“What about your husband?” Detective Stewart asked. “Did Dooney go to your husband?”

“No.” Rita looked sick. “He doesn’t know about the blackmail or the photos. Please don’t tell him. He’d never forgive me for—”

“For what? Murder? I suppose Quentin blackmailed you, too, so you murdered him as well. You’re a monster.” Piper recoiled.

“Piper, darling, no!” Rita sobbed. “I didn’t murder Dooney. I would never have murdered him, knowing how much you loved him. And, no, Quentin wasn’t blackmailing me. Only Dooney. You have to believe me.”

“Well, I don’t!” Piper said. “Quentin was Dooney’s best friend and Dooney told him everything. Clearly, Quentin knew about those photos, and when Dooney died, he took over blackmailing you, didn’t he?”

“No!” Rita insisted. She looked desperate, and I couldn’t tell if she was lying or not.

“We’re going to have to take you in for formal questioning,” Detective Stewart said. I noticed he was still holding the fishing magazine.

“I want my husband,” Rita said.

“We can collect him on the way,” he said. He looked at Piper and me. “Kindly wait here. I’ll send a colleague to interview you both shortly.”

“Piper, please.” Rita made one last attempt to get Piper to listen to her, but her daughter wasn’t having it.

“I hope you rot in prison, Mum,” Piper said. “I can’t believe you murdered the man I love.”

“I didn’t,” Rita said. “I swear I didn’t.”

The silence that filled the room after she left felt needle sharp and I was afraid to say anything, as if it could prick my skin and make me bleed. I had no idea how to ease the tension.

“This is a nightmare,” Piper said. She sank onto one of the upholstered chairs.

Not knowing what to do while we waited, I sat down, too.

“I’m sorry,” I said. This felt woefully inadequate. “It must be a horrible shock.”

Piper glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. Her face was a mask of misery. “I should be getting married right now.”

I said nothing. What could I say? Her groom was dead. Her mother had murdered him. Piper was right—it was a nightmare.

“I was going to be a beautiful bride,” she said. She glanced at me with a sad expression. “And my bridesmaids would have looked so lovely in those hats of Viv’s. They are so much prettier than the ones Javier made.”

“I thought Javier fled the country without making the hats,” I said. “Isn’t that why you wanted Viv?”

“Of course,” Piper said. “What I meant was that Viv’s hats were much nicer than the sketches Javier showed me.”

I nodded. I thought about Javier, supposedly fleeing the country after poisoning his lover. Suddenly the story felt weird. Off. Too convenient.