Quinn’s voice picked back up. “Or slip poison mushrooms into his lasagna.” A gagging sound. “Or accidentally back over him. Rrrmm. Oops! My bad.” Emily remembered how Quinn had looked over her shoulder while she pretended to hold on to a steering wheel.

The clink of wineglasses. Then Emily’s voice. “To ’til death do us part.”

“To accidents waiting to happen.” Quinn’s voice. “Or maybe it’s safer to hire a hit man, a complete stranger, and be done with it?” After a pause, “So, could you?”

“Could I what?” Emily had sounded so matter-of-fact, not a hint of shock or even surprise in her voice.

“I’ll bet you would. In a heartbeat.” Then, in a barely audible whisper, “If you thought you could get away with it.”

There was a click and the audio shut off. In the silence that followed, Emily stared at the tabletop, at the speckled Formica that was pockmarked and lifting up at the edges. Slowly she let her gaze rise. Frank chewed on his thumbnail and scowled.

“Frank? I didn’t—” She reached out to touch his arm. He pulled away and shushed her.

At that moment the door to the little room opened and Sergeant Stanley stepped in. Stanley looked down at Emily, then across at Frank with undisguised pity.

Frank crossed his legs, folded his arms across his chest, and leaned back. “That tape isn’t evidence. My wife never gave her permission to be recorded. It’s inadmissible in court.”

“I wasn’t aware that this is a courtroom, Counselor,” Stanley said with mock seriousness. “Still, it’s pretty interesting, don’t you think? Speaks to your wife’s state of mind.” He scraped a chair across the floor and took a seat before addressing Emily. “Mrs. Newell knew she couldn’t get away with killing her husband. But you, a complete stranger, could. I’m wondering what she promised you in return.” He let that sit for a moment, then shifted his gaze to Frank. “Mr. Harlow, I’d watch my back if I were you. Because it sounds as if your wife and Mrs. Newell struck a deal.”

Frank sat there, frozen. Emily could tell he was furious, bottled rage, that muscle working in his jaw the only evidence of him talking himself down from taking a swing.

“Test results are back,” Stanley went on, still talking to Frank. “Those carpet fibers that we found in the back of your wife’s car? They do match the rug that Walter Newell’s body was wrapped in. If you’d like to see the report, I’m happy to show it to you. It confirms the CCTV camera footage that shows Mrs. Harlow delivering a body to the storage unit.”

“All it confirms—” Emily began.

“Don’t respond,” Frank said.

“—is that the rug was in my car. Not that I put it there, or even that I was driving. Frank knows. I was asleep.”