Chapter 39
Susan
Monday
Felipe steps back from the door when I open it, giving me space. He looks uneasy.
“Susan, hi, I hope you don’t mind me calling to you like this, but I wanted to apologize for the way Venetia spoke to you when you visited on Saturday and to check you’re doing OK.” It comes out in a rush.
“Oh. Gosh, no need to apologize. She’s grieving. I understand.” Something strikes me then. “Wait, how did you know where I live?”
“Ah. Your address is online. People shared it, I’m afraid. You didn’t know?” He looks anxious now.
“Oh, I knew,” I tell him with a sigh.
“Could I…could I come in for a minute?”
Still on edge, I want to say no and I grapple unsuccessfully for a polite way to do it. Politeness gets women killed, I hear Greta’s voice in my head, and my brain clicks into gear.
“The baby’s just nodded off, so we might talk here, if that’s OK.”
It’s perfectly reasonable but still makes me squirm. To be fair, Felipe is the opposite of intimidating. Wearing a loose linen shirt and board shorts, he reminds me of a cute surfer I met on my gap year in Australia.
“Of course,” he says, running his hand through his hair. “I wanted to explain Venetia’s reaction. She’s very emotional right now.”
“I think emotional is allowed under the circumstances…”
“Absolutely. But when she told you to leave, I imagine you weren’t sure what to think, so I wanted to explain…
” The hands are back in the pockets and he’s looking at his shoes.
Flip-flops. I find myself wondering what his job is.
“She struggles to manage her emotions at times—loses her temper, shouts, then feels bad after.”
I lean against the doorjamb. “Honestly, she doesn’t need to feel bad. I’d be the same if something happened to one of my sisters.”
He nods and grimaces.
“And it’s me who should be apologizing,” I continue. “I should never have written that message about Aimee. I’m truly sorry.”
“Did you really see her with that man Warren?” he asks.
“Yes.”
He looks baffled. “What was she thinking?”
“I guess she wasn’t thinking.”
“No, but—” He stops himself.
I’m curious now.
“What is it?”
“She’s normally…a careful person.”
“You mean she had lots of affairs but never got caught?”
A soft, sad laugh. “No, quite the opposite. Her husband, he was…well, he was her only boyfriend ever. They’d been together a long time. They married young. She knew him very well.”
There’s something in the halting way he says all of this, something he’s not saying. I wait.
“She certainly knew him much better than I did,” he adds with a sad smile. “Anyway, that is all. I’m sorry about Venetia, but she is upset, so I think perhaps don’t call to the house again…” He looks down, embarrassed maybe at asking me to stay away. “Best you avoid her.”
Again, there’s something he’s not saying. Something between the gaps in his words but, whatever it is, it’s not forthcoming.
“Absolutely,” I tell him. “I’ll leave you guys in peace.”
· · ·
That evening, Jon arrives home from work at six thirty on the dot for the first time in weeks, and this gives me pause.
Is he trying to divert suspicion? Does he know I know?
Is that why he’s been so on edge? But how would he guess?
Could he have discovered that I have the bracelet?
I should have left it where I found it…but then what’s the point of that?
I’m not the bad guy here. I haven’t done anything wrong.
When he goes upstairs to change, I grab his keys and connect his AirTag to my phone.
Now. Let’s see where he goes when he’s not with me.