at him that I wished he were still alive so I could kill him myself.
“When did you find out that he left the house to his ex-girlfriend?” Detective Fox asked.
“After Ali died.” I firmed my voice, determined to keep it together. “I didn’t even know that house existed until I started trying to get a grip on our finances.”
“Just a moment.” Detective Fox held up a ring-laden, crimson-tipped finger. “You didn’t know that the house existed?”
I shook my head, realizing how stupid and unaware that made me sound. “No idea.”
Detective Lloyd gave me a sympathetic look. “How exactly was your husband able to purchase a house without your knowledge?”
I shrugged, feeling like an idiot. “He was an accountant. He handled all of the finances.”
“Did you all have enough income, as far as you know, to afford a second house?” Detective Fox asked.
“I guess so. Ali was frugal. He was a saver.” But not too cheap to buy his ex a house with the money he made me save. That stung.
“Hmm,” was all Fox said, but I felt judged. “And do you work?”
“I’m a museum scriptwriter.”
They both gave me a blank stare, a reaction I was used to. Few people had ever heard of my job.
“You know those cards displayed with artifacts in museums?” I said by way of explanation. “The labels that tell you about the item and its significance? I write those.”
“Oh,” Fox said. “I didn’t know that was a job. I assumed curators did that.”
“Curators are more accustomed to writing academic papers rather than labels normal people can understand.”
“I see.” Fox briskly returned to the business at hand. “So, both you and your husband had jobs. And you’re sending two kids to college?”
“That’s right.”
“Are the kids taking out loans to cover the cost of tuition?” she asked.