Chapter 37
It’s after midnight when Roy comes to bed, reeking of Scotch. I pretend to be asleep. Not that it matters; he stays well clear on his side of the bed, as if he can’t bear to be near me. And I’m thinking, what did I do?
Nothing, that’s what. This isn’t about me, it’s about Vee. He stood her up, and now he can’t reach her. He is miserable and he hates me for it.
I lie there, staring at the ceiling in the dark, feeling my chest tighten, biting my bottom lip until I taste blood.
I think of everything he did to Deb for that woman, and what he’s doing to me, too.
What is it about Veronica, anyway? I mean, she was pretty, but not that pretty.
And I don’t want to judge but considering the state of her kitchen, I don’t think that woman knows how to boil an egg.
So what is it that kept him going back to her when he had Deb?
I close my eyes and breathe out. Anyway, at least that’s one problem fixed. And it’s not like I wanted to kill her. I didn’t. I just wanted her to understand that there are rules, and also, that my husband is a psychopath and he needs to be stopped.
But she didn’t believe me on the last count, and she wouldn’t listen on the first one, so here we are. I just wonder how long it will take before someone reports her missing. I wonder who it will be? Roy? Or one of the harpies?
Have you heard from dear Vee? I haven’t seen her in ages. She broke up with David, did you hear? No! Yes! How sad. I wonder how she is? Maybe I should give her a call.
And then I wonder, with a hollowing in my chest, what if Veronica had a Ring camera?
I turn over, my stomach churning, and curl up into a ball.
The next morning, Roy leaves without saying goodbye, as if somehow the fact that he stood up his lover on their rendezvous is my fault.
I mean, it is, but he doesn’t know that.
While he’s out, I go through his pockets.
Every single pocket. And Roy has a lot of clothes—I should know, I take them to the dry cleaner myself and even iron them again if I don’t think they did a good enough job.
So that’s a lot of pockets. I go through every single one of them looking for that USB thumb drive, but I don’t find it.
I’ve gone through his office inch by inch, and I know it’s not there.
Which tells me that it must be in his office downtown.
And that’s not good.
I let myself into his office and scan the floor again, in case I missed it last time, even though I don’t how I possibly could. Then, on impulse, I try the safe. I punch the numbers. 586473. I don’t expect it to open since I accidentally changed the combination…
Click.
The safe door is ajar. I take a step back as my heart jumps in my throat. Slowly, I pull the door open wider, and this time, my heart explodes in my chest, and for a second, the room tilts.
It’s empty.
I close it again, then I go to the kitchen on legs wobbly like columns of foie gras.
I slip on my apron, then get everything out to bake something.
I’m going to make French macarons. Yes. That’s it.
Roy loves macarons. I’m going to make macarons, and we’re going to pretend that everything is fine, and he is not going to think I was the one who rummaged through his safe, and maybe nobody will ever find Erin because maybe Erin has no friends, like me.
If I lived alone in a house and died because I wore pumps with heels that were completely inappropriate, nobody would look for me.
Nobody would miss me. Nobody would come and find me.
Maybe Erin is the same.
Meanwhile, I will remind Roy about the back door being open. I think someone has been in the house, I’ll say. Maybe I’ll say I’m missing something. Yes, my wedding band. I took it off because I burnt my hand and now it’s gone.
No, don’t say that. Just focus, Jodie. My hands are shaking as I beat the egg whites. I make a tray of macarons like an automaton, then once they’ve cooled, I put them in a tin which I store in the pantry. Then I make another batch.
And another batch.
And another batch.
Roy returns in the middle of the afternoon. I greet him at the door, kissing him on the lips. “I made macarons,” I say.
“Did you drive my car?” he asks.
My stomach lurches. “No, of course not.” But my mind is reeling. Did I forget to put the seat back? No. I was very careful. I put everything back the way it was.
I plaster on a smile. “I’ve got my own car, thanks to you. Why do you ask?”
He takes off his cap and scratches the back of his head. “I filled it up with gas, but I noticed it wasn’t full when I took it out this morning.”
“Huh! That’s interesting,” I say. “It must be a glitch.”
He walks toward his office, shaking his head.
He’s still in there, thirty minutes later, when the front doorbell rings.
And I know. Call it instinct, or maybe it’s because we’re not expecting anyone, but I just know.
It’s over.
I’m going to jail.
It’s Roy who opens the door while I stand a few feet behind him in the hall. Two men stand on the porch. One of them is fit and tall and bald. The other one is older, thinner, with ears that stick out and a long nose.
“Dr. Davies, I am Detective Bates,” the big one says. “And this is Detective Marcos. May we have a word?”
“Detectives?” Roy says in his deep professional voice. He makes it sound like a question. “What…what’s this about?”
But I can tell from the tone in his voice that he has an idea what it’s about. After all, he’s been calling Veronica pretty much nonstop all day, I imagine, and she hasn’t replied.
“It would be easier if we could speak inside,” Detective Marcos says.
“Of course. Please. It’s this way.”
The detectives sit in the armchairs in the living room while I sit next to Roy on the couch. I study their faces. Do they recognize me from Veronica’s potential Ring camera? I can’t tell.
“Are you all right, Mrs. Davies?” Bates asks.
“Yes. Perfectly fine. Can I get you anything? Water?”
“Yes, please,” Detective Bates says. “Water would be just fine.”
I go into the kitchen and fill a pitcher with water and slices of lemon.
“Dr. Davies, do you know a woman named Veronica Greenwood?” one of the detectives asks as I return with the tray of glasses and lemon water, and it’s all I can do not to drop the whole thing.
Detective Bates, the older one, gets up from his seat. “Please, Mrs. Davies. Let me.” He points his chin to my bandaged hand.
Roy didn’t even get up to help. Once upon a time, and not that long ago, Roy would have been all over me, taking the tray from me. Or at the very least, he would have said, “Let Marie do it.”
I smile, let Detective Bates take the tray.
He even starts pouring the water into the glasses, which is somewhat confusing.
I wait for one of them to say it. “You’re under arrest, Mrs. Davies, for the murder of Veronica Greenwood,” but they don’t, so I stand there, holding my bad hand, my heart knocking around my chest.
“I made some macarons,” I blurt. “I’ll go and get them.”
In the kitchen, I grip the edge of the sink and drop my head. How could I have been so stupid to leave my wedding ring back there?
Take a breath, Jodie. Pull yourself together.
I take out the macarons and set them down on a plate, then get out my pretty linen napkins, each a different, joyful color.
I don’t use them often because you have to wash them individually or the color will run, but this, I think, qualifies as a special occasion.
I return with the plate of macarons and the napkins. And it’s still Detective Bates who gets up and takes it all from me.
I take a seat and glance at Roy. His face is like a mask, like he was chiseled out of stone. His lips are pressed together in a thin white line. Detective Bates and Detective Marcos both half-stand to reach for a macaron. Detective Bates takes a bite, then looks up sharply. “You made these?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“They’re wonderful.”
“Thank you.”
He’s got such big hands that the macaron looks like a little dog treat when he takes a bite.
I think I’d like a big man with big hands.
Well. I smooth down my skirt. I’m not likely to get one now, that’s for sure.
But in another life, I think I would have liked that.
A man with big hands must be a good protector.
You wouldn’t get into trouble every five minutes if you were married to a man with big hands.
“If we could get on with the proceedings?” Roy says, somewhat smartly, I think. Bates and I exchange a glance.
“Did I miss something?” I ask.
“Did you know Veronica Greenwood?” Detective Marcos, asks.
“My wife—” Roy begins, but I cut him off.
“Is that your Veronica?”
“Maybe you could wait outside, Jodie.”
“If we may,” Bates says. “We’d like to ask Mrs. Davies a couple of questions.”
I swallow. “Of course.”
“What did you mean by ‘your Veronica’ just now?” Bates asks.
“Veronica was a…close friend of mine,” Roy replies, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Our condolences,” Bates says.
“Condolences?” I blurt. “Why? Did something happen to her?”
“I’m sorry, but Ms. Greenwood was found dead early this morning.”
I slap my hand over my mouth. “Oh my God. Was it a car accident?”
“No.”
“Where did you find her?” Roy asks.
“At her home. She was to meet her mother for breakfast but never showed up, so her mother went to her house. Ms. Greenwood was found dead on the floor of the kitchen.”
I turn to Roy. He looks ill.
“That’s awful. How?”
“We’re not sure at this point. Was she a close friend of yours, too, Mrs. Davies?”
I take a second to study his face, his eyes. It looks like a genuine question. I shake my head sadly. “I never met her.”
“Oh?”
“Roy and Veronica had some kind of a falling-out, I believe. Isn’t that right, Roy? You haven’t been in touch since before we were married.”
We all look at him. He does that thing, pressing his fingers against his eyelids. “I–I had actually…been in touch with Veronica briefly. Recently.”
“You were?” I blurt. “But you told me—”
“It was only two days ago,” he snaps. “I’m sorry, but I would like my wife to wait outside, if that’s all right.”
“What happened to her? Do you know?” I ask Bates.
“We’re not discussing those details at this stage.”
“If my wife could—”
“Was there a Ring camera?”
“Jodie, if you don’t mind—”
“There is a Ring camera, but it wasn’t turned on. It hasn’t been turned on since 8:00 p.m. the night before last,” Bates says.
I feel a wave of relief. Of course, she turned off the cameras, the slut.
She didn’t want a record of Roy, a married man, coming to her house.
She didn’t want to be seen on the porch, greeting him full on the mouth with one leg kicked back in her vertiginous Versace satin sandals and her sexy little red miniskirt and gold satin top that just so happened to slip off one shoulder and Oops! I forgot to wear a bra!
“Jodie, please! I would like to talk to the detectives alone.”
I blink back to the present and smile. “Of course.”
But I’m dying to ask. Did you find anything? Anything out of place? Like a wedding band with pavé diamonds maybe?
I walk out of the room, my legs two columns of French vanilla cream under me.