“Mortimer Randolph’s law partners must really have it in for you.” Deputy Levine, who had hauled me to the police station in the back of his cruiser, opened the metal door of the interrogation room, releasing me to the myriad suspects and criminals waiting in the lobby for their turn.

“I’ve never seen an autopsy turned around so quickly,” he continued.

It took two hours for me to plead my case, that no, I did not put a lethal dose of ibuprofen in Mortimer Randolph’s coffee. And no, I had no idea over-the-counter NSAIDs could cause a heart attack, which was exactly what dear Mortimer died from in the middle of chastising Karen, his legal secretary, over the phone. Yes, Mortimer and I had had our differences, and yes, I had told him off rather royally on one occasion—the partners had clearly done their homework. And yes, Mortimer took a heap of pills each day that I never administered—it wasn’t part of my job, I was only his assistant, not his home nurse—so it’s possible he mixed up his meds himself. And of course it was unexpected when I discovered I was his sole beneficiary—I admitted this news came from Karen, but I didn’t disclose the circumstances—because it sure looked a lot like a murder motive to Levine.

Motive was not a word that should have applied to me; it was a word used in Law & Order: Special Victims Unit, an episode of which I happened to have a small speaking part in.

I was lucky enough that my alibi held water, and Mortimer’s time of death didn’t coincide with when I was at his house. Though it did beg the question: who spiked his coffee, and what did they have to gain? Because it certainly wasn’t me, even though I had the most to gain.

I was surprised to see the remnant of daylight outside the police station when I exited through the double doors; it felt like I’d been in there throughout the night. It was early evening, yet my eyelids felt heavy, my heart exhausted from overworking itself, even my jaw ached from clenching so long. It was stressful being interrogated for homicide! As I spotted Cody sullenly waiting in his red truck, I realized the night was just getting started.

“You’re saying secrets are killing our marriage. So let’s get rid of the secrets and keep the marriage.” Those were the last words Cody had left me with before Deputy Levine had showed up at our house. And Cody still wanted an answer.

I was afraid. Not of Cody. But of the bomb I was about to detonate.