But that wasn’t going to happen. I folded my arms over my chest and waited.

“The body was completely decomposed,” James finally said. “They identified her through dental records, but I don’t think they know the cause or even time of death. Or, if they do, they didn’t share that with me.”

“Time of death,” I repeated, as the implications of this slowly seeped in. “So, it’s possible she didn’t die the night she disappeared? Someone could have kidnapped her, and then buried her later.”

James closed his eyes and covered his face with his free hand. He tried to inhale, but the breath shuddered in his chest. My husband, I realized, looked grief-stricken.

“Do we really need to talk about that?”

“No . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. Obviously, I hope she didn’t suffer. But if the police can’t pinpoint her time of death, that means they can’t really build a case against you, right?”

James’s brown eyes looked unusually dark, even under the bright overhead kitchen lighting.

“Maggie. They can’t build a case against me, because I didn’t kill her.”

Chapter Four

James didn’t sleep that night. I knew because I was awake, too. But while I stayed in bed, pretending to be asleep, James got up and padded downstairs. I could hear him rattling around, turning the TV on and then off, opening and closing a kitchen cupboard. Was it possible that he was still drinking? I wondered if I should get up and keep him company, but something held me back.

The truth was, the depth of his grief unsettled me.

Of course, Hannah had died at a tragically young age. And now, it looked like her death had likely been violent, probably terrifying. I’d lived a charmed life, happily married to the man Hannah had once loved—I had no right to be anything but supportive in this difficult time.

And yet . . . I couldn’t shake her lovely image from my thoughts—the flawless face, the long blonde hair, the lithe body. If she’d lived, she and James might have stayed together, might even have gotten married one day. My life would have been set on a completely different trajectory. In a way, her death had resulted in my happiness.

Was it fair for me to be jealous of a dead woman?