“—recap what we know. Sutton Montclair, a beautiful, successful writer, disappeared sometime between Monday evening and Tuesday morning. She left behind a note asking not to be looked for, but her husband, local celebrity Ethan Montclair, called the police late in the day Tuesday, asking for their help finding his wife.

“And then...nothing. There has been no sign of her since. Her phone and credit cards have not been used, and there have been no reported sightings.”

There was movement, a shadow loomed, then Ethan watched Filly walk into the screen.

“Bollocks,” Ethan said.

“I’m now joined by Mrs. Phyllis Woodson, a very close friend of Mrs. Montclair. Mrs. Woodson, please tell us what you know about the investigation.”

Filly practically gleamed with excitement. Her hair and makeup had been professionally done, the lights shone on her moist upper lip. Ethan looked closer. Had she done fillers, or something else equally ludicrous? Her upper lip seemed overweight, out of proportion, the gloss slicked on thick and shiny, a pale pink that was certainly not her shade.

He heard Sutton’s voice in his head, gentle and slightly amused. “Claws, Ethan.”

I can’t help it, wife. Your BFF looks like a bumblebee parked on her face and shat.

Filly’s voice was slightly higher than normal. Ethan chalked it up to nerves, though she sounded so much like a horse neighing he had a hard time not laughing out loud.

You’re not behaving appropriately, Ethan. For fuck’s sake, your wife is missing, probably dead, and you’re laughing at her horsey friend on TV? You’re a sick, sick man. Go wear your hair shirt. Go burn the rushes and drape yourself in sackcloth. Stop using this to your advantage.

“Fuck the fuck off, self.”

From the television: “Well, we’ve been worried sick for days, as you can imagine. Ethan told us she was gone, but we all knew immediately something was wrong. She would never, ever just up and leave without letting at least one of us know. Now, I know that one of us—Sutton has so many lovely friends, but we’re her core, her trusted advisers—”

Ethan snorted.

“—the women she told everything—” she looked into the camera, right at him, and enunciated the words for effect “—and I mean, everything. For her to leave without telling us is completely out of character. To not be in touch, to not let us know she’s okay...well...”

Sniff. Tears. Blot.

The reporter was totally getting off on the performance.

“Do you know if there was any...trouble...in their marriage?” April O’Malley asked, gushing a bit.