“So you’re saying this whole thing was staged? She planned it all? That she attacked the reviewer for giving her a bad review, which was supposed to get her out of the contract, and things fell apart from there?”

“It’s the only explanation. I mean, it went much further than anyone could anticipate, absolutely. That blogger, Wilde, he stuck his nose in and the whole thing blew up. The publisher was going to let her go quietly into that good night, she was out of her noncompete, and everything was moving along perfectly. Of course, when Ethan found out, he was beyond furious. I think he just didn’t want the competition—Sutton is the better writer, and we all know it.”

“Furious enough to hurt his wife?”

Filly’s eyes were a watery blue. “You don’t know Ethan Montclair very well, Officer Graham. So let me make this very clear. He has a temper. They fought, all the time. Screaming, plate-smashing fights. I’ve never seen anything like it. She was scared to death of him, of what he’d do to her when he was in a black rage. She wanted a divorce. She wanted out. She just didn’t know how. If I’m going to make a guess at what happened? She finally told him she wanted an official split, and he killed her.”

“All right. What about abuse?”

Silence.

“Mrs. Woodson? Were you aware of any physical or emotional abuse going on in the house?”

“What do you think? I’ve already told you how they fight.”

“But arguing isn’t hitting. Did he hit her?”

“I don’t know. And that’s the truth. I never saw any black eyes or bruises, but that doesn’t mean anything. She was scared of him. That I do know.”

“Can anyone corroborate your story, Mrs. Woodson?”

Filly stood and started clearing the tea things. “I don’t know who else she confided in. Like I said, she was my best friend.” Her tone was mulish, as if she’d been caught lying.

“Your best friend, who you were planning to go to Paris with?”

“France in general. It was a dream for both of us.”

“Had you made any plans?”

“Nothing concrete. Nothing official. We were only daydreaming. It’s not like we could abandon the boys and the babies, and run off.”

“Is it possible Mrs. Montclair was doing more than daydreaming?”

“Anything is possible, Officer.”

“That’s good to know. Is there anything else?”

“She didn’t get along with her mother. Not at all. Siobhan Healy is her name, and that is a seriously vile woman. None of us can stand her. She’s so...gauche. Crass. Obsessed with money, and she’s a drinker, too. She and Sutton couldn’t be more opposite.”

“Does her mother live nearby?”