“When Grover asked me to help him navigate Victoria’s murder investigation, I was happy to help—from afar. I have a colleague here to handle the fieldwork. But when Stan recanted his confession, I’ll admit, that intrigued me. And when I become curious, I like to do the work myself.”

He leaned forward as if he thought she would continue. After a moment, she said, “How difficult has it been for you with both Victoria and Stan gone?”

“What kind of question is that? Victoria is dead. She was murdered.”

He didn’t say, Stan murdered Victoria.

More than interesting.

“That may have been insensitive of me,” Max said without remorse. She had intentionally framed the question in just the way she asked it to get a specific response, only his response revealed far more than she expected. “I was thinking about your business; MCG is very successful, but there were three of you running it—jeez, how long? Ten, twelve years?”

“Fifteen years. Before Victoria and I were married.”

He looked at a photo on his desk.

She didn’t let manners stop her. She reached over and turned the photo so she could see.

The picture wasn’t of their wedding but appeared to be taken at the rehearsal dinner—based on the attire and who was in the picture. Victoria and Mitch were front and center. Stan stood next to Mitch, and they were both laughing. Simon was in the photo, as well as Victoria’s much younger brother, who was now a doctor in Austin. Victoria was tipsy and looked happy, her arm around another woman who also looked tipsy and happy. She looked familiar, Max probably met her at the wedding but didn’t recall her name.

Mitch took the photo from her hand and put it back, adjusting it exactly as it was before.

“Happier times,” Max said.

If she believed that her best friend had killed the woman she loved, no way would she have his photo on her desk. Because even though Mitch and Victoria divorced, they were friends. Max wondered if he still loved her. Which made her wonder, not for the first time, why they divorced in the first place.

“What do you want from me, Max?” he asked quietly. “You asked how things are? They suck. I’ve been putting in twelve-, fourteen-hour days because of the work just to manage the clients we have. The staff walks on eggshells because no one knows what to say to me and I don’t know what to say to them. I’m weary. Tired. Lonely.”

“Why did Stan call you this afternoon?”

He stared at her, but didn’t deny it. “None of your business.”