“All I need is a name,” Emily said. “Then I won’t have to ask the police to look into it.” The minute the words were out of her mouth, Emily regretted saying them. Ana looked stricken. “I didn’t mean that. Desperate, I guess. I’d never sic the police on you. Don’t worry. I promise. Just think about it. Okay? And when you feel comfortable, if you feel comfortable looking up who it was, call me.” She circled her cell-phone number on one of her business cards and offered the card to Ana.

Ana hesitated. Then she took it.

30

AS EMILY DROVE from the coffee shop to Inner Peace Storage, her face went hot with shame. There was no excuse for bullying Ana the way she had. On the other hand, she felt some satisfaction that at last she’d discovered something: the man in the coffee shop had been waiting for her to get there. She hadn’t been a victim of chance—wrong place, wrong time. She’d been set up, and set up by someone who knew she’d be stopping at the coffee shop on the way home. That changed everything.

Walter Newell could have been, as Frank suggested, upstairs listening as Emily and Quinn rhapsodized about killing their husbands. Heard Emily take Frank’s call and say she’d be stopping for coffee on the way home. Or Quinn could have alerted him. Though why would she have done that?

The only other person who knew Emily would be stopping at the coffee shop was Frank. All he had to do was ask and he knew she’d stop on the way home and pick him up a coffee. He’d even know when she’d be likely to get there, since the coffee shop closed at ten. It was Frank—and putting this together felt like peering into an abyss—who’d insisted that the guy who came to their house wearing coffee-stained loafers was Ryan’s client, even though the man was clearly pissed off at Frank.

She desperately hoped that her soft sell worked, and Ana was taking pity on her and looking up whether Mr. Congeniality had paid with a credit card. Walter Newell’s or someone else’s? She needed a name to go with those shoes.

When Emily got to the Murphys’ storage unit, it was open and Lila’s car was parked in front. Emily sat in her car for a few moments, willing her fingers to loosen their grip on the wheel. She checked her face in the rearview mirror. Then got out of the car.

The hum Emily heard when she entered the unit turned out to be the ventilation system. The thermostat was now functioning and reading seventy-two degrees. Cool air was pouring in from the ceiling vent.